#when two people mean well and think what they are doing is good for the other but it just ends up backfiring. chef's kiss

[catmask]

meowdy! looks like our move to a new apartment is not going to be so peaceful after all - our old apartment is currently leaking sewage water and we have to evacuate four people and two cats! donations are appreciated, but im opening an emergency sale + commissions too! (more under the cut)

KO-FI SHOP SALE + EMERGENCY COMMISSIONS ARE OPEN!

DISCOUNT CODE IS 'LEAK' IN ALL CAPS

so for this section, i'm going to break down everything thats happening + when things will come off hiatus! i'm hoping that everything will be set up in the new place by JUNE 1st, so that is the hard deadline i'm setting to start all functions up again as usual.

WHAT'S HAPPENING?

two years ago, my fiance and i were offered emergency housing when we (very suddenly and tragically) became the parents to his orphaned little sister. both of us are only 26 and had to move 8 hours from where we had been living at the time, so the housing we had was the best 2 people with few connections and no established jobs could find within a single weeks notice.

since then, we have been saving up and working to finally have a proper place to live. and we did so! at the beginning of this month we found an apartment where all of us can move to. we have a friend staying with us who is helping with the move as well.

i really wanted this move to be seamless - basically, you wouldn't have had to know it was happening. we were going to pay double rent for two months while i would stream and work from the old place, and begin sleeping at the new one. its expensive, but i didn't want my real life to trouble anyone here.

unfortunately this is no longer possible. the old building we were staying at had a pipe begin to leak, then eventually flood our entire apartment. this has been a reoccurring problem the landlord hasn't seemed to find a solution for, and it's led to a biohazard where we were planning on slowly moving from - leading to an immediate and emergency evacuation for the safety of everyone in our family.

SO... STREAMING?

will be back online as soon as possible! we moved out our tech as soon as we could due to fear of water damage, and it seems like everything is A-OK. we just need to rebuild my desk and sound proof the new room, so this will probaaabbly be back online within a week? im just going to take the week off to make sure everything is set up and there are no bugs. (digital. digital bugs.)

LAIKA'S COMET?

for the sake of not losing my buffer crazystyle, i'm pausing laika's until JUNE 1st. but i'm going to post one more page right now to leave you guys on a cliffhanger because i think it's funny. (the ko-fi will still update as regular as i finish pages! tbh, in between moving i am going to be drawing.... a LOT... it's like my only self soothing activity i have access to right now </3)

SHOP STUFF?

you basically won't notice a difference. orders go out every 2 weeks anyway, and literally the day before this happened we completely caught up to date. that + all of the goods we had were already moved over because (similar to the tech) we were worried about water damage, so nothing will be yucky... (i dont know if i can say the same about our furniture or clothes ; _ ; )

FINAL NOTES

while we did manage to get out with emergency bags and a weeks worth of outfits + things to sleep on + cook with, we have no real means of knowing the extent of damage until we bring things out of the apartment and clean them here. thankfully *most* things appear undamaged, its largely the flooring and the smell that are unliveable... walking through puddles of sewage water and having to wear a mask to breathe is not really liveable conditions.

however, considering this move is sped up way faster than planned, and i wont be able to work during it - any sales or donations are hugely appreciated. ; w ;

i'm sorry to ask for help like this, and its only if you are comfortable to do so!!! i can work hard, so i don't mind doing a little extra art to make money, this is just if you feel okay to help out and would like to.

if you read this far, thank you so much - hopefully next time i will return with good news - and maybe a new apartment tour...?

[hot-patootiee]

Another story of people not knowing Steve is bisexual.

Since he asked Eddie to be his boyfriend at a party game night, Eddie took it as a joke and accepted. He made a grand ordeal of it too, jumping on the table and dramatic gestures.

He even declared his true love shall catch him and fell off the table and fell off into Steve who struggled, but did manage to catch him. If Steve fell on the floor doing it, it’s nobody’s business.

Steve is like “omg my first boyfriend!” And since Robin was there, he assumes she knows.

Little does poor Steve know, everyone thought he was joking. Except El because she’s El and Will.

El and Will are both bewildered as to why the boys weren’t being nosy like they expected them too. But, they don’t figure out that nobody else knows either because everyone else is like “Yea, Steve and Eddie are totally Dating”.

El and Will begin to pester Steve because they love him and he’s the first queer relationship they’ve seen. It’s not like anyone else will tell them anything.

Steve absolutely regales them with every date (which Eddie thought were just hang outs) and what a great choice it was to ask Eddie out.

Steve and Eddie get high together one night and Eddie looks so relaxed and cute that he just has to kiss him.

So he does and, of course since Eddie is his boyfriend, Eddie kisses back. They make out that night and curl up together and then fall asleep.

When Steve wakes up, the bed is empty and cold where Eddie was.

He gets up, assuming Eddie just left to get food, but Eddie is pacing in the kitchen.

“Hey, Teddy, What’s wrong?” Steve tries to get close and hug him, but Eddie shrugs him off.

“I can’t do this with you right now. I need some time to think and I think you should leave. I need a break from you.” Eddie tugs at his hair, not nervous, but stressed.

Steve hears ‘break’ and almost starts crying. He sniffles, eyes getting watery, and Steve just lets out a cracked “okay.” Before grabbing his stuff and bolting out of the house.

By the time he gets in the car, he’s in full out tears.

It’s like Nancy all over again! He just knows that Eddie means to break up with him, nobody goes on a ‘break’ other than to soft launch the ‘break up’.

He thought he was such a good boyfriend to Eddie, he went to all his shows, he brought him home cooked meals, and made sure he knew Steve appreciated him. Steve had started listening to metal for him despite his crushing migraines.

Steve barely makes it home through the warping effect of the tears in his eyes.

He calls out of work for the week to mope because Eddie was his first boyfriend and he really saw a future with him.

On the second day, Will overhears Eddie talking about Steve to Robin and how he “couldn’t be around him.” Will immediately puts together Steve’s absence and sudden ‘flu’.

Will runs back to El and they hop on Will’s bike and go to Steve’s.

When they get there, Steve is still red eyed and teary. His pitiful two month relationship was over and he had been crying over losing Eddie.

Will and El immediately harass him into telling them what happened over some ice cream they extracted from the freezer. Steve tactfully leaves out the weed detail, but otherwise sticks to the story.

El is incredibly mad by the end. Stuff has started levitating half an inch and she questions Steve “why would he do that?”

Steve can’t hold it in anymore and just starts crying again.

“I don’t know.” He croaks out.

Will is patting Steve’s back and El is probably planning a murder.

By the time Steve has calmed down, his phone is ringing and it’s the party looking for El and Will. He offers to drive them back, but the kids insist they bike back.

When El comes in, it is evident she has only gotten more enraged over the entire drive home. The second her eyes fall on Eddie, everything starts shaking angrily.

Eddie on the other hand, does not know El very well and is borderline pissing himself at her rage.

Instead of the flying plates and psychic violence, El starts to cry.

“Why would you do that?” El cries out, tears filling her eyes. She begins to sob and Eddie still has no idea what she’s talking about.

“What do you mean?” Eddie looks halfway between trying to calm her and bolting the other direction.

“Why would you do that to Steve? He really likes you!” Her voice cracks and gets strained at some points, it nearly sounds like nails on a chalkboard.

Eddie is completely not ready to discuss his queer make-out sesh with a child in front of the entire party. Luckily, the Wheeler parents were out and not there to hear it.

“He’s your boyfriend! Why would you break up with him like that?” Eddie lets out a soft understanding laugh.

“El, me and Steve aren’t actually dating, that’s just a joke.” Eddie says soothingly.

“He asked you out in-front of everyone! I was there!” El yelled at Eddie, Will finally beginning to approach his angry sister.

“That was a joke!” Eddie laughs out.

“Did Steve know that?” Will finally pipes up and Eddie’s blood goes cold.

“O-of course, he did!” Eddie feebly attempts to justify. His voice was stringy in a way that showed Eddie didn’t believe himself.

Will just shakes his head at Eddie with sad eyes.

“He thinks you guys have been dating for the past 2 months. El and I thought you were dating for the past two months.” Will says slowly, punctuating his every word carefully.

“That’s why he stopped dating, isn’t it?” Robin pipes up, sounding a little hollow at her failure to notice.

Nobody answers her.

Pt 2 if you ask nicely, or meanly I don’t really care.

PART 2 is HERE

[cheftsunoda]

heal your heart—cl16

smau + real life

carlos sainz x !sister singer reader

charles leclerc x sainz reader

catalina sainz has it all— she is a successful grammy award winning artist, her brother is a well known formula 1 driver, she has an amazing family and wonderful friends. she was also blessed with a fiance and a beautiful baby boy.. she had everything.. until she didn't. her fiance disappears and takes her son with him. catalina watches as her world crumbles...who will be there to help pick up the pieces?

fc : kali uchis

—

deuxmoi posted an update!

liked by 2,593,583 people.

deuxmoi : sources report that this blind item is about catalina sainz..yikes..let us know what you think!

—

username : NOOOO MY SHAYLAAAAAA....my poor baby

username1 : she has been so happy since becoming a mother...you can tell that baby is her whole world. he NEEDS to return that baby NEOWWW. i do not play about miss catalina.

username4 : he took the kid too? that is not just a breakup, that’s a custody crisis. hope she has a good lawyer.

username7 : Y’all love gossip until it’s your fave going through it. This is heartbreaking if true.

username14 : This is why you don’t rush into engagements with people who love the spotlight more than you do. He was just using her.

username20 : hey could you like not be a dick rn...this is her family and real life

username20 : hope and pray this isn’t true. she always seemed like such a devoted mom. taking the child? next level cruel.

username15 : okkkk but who is this fiancé? if u r bold enough to cross the Sainz family and take a child, you better lawyer up and hide...

username : the funny thing is... he is not even famous so he would be using her money to hire a lawyer

username15 : mans is TOAST

username24 : carlos' jet just left for japan...and the drivers are not even supposed to be at the track for another 4 days or so..

liked by author

username10 : ohhh shittt

username17 : i know lando is somewhere fuming... that man do not play about the sainz'

—

twitter thread!

f1gossipgirls : THREAD: The Catalina Sainz Situation – What We Know, What We Think We Know, and What Might Happen Next.

Buckle up. This one’s messy. (1/10)

So here’s the deal...rumors broke this week that Catalina Sainz—is dealing with a secret breakup and a custody issue involving her fiancé. Allegedly, he left her and took their son without warning. (2/10)

Who is the fiancé? Not confirmed, but fan detectives say he’s a lowkey entrepreneur Catalina’s been quietly seeing for a couple of years. Private IG. Almost no photos together. Suspiciously absent since March. (3/10)

Sources close to the situation say Catalina came home from a trip to LA for work and found them gone. Just a piece of paper that said he was done...Just—gone. (4/10)

Here’s where it gets interesting... Carlos has reportedly stopped following the fiancé on social media (they used to interact), and fans noticed he looked especially tense during a recent press moment and a fan interaction at the airport. (5/10)

Speaking of the aiport...Fan detectives found that Carlos' jet took off for Japan this morning when the drivers are not due at Suzuka for another 4 days...Catalina is rumored to be hiding out in Japan.

(6/10)

Some speculate Carlos has already hired lawyers to get Catalina’s son back. One tweet claims he’s “mobilizing legal resources across two countries.” If that’s true… this isn’t just messy, it’s international. (7/10)

Another theory? This was brewing for months. Catalina’s last public event appearance was in April—she looked off. No ring. No family. No fiancé. Just a carefully curated smile. Fans clocked it then. (8/10)

And let’s not forget... Carlos and Catalina are both famously private. If this went public, it’s not by his or her choice. Which might mean Catalina needs help—and someone close leaked it to apply pressure. (9/10)

Catalina Sainz may have been blindsided by her fiancé, who allegedly took their son and vanished. Carlos is probably involved behind the scenes. And this story? Just getting started. (10/10)

Stay tuned. We’re watching.

view comments

username : if a man took my kid and disappeared...i would def call my big brother too...esp if it was carlos. imagine trying to hide the kid from the whole f1 community #goodluckbro

username2 :the way Carlos is probably trying to keep this under wraps but has already called every lawyer in Spain, Italy, and the UAE...

username5 : netflix pls scrap dts and make a docuseries on finding baby sainz...

netflix : not a bad idea

username7 : IF Carlos shows up to Japan GP with a baby on his hip and no explanation, I’m gonna lose it. FULL TELENOVELA ENERGY.

username14 : me drafting an international missing persons report and i don’t even know them. i am rather emotionally involved now...CAT IS SO MOTHER SHE NEEDS HER BABY

username20 : need cat to come back with a breakup anthem that shames tf outta this man like...'you took my son i took the house'

usernameee : i cannot with you - bye

—

—

twitter!

f1gossipgirls : F1 announced this morning via Twitter that Carlos Sainz will not be present for Media Day at Suzuka. Williams states that it is due to 'personal issues'.

view comments

usernamee : this man’s sister is in hiding and his nephew is missing and y’all thought he was gonna sit down and chit chat w press??

username1 : 'personal reasons' in this particular situation from carlos means 'i am currently in my liam neeson taken arc...srry yall'

username3 : its giving 'media day is canceled because i am currently tracking someone across international borders.'

username4 : williams better be ready to lie, deflect, and deny all weekend because if a single journalist asks about this, it’s over.

username14 : williams : “It’s personal reasons.” us: kk but does “personal” mean international child recovery operation or revenge-fueled manhunt? just so we’re clear...

username17 : media day being cancelled is fine but if he shows up to FP1 wearing all black and dead silent I will SCREAM.

username21 : cat is hiding in the mountains. carlos is skipping press. williams abs giving us nothing...no longer a paddock—it’s a crime scene

usernameee : IF Carlos speaks at all this weekend, i hope it’s just “he’s been found.” then pure silence.

—

transcript of james vowles speaking to the press.

press : “James, can you comment on Carlos Sainz’s withdrawal from media duties today? There’s been a lot of speculation.”

jv : “Carlos is an incredibly dedicated driver. When he misses something, there’s always a good reason. Out of respect for him, I think it’s best we let him speak on it directly.”

press :

"Will he be completely pulling out of the race this weekend?"

jv :

"I am not sure the answer to that at this time. I will communicate who will be driving as soon as Carlos reaches out again."

press : “Is it true he's left the circuit entirely?”

jv : “Well, I can’t confirm anyone’s location—I’m not in charge of tracking my drivers,” “but I can tell you that williams supports him, whatever the circumstances may be.”

press : “So… is he okay?”

jv : “I think he’s doing what needs to be done. And I’ll leave it at that.”

—

flashback - catalina's home - madrid spain - 7:18 am

I slid gently out of the back seat of the blacked out SUV. I had just returned home to Madrid after being in LA for some work related issues. I gripped at my suitcases as I began to walk towards the front door. I was so excited to be at home. I was beyond tired and just wanted to crawl into bed and hold my son—my pride and joy.

The front door creaked open slower than usual. Maybe I was just tired. Maybe it was just the jet lag getting to me. My suitcase thunked softly against the tile as I dragged it inside. The house was still. Much too still.

No tiny socks by the couch. No squeals of welcome. No welcome home kisses pressed to my cheeks. No low hum of the TV playing in the background.

I tell myself over and over again that this silence is normal. Maybe they are napping- its early. Maybe he took him for a walk- maybe the park. I held onto that maybe with a death grip.

The air felt off...almost stiff...as if the house was even holding its breath.

"Hello?" I called out softly, hoping and praying for response. No answer not even an echo to be heard.

I stepped into the kitchen. The windows were open- he would never leave with the windows open. There was a folded piece of paper left under a mug...the mug he would always pour my tea in. I swallowed- hard.

My chest knew before my brain caught up. I reached for it slowly, my fingers like ice.

One line. Scrawled in that slanted, indifferent handwriting I used to trace on love notes.

“I don’t want this anymore. I don’t want you.”

No signature. No “I’m sorry.” No mention of the child we made together.

The edges of the paper blur. Not from tears. I haven't cried yet. I can’t. I am much too cold all of a sudden.

I fall back allowing the counter to help catch my footing. I suddenly feel my whole body go numb. I reach out and push myself up, not allowing those nine words to make me fall to my feet.

I walk the hallway in a trance and crack open the nursery door. The crib is gone. The rocking chair is gone. Even his little bear nightlight—gone. Like I had never once rocked my baby to sleep in there. Like he never existed.

I don't scream. I don't break. I just stand there, arms limp at my sides, until the silence becomes deafening.

I checked the drawers. Half empty. The wardrobe. Empty. The toy chest absolutely bare. A cold, calculated theft of love. Quiet, surgical.

I drop the note to the floor and wrap my arms around myself as I if I could protect myself from what I just experienced...protect myself from this deafening silence. I knew right then...I had to run. I couldn't live here without my baby— my joy, my reason to keep going. I didn't know where I would go but it didn't matter.

—

I booked the flight under my middle name. No return date, no checked baggage. Just my tote bag with a sweater, a passport and prescription for pills I haven't touched since I got pregnant with my son.

No one stopped me, no one even notices me. Not in the airport, not in the first class lounge, not even the flight attendant who handed me my tea and mistook my silence for sleep. If anyone looks twice, they look away just as fast. That’s the trick—move like you belong, and people won’t ask why your eyes are swollen or your hands won’t stop shaking.

Tokyo is loud, crowded, too alive. I took the first train out of the city.

A stranger on the platform told me about a village outside of Nikko- he called it peaceful and quiet. Said it was the kind of place where 'time forgets about you'. Sounds like that is exactly what I want- to be forgotten.

The train winds through mountains so green they almost look fake. Trees blur past like static. I had earbuds shoved in my ears, a hood covering my head and sunglasses so strangers won't ask why I am crying.

When I finally step off, the station is barely more than a bench and a vending machine. I breathe in silence like medicine.

The lodge is old, wood-framed, smells like steam and pine. The owner is a woman named Yui who speaks no English but offers tea and the softest futon I have ever touched. She doesn’t ask questions. Doesn’t press.

I pay for everything in cash. Leave my phone on airplane mode. No Instagram or twitter. For all I know the public still believes I am in LA living my best life.

Out here, there are no mirrors. No headlines. Just mist and mountains.

Some nights I dream of my son’s laugh—those bubbling giggles when he tried to grab my hair. Other nights, I dream of nothing at all, which hurts more.

It sits in my chest like ice.

—

present time- catalina's lodge - nikko, tochigi - 8:56 am

Did I want to tell Carlos? No. Did I realize he would come looking for me sooner or later anyways? Yes. I needed him more than I realized. The more I cry, the louder the silence gets, the more that knife in my stomach twists even more. I knew that it wasn't long before the press took note of my absence and I wanted to get ahold of Carlos before those rumors did. That's what happens when you have shitty friends who will sell you out for a single dime.

I wasted seven years of my life for a man who just wanted to see me fail, wanted to see me suffer so badly. I made him. I gave him his career. I gave him our child. Any request was instantly granted. And this is what I get? Taking my only piece of joy away from me. I bet you are wondering...Cat...did you see this coming? And the simple answer is no...he never gave any clues to being miserable in this relationship...if anything I was the one who was miserable. However, that is a story for another time.

I haven't done much since arriving here. I sit outside, I cry, I occasionally scroll through my camera roll and listen to my son's laugh. Admire the way he smiles or how his eyes would light up when he looked at me. Every repeat of the video I feel myself become more pained. I haven't eaten, I vomit if I try. Yui brings me tea and snacks every morning attempting to get me to eat. She doesn't understand but she does at the same time.

I snap out of my thoughts as I hear a car pull up. A low rumble, uneven on the gravel road. It cuts through the silence like a thread being pulled taut. I feel my breath catch in my throat. It’s early. Still dark enough for the fog to cling to the edges of the pine trees outside her window. The room creaks around me, old and wooden, smelling of cedar and steam. I stand, but slowly—like my bones don’t trust it’s real. I move to the door barefoot, heart pounding loud enough to shake my core. Almost like I forget the amount of tears I have cried. That my mouth still tastes like tea I didn’t drink. That I have not slept in nearly 36 hours.

The door cracks open and my older brother is stood in front of me- eyes locked on me like I am the only thing left tethering him to the world. I expect him to say something—ask where the baby is, what happened, why I ran—but he just looks at me. And for the first time since it all broke open, I let someone see the full ruin of me.

"You came." I choked out, my voice barely audible.

Carlos doesn't speak. He steps inside and closes the door gently. He pulls me into him with no hesitation, holding me so tight and placing a kiss on the top of my head. I let myself be held. I gripped onto him like I never wanted to let go. I buried my face in his chest and began to sob.

"My baby...my boy." I yelped mid sob as I feel my feet begin to give out. Carlos catches me and helps me over to the futon- still holding me. Never letting me go.

“I know, Cat.” He murmured as he placed a kiss on the top of my head, holding me tighter.

—

I don’t know how long we sat like this— him holding me tight against his chest as if his life depended on it and me silently sobbing into his chest. I feel myself breaking more and more slowly by the minute — the kind of break that is silent and doesn’t make a sound.

When I finally pull away and sit up, my body aches. Like letting go of my safety raft in a body of deep, deep water. I don’t look at him right away— just wrap my arms around myself staring down at the floor.

He doesn’t say anything— he just waits. Then I hear him take a deep exhale.

“I didn’t know who else to call,” I say, and the words come out like an apology. I don’t know why—I didn’t do anything wrong. Except maybe I did.

“You should’ve called me sooner.” He states, not angry, just more of a disappointed tone.

I flinch. “I was ashamed, Carlos.”

There’s a pause.

“Why?”

I let out this stupid, dry laugh. “Because I let him do it. I didn’t fight back. I didn’t even know we were in a fight.”

I glance up at him, then down again, voice thinner now. “I was in LA for four days, Carlos. Just four. Meetings. A shoot. When I got back… everything was gone. The toys. The crib. His clothes. Mine. The drawers were empty. The house was clean. Too clean. Like he planned it.”

Carlos stays silent, but his jaw is tight. I see a muscle twitch in his cheek.

“He left a note,” I whisper. “Just one line. ‘I don’t want this anymore. I don’t want you.’ No word about my son. No ‘I am sorry.’ Nothing. Just left.”

I press the heels of my hands into my eyes, trying to stop the sting that creeps up again. “I didn’t know someone could hate you that quietly.”

Carlos’s voice is low and dangerous. “Where is he?”

I shake my head. “I don’t know. I’ve called. Messaged. Emailed. Nothing. I even tried his parents. They won’t answer. They’re pretending I don’t exist. Like I lost custody or something, except—we were never married. There was never custody to lose.”

He mumbles various swear words in Spanish under his breath. Quiet and sharp.

Then, with a frightening amount of calm, “Alright, then I’ll find him.”

I blink up at him. “Carlos, you can’t.”

“I will.” His tone leaves no room for debate.

“You have a race in literally 3 days.”

“I don’t care.”

“You do care, Carlos.” I stated and rubbed my temples. “Your whole career—“

“This is more important.”

“You sound like Papá.” I muttered with half a smile.

He doesn’t smile back. His eyes are too full of something heavier. He looks…lethal.

“Good.”

And then, softer and almost gentle.

“You’re not alone, Cat. You never were. You didn’t lose him. We’re going to get him back. I swear to you.”

Something in my chest splinters. Not in a painful way—just in that awful, aching way that comes when someone offers you hope after you’ve already convinced yourself you don’t deserve it.

“I don’t know where to start,” I whisper. “I’ve looked everywhere. Checked his bank. Nothing. No charges. No flight. It’s like he vanished.”

Carlos leans forward, takes my hand. His grip is solid. Warm. “He didn’t vanish. People don’t vanish. They hide. And hiding leaves a trail.”

He says it like someone who’s spent a lifetime studying the details no one else sees. Racing lines. Different curves in every single track he’d ever raced. Tire degradation. Now— my ex.

I close my eyes. Let the silence settle around us again. The wind brushes the paper screens, and somewhere outside, a crow calls once, sharply.

“I was afraid if I told you, it would make it real,” I admit.

He doesn’t let go of my hand. “Mi Cariño, It’s already real. But now it’s not yours to carry alone.”

For the first time in days, I believe that might be true.

I let out a shaky breath, and for a moment, we just sit there. Two siblings in a borrowed room, far from everything we know, quietly starting to piece together a way back.

—

this will be a little mini series - probably 3 or 4 parts. i genuinely cried while writing this... i feel like it is some of my strongest writing. let me know what you all think so far!

tag : @klauslovemepls @omgsuperstarg @msliz @samanthaofanarchy , @mayax2o07 @goldenstrawberryx , @hannahmotors10 @alireads27 , @1800-love-me , @htpssgavi @cmgmikealson , @babygirl-4986 , @star73807-blog , @glow-ish , @just-tingz-virgo , @majapapaya4 @lina505 , @hc-dutch , @lost4lyrics , @angelluv16 @dilflover44

[kianamaiart]

Growing an audience takes time and getting people to care about your characters can often take more time. I've done a bunch of OCs in the past but none of them really got traction until my IDWTBAMG OCs. I steadily grew my social media following for well over a decade. A lot of checking socialblade, looking at analytics and generally drawing/posting everyday. I have a whole doc available about this type of stuff.

There's no particular shortcut other than happening to go viral or getting really lucky. But I will say "branding" or carving out a niche for yourself over time helps. Although I've been in a number of different fandoms over the past 15 years I've been on the internet, the kind of art I do has been pretty consistent. Lots of shorter, light hearted comics or vignettes highlighting relationships (be them romantic, platonic or familial) and people started enjoying my work for my writing style more so than just what fandom I was creating for.

Finding your community, creating stuff that aligns with those communities and engaging with others is huge. A lot of my work prior to IDWTBAMG centered queer people (specifically sapphics), Black and Asian folks and stylistically is very anime/modern western cartoon inspired. It's what became known for in fandom spaces and what people were following me for. So when I finally did make IDWTBAMG, a concept with anime influences, in a western cartoon style, with two Black, sapphic leads, it just fit right into what I was already doing. Like if you grew your following from doing cute, slice of life stuff, then suddenly dropped a psychological horror comic, chances are it's not gonna grab a large part of your audience. Might bring some new folks in, but you're ultimately kinda starting over and pivoting (that's why rebrands are hard to pull off). This may not be the best example but hopefully you get what I mean. Appeal to the communities you've fostered!

I hate using corporate speak for art but if you ARE trying sell your ideas to people and get your work out there, you do kinda have to learn how to market yourself and your art to some extent. Get in the head of a marketing agent or a brand manager. What's popular right now? How can I use that to my advantage? What times should I be posting my artwork to get the most eyes on this? Who is my target audience and how do I effectively appeal to them while staying true to my own work? Stuff like that. Genuinely, studying how social media managers operate as well as just observing how businesses market their products helped me a lot. "Okay I'm making this animatic, but it won't come out for the next four months. How do I keep people interested and hyped for that amount of time leading up to the pilot's release? I'll keep doing comics here and there so people connect with the characters by the time the pilot comes out. Once I get he VAs recorded, I'll make posts to get people hyped for the casting. I'll upload snippets and behind the scenes stuff to give people a taste of what's to come. I'll release during Black History Month since this is a Black led project with Black characters. I'll have a specific upload time at peak hours to get a good amount of people watching for the premiere and to give the pilot a good running start." This was all stuff I was taking into consideration and planning for.

Then generally, I think people connect to characters more than anything. You can have a cool concept and fun world building ideas but if your execution is bad and your characters aren't compelling, what's the point, y'know? IDWTBAMG isn't a particularly novel concept imo, but I think its strengths lie in the characters and how they interact. The concept is just a tool to give the character dynamics and relationships legs to stand on. So few of the comics I've done with these guys have to do with their lore, it's just small interactions of the girls in class, at a convenience store or just talking to each other in a void. Even though it's simple, that's often the kind of thing people connect with.

Then there's just the technical aspect of having appealing drawing! Getting better at your craft, if nothing else, is good for catching eyes and helping with your execution of your project. While it's not always necessary, I think it helps a lot. I know there's a lot of people who follow me just because they personally like my art style and character design.

Not sure how helpful this actually is LOL. It really does just kinda take time. We all have to start somewhere. I was a "small artist" too at one point. It was years of trial and error, mental breakdowns, finding my own artistic voice and posting artwork almost daily for like 5 years straight. I do think that's why IDWTBAMG ended up being so special to me. It really does feel like a culmination of everything I've learned and all that hard work up to this point and people can kinda feel that.

[websterss]

THE WOES OF BOWTIES AND MISSING PUZZLE PIECES — ROBERT REYNOLDS

REQUEST: reemoony asked: loveeee your writing and I hope this request reach you. Can you make Bob and y/n are liking each other but they never say it but everyone is well aware of their feelings. One day Bob having a rough day and void jumps out, creating quite a chaos. She tries to talk him through it but void being void thinking she’s a liability for them, he “consumed” her. Few moments after that he turns back into Bob & other people came back from void but not her. Angsty angsty but with happy ending please. Sorry if this complicated, just change it into what you feel right and easier.

WARNING(S): SPOILERS?? me trauma dumping on page 24 for the plot (google doc verified) ANGST AND MORE ANGST, mentions of toxic relationship, someone dies, Bob needs a hug, and a kiss, and lots of reassurance, and probably therapy, happy ending I swear!! I don’t know what I was thinking when I wrote this one, folks. I hope I hit everything, this should've been two parts lmfao. I am not responsible for your therapy bills.

WORD COUNT: 18,593 (don't kill me I was on the roll)

PAIRING: Robert Reynolds (Sentry/The Void) x fem!reader

A/N: I hope you enjoy it! :) Feedback is always welcome! I was truly second-guessing posting this. I’m starting to feel like I don’t have the writing means to handle Bob with such care like some of y'all do.😭 but here we are. This took me a week y’all, ya girls tired <3

MASTERLIST

The evening had come around the corner faster than Bob could grasp. Alexei was making last-minute calls to use their time wisely so that they might show up to the event at a cordial time. He would have if he could get his hair to cooperate with him.

"Knock. Knock." Yelena announces, tapping on Bob's ajar door. He stands in front of the floor-length mirror in the corner of his room. His black tie attire contrasts with the baggy, loose-fitting hoodie and sweats he wears around the place. The fitted tux does nothing to hide his trained physique.

Yelena exclaims with earnestness. "Wow! Look at you!" She's whistling for effect. Impressed by how well he cleaned up. "Do I smell cologne on you, sir?" Her smile grows.

He stood straight, his eyes widening in the mirror as he turned to face her. His gaze softened, taking in her all dolled up and out of her usual tactical gear. The green was different from the black she wore. He thought then and there that she should wear more colorful outfits. He nods once, dipping his chin to nuzzle his nose into the collar. He inhales deeply.

"It's the one you gifted me for my birthday…Thought I’d give it a try…Thanks…You're not so bad yourself. You...You look beautiful." He smiles sheepishly as he spares her another once-over, bashful.

Yelena grins, thoroughly pleased to hear Bob’s compliment. In the best of ways, it was pleasant to have her efforts noticed.

“Why, thank you,” She responds with genuine gratitude. She spins in place, the skirt of her emerald green dress flowing flawlessly with the motion. She sits on the edge of the bed, flopping down, grabbing one of Bob’s pillows to hold onto. “You look good in a suit, bud. Almost ready?"

"Yeah...Yeah, just need to finish up with my hair. That's all. It’s not...responding well to the hairspray you lent me, though." He pulls at a strand. Bob’s hair was relatively problematic. No order, flow, or movement that made sense to the careful eye.

Bob turns back to the mirror. Messing up his hair, parting it to the left, before parting it to the right, trying to maintain its order, but he’s made no progress, thus far.

She smirks, amused by his struggle. "Ah, the woes of getting ready. I should have given you gel; it works miracles better than that stuff. Why don’t I take a look, huh? Maybe I can offer my expertise. We do share the same hairstyle, after all." She rises from the bed, approaches him, and notes the tousled locks that stick out at various angles.

“I don’t wanna take up more of your time…”

“Nonsense.” She motions for him to come here to begin her work. "So….trying to impress anyone?"

Bob glances down at her before focusing back on himself. He tilts his head, feeling the way the suit hugs him. The jacket stops at his waist, not swallowing him whole like his hoodies, which secure him like a blanket. Everything fits justly. He feels exposed. Yelena pauses her movements, watching the uncertainty take over his frown, as though he’s weighing something significant. The tension is all in his shoulders.

"No...not really…Just–trying to make myself look the part." His response was vague, not giving away the reason for his meticulous grooming.

Yelena quirks an eyebrow. She’s perceptive. Nothing gets past her, especially when it comes to her teammates. She hums as she moves behind him, scrutinizing his hair from a new angle. "Really? Just trying to look the part?" She questions, her tone filled with skepticism. She playfully runs her fingers through his hair, testing its resistant nature. "So, you're not trying to impress a special someone? Not even the pretty lady getting ready across the hall from us?"

Bob pauses momentarily, caught off guard by her direct assumption. He turns his head towards her, a slight flush appearing on his cheeks. He can't completely mask his surprise at her astute comment.

"N-No." He shakes his head a bit too quickly.

Yelena smirks, her keen insight confirmed. She can see right through Bob's attempts at nonchalance. His sudden denial made it even more apparent that he was trying to hide his infatuation. There was no hiding behind it though. They all knew.

She steps closer to him, her gaze never wavering. "So you got all dressed up and started messing with your hair for an hour, just for the sake of looking the part?" Yelena cocks her head slightly to one side.

"Yes." He nods his head stubbornly. "Just trying to look the part..." He swallows nervously before he fixes his attention back to his appearance.

Yelena lets out a faint laugh at his repeated insistence. Her eyes narrow playfully; she ruffles spots of hair here and there. She moves over to the other side of him before continuing her touch-ups. "Y'know, Bob..." She starts, her voice low and light. "You're not a very good liar." She places a hand gently on his shoulder, leaning in slightly. “I’ve thought you better than that, sir.”

"I'm sorry…" Bob releases a sigh.

Yelena continues to fiddle with his hair from the new angle. Her touch is gentle. "S’alright… You try to hide it, she tries to hide it. You both are not very good at this thing. But we all see the way you look at each other." She speaks with a soft but knowing tone. As if she's been patiently waiting for him to acknowledge his feelings. "You see her like she’s the quiet that fills the void inside you, all the noise goes out and she’s there, bringing you that peace, and she sees you like you’re the sunrise she’s always been eager to see after she’s been living in the dark her whole life."

Bob laughs, the sound nervous, mixed in with a scoff. He's in denial. "I…I don't know what you're talking about."

Yelena chuckles at this, her smirk growing. "Oh, come on, Bob." She moves around him again, standing before him, her eyes meeting his gaze pointedly. "You think we haven't noticed how your eyes light up whenever she enters a room? She stumbles over her words when you ask her a simple question. Your gross motor skills somehow fail you when you see the tiniest hint of her smile? And she spews weird little facts that no one can make sense of." She shakes her head slightly, amused. "You're in love, as is she, and we can all see it. Last week, you fumbled a book when she spoke to you in the kitchen."

"I slipped..." Bob looked down, shrugging his shoulders, feigning indifference to your past interactions.

"You were sitting down. The book was closed."

Bob begins to teeter back and forth to try to calm himself. "Are…Are you done?" He meets her gaze through the glass. His eyes flitted up to his now messily but organized hairdo. His eyes crinkle at the sight. "It looks the same."

Yelena chuckled, her eyes gleaming. His words felt like a cover, a desperate attempt to deflect from the truth. She playfully patted his shoulder before moving closer, standing directly behind him again. She perched her chin on his shoulder. "You shouldn't fuss so much, you look great. As for your unruly hair, I only messed with it a tiny bit." Yelena pinched her fingers. "Figured some part of yourself should remain true tonight..." Yelena reached up to tousle it for show. "Also, I have it on good authority that a certain birdy has told me she likes it when it resembles a bird's nest." He doesn't miss her wink through the glass.

He still can't help but release his doubts to the widow. The way his self-esteem remains low. “I don’t feel great, Yelena. This…This isn’t me. This suit, my hair, and the nice shoes. It feels like I’m putting on a mask.”

"Bob, listen to me," She says, squeezing his shoulder. "I know it might feel weird. It is a bit weird. You're wearing a fancy suit with your hair slightly combed and shoes that aren't sneakers." She lets out a faint laugh. "But you're not hiding yourself away. Putting yourself into a box approved by Valentina." Yelena gently turns him around to face her. "You're just allowing yourself to be seen in a different light.” She squeezes his shoulder again, reassuringly. "You deserve to feel great about yourself."

"I feel good in sweatpants." 

Yelena laughs heartedly this time; she loves how adamant he can be. "We all do." She gives him a light, playful nudge. "But that's not going to fly tonight. You're going to wear the suit, you're going to go out with your friends, have a great time, all while looking good." She grins, her tone light.

"I don't feel good though..."

Yelena senses his unease. She meets his gaze again, her expression serious yet compassionate. "You are incredibly good looking, Bob. You're just not used to feeling that way, seeing yourself in that way. We've all had these moments. Hell, I've had my share," She admitted, her smile briefly fading. She quickly catches herself and tries to uplift the mood again. "It's just one party. How bad can it be?" She nudges him again, this time laying a playful punch to his chest. "Just this once, humor me. Let yourself experience something out of your normal routine." She reaches up to fix a strand playing stubborn. "Also, the little birdie has told me she loves the sight of a man in a crisp suit, too." She nudges him twice with her elbow.

"Okay." He laughs at her incredulous antics and light teasing. A beat passes before his brow furrows. "We have a bird?"

Yelena bursts into laughter at his question. "Oh my god- No." She grabs him on the arm to ground herself. Her voice filled with mirth. “Bob, no. We...We don't have a bird." She shakes her hands and head. "It's just a figure of speech. It means I have inside information. It's- Oh Bob." Yelena's shoulders slump in defeat. Bob offers a timid grin before he laughs lightly with her, finally understanding what she meant.

"Oh right...Y/n’s the bird. I-I get it now." Bob rocks back and forth with a solid nod.

Yelena playfully rolls her eyes but can't help but smile at Bob's delayed reaction. "Yes, she's the bird.”

Bob glances back at his reflection, still weighing his options. "Is it too late to change into my robe?"

Yelena chuckles at his attempt to escape the situation. “Well, you certainly can’t show up to a gala in pajamas. Sorry, buddy. No PJs tonight. You're stuck in the suit until the party's over." She grins at him, her tone playful but filled with determination. "And I'm also eighty-eight percent sure Valentina will kill you if you set foot into the venue looking like you just rolled out of bed, so the tux stays on."

“It wouldn’t be the first time…” He avoids her gaze, his cheeks still dusted with a slight tint, a mixture of embarrassment and reluctance. A bit of his inner turmoil was still cracking through the surface. "I… I should stay home tonight."

Yelena's eyes soften once more as he suggests excluding himself from the event tonight. "No, no. You're going, Bob. Don't even think about backing out now." She steps closer to him, her gaze steady and firm. "You look great! Listen to me; we want you to get out of your robes and that blue sweater you always wear. Take you out for once since you're always here at the tower. Bob, surely you wouldn't want to miss the chance to see how stunning Y/n looks in her evening gown, would you? Gorgeous." She emphasizes.

Bob falls quiet for a moment, contemplating her words. His mind drifts, picturing how you might look all dressed up. Your hair done all nice, maybe some jewelry, nothing too flashy, since you preferred decorating your fingers and ears with simplistic pieces. He can't help but wonder what color might adorn your perfect smile. Red, maybe orange, perhaps that color you told him was called mauve, with your lips lined.

I...I bet you look pretty. He thinks.

Yelena grins, her eyes glinting with satisfaction. She can see the thought of you in his mind, the vivid image of you dressed to the nines igniting a spark in his expression. She catches his brief moment of daydreaming before he catches himself, his gaze snapping away from the pillow to meet hers. 

"Bob..." Yelena's voice edges amused.

"I just..." Bob starts, then lets out a frustrated exhale. "I'm not really... I'm not the party type, you know. I always stayed indoors growing up. I never went out much. I never had this. Friends who wanted to be around me. This gala is far from my normal routine. I don’t think letting me go out so soon would be a good idea. It’s been a year. You guys said it yourself, you don't want to risk Void getting out again. You...You guys would be better off going without me. I can stay behind…I don’t mind."

She understands that he harbors doubts and fears about his place among them.

"Bob..." Yelena tilts her head, staring at him pointedly, her voice gentle yet firm. "We aren't keeping you locked up to contain 'Void'. It's not about that. Not anymore." She reaches up to place a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "You're not a ticking time bomb, you never have been. We want you there with us. Even Y/n, alright? If it puts your mind at ease, even for just one second. She was the one who suggested we bring you along with us. Not because we feel it’s our obligation, and no one can watch you. But because we genuinely want to see you out of this place, cleaned up! We don't want to see you holed up in this tower forever, okay?"

Bob's heart skips at the mention of you wanting him there, too. He fidgets momentarily, avoiding eye contact by looking down at his shoes. The polished shine on them reminded him that he could have these things now. The privilege of owning nice things.

Nice things never last long. In his life at least.

“Okay…” His mind whirls with the never-ending feeling of being a bother and a burden. He's hesitant, torn between his desire to attend and his habitual tendency to keep to himself. He bites his lip, the urge to decline the invitation was tempting against the subtle want of not wanting to be stuck at the tower…alone. "I just..." His hands lingers over his naked collar. 

Her voice is gentle with a hint of encouragement. “You what, Bob?” She waits for him to verbalize his concerns; she’s patient.

"No...It's stupid." He brushes it off with a laugh.

"No, say it!" She encourages.

"No. I should stay home-"

"Bob, tell me." Yelena dipped her head to meet his eyes. He gives in after a moment. 

"...I don't know how to put a tie on." He laments, lamely gesturing to the fabric he had tossed on his bed moments earlier, having given up on trying to do it himself. His father was absent from teaching him how to put one one. He never did get to bond over a silly thing, such as a tie with him. The rite of passage, or whatever they call it. The transition into becoming a man, knowing how to tie one yourself.

Yelena chuckles softly at his confession, her amusement tinged with empathy. Her eyes flicker towards the abandoned tie on the bed.

"Oh, Bob..." She gently pats his shoulder this time. "Don't worry; we can sort it out, alright." She takes his hand and guides him to sit on the edge of the bed. She picks up the tie, draping it around his neck. "You know... You could have just asked me." She says gently, wrapping the tie around his neck.

"You already helped with my hair." He shakes his head.

Yelena playfully rolls her eyes at his stubbornness, carefully ensuring one end is slightly longer. This difference would account for the tie’s eventual knot later. Yelena crossed the longer end over the shorter one, then pulled it under the shorter end and through the loop around Bob's neck. She continued folding the shorter end at the widest part to create a bow shape.

"Yes, but that's no excuse. You could have asked. Nothing wrong with asking for more help." With the bow shape firmly in place, she brought the longer end directly over it. Pinching the bow shape and the longer end together, carefully threading the longer end through a loop she had opened in the back of the bow. She then pulled both ends to tighten them in place.

"See? Sorted out." She pats his chest, stepping back to look over her handiwork and adjusting the fabric until she is satisfied with how it sits at his neck.

"Thanks...I was never taught how." Bob trails off, not wanting to bring forth thoughts of his father. They were never pleasant.

She notices the hint of melancholy in his voice upon mentioning not being able to put on a tie, but she chooses to move past it, not wanting to dampen the moment. Instead, she pats his chest once more, grinning. "Don't worry, Alexei doesn’t either." She winks at him once more. 

He nods out of curiosity before he even registers what he's asking. "Does…Does Y/n know how to tie a tie?"

Yelena raises her eyebrow at his question. She tries to hide a smirk, realizing where his mind is currently at. "Hmm...You know, I'm not entirely sure. But..." She pauses, enjoying the moment. "If I had to guess, I'd bet she would. She's got an endless amount of skills hidden beneath the surface. Surely tying ties is a secret she has, wouldn’t hurt to ask her about it."

"I-I wouldn't put it past her…She's great at everything." His admiration was not lost on her.

"That she is..." Yelena smirks. “You should tell her you know. That you’re in love with her.” She nudges his foot with her heel.

He wrings his hands together, leaning onto his elbows placed on his knees. As tempting as it sounds, he wouldn't be able to gain the confidence to execute it. Confessing to you how he felt. The feelings he harbored. "No…It’s better this way. If I keep it to myself."

Yelena's expression softens at his reluctance. She sits next to him, considering his words. "Bob, listen to me. Life…it’s too short to keep something like that to yourself. I've seen you around her, the way your worries fade. That sense of security that she brings you. That you bring to her. It’s all in the risk worth taking." Yelena continues, choosing her words with care. "Don't let fear keep you from telling her how you feel. You'll never know what might happen if you don’t take that chance."

He meets her gaze. His locks falling over his eyes, hiding him. "What if I mess it all up?”

“I don’t think you could.” 

“And if I do…I don’t want to hurt Y/n.”

“Relationships get messy, Bob, it’s part of growing together. Do you think we’d be here today, as the new avengers if we continued to butt heads every time?”

“No…”

“You have nothing to lose.” Yelena encourages. “Trust me. Just be yourself. Tell her how you feel, and before it’s too late, alright.”

“I'll think about it…" Bob stands up as Alexei's voice rings out from the hall, indicating it was time to head out. With a sigh, Bob steps out of the door frame, ready to face whatever the evening has in store.

-

Bob had a completely different idea about how the night would go. Surely, there would have been busybodies intrigued by his presence and would approach him. Possibly ask him about his powers, his involvement, and what he brought to the table, but that was not the case as he continued to stand in the corner of the venue. Alone. His hands were messing with his cuff links to help pass the time. He raised his hand occasionally, sparing a timid greeting to the passersby who gave him a side eye. He wasn’t aware how much of a wallflower he was being, but he was nonetheless immune to the judgeful stares. He might've guessed that his longing gaze also made people whisper and gesture towards him. The fact that he was staring in one particular direction caught everyone’s curiosity. 

He was looking at you, mingling and laughing with people he didn’t know. He couldn’t stop staring at you since you met the group in the living room. Yelena wasn’t lying when she said you looked gorgeous.

It felt like time itself stopped and nothing else moved, nor mattered, except you. Walker didn’t fight the shit eating grin on his face when he heard Bob’s sharp intake. The kid was so far gone that he had to nudge the man after you had complimented his appearance. 

“And here I thought you were reluctant to go out with us. You look good.” Your sweet grin was making him visibly malfunction. You gave a nervous laugh, looking down as the minutes passed without him saying anything. Heat warms your cheeks. “Did I say something wrong?” Your eyes crinkle with embarrassment. 

“No, he–“

“–Oh!” Bob stumbles to the right from Walker’s nudge. “T-Thank you! You don’t look nice- No you do! You look nice…I meant to say you look nice. You’re beautiful…You look beautiful!” Bob grows flustered. “T-Thank you.” 

“Geezus.” Walker scoffed, walking away from you both. 

“You know you can take your eyes off her for a second, right? She’ll still be there, I promise.” Bucky comes up to him from his peripheral vision. Bob’s face flushed with embarrassment, having been caught. He dips his chin before he locks eyes with the soldier. “Here.” He offers a rounded glass—a golden liquid swirling in its confinement. 

“Thanks…” He carefully encircles his hand around the glass and takes a sip. A loud cough erupts from his chest, making him lean over. Bucky chuckles briefly before helping him back upright and patting his chest. 

“Scotch on the rocks. Thought you could use some liquid courage. Get some hair on your chest.” Bucky pulls away. Bob watches as the man’s eyes avert, inspecting the room. He blended in well, unlike himself. No one looks twice at Bucky. No one suspects him of anything bad. 

“F-For what?” Bob cleared his throat, trying to get over the burn. 

“You’re gonna ask her to dance.” Bucky declares.

“I’m…I’m what?” Bob whips his head to peer at him. Then, back to you, you hit a man with your hand across his chest, throwing your head back. How could he ask you to dance when you looked to have been having a swell time across the room?

“Gentlemen…What are we talking about over here?” Walker chimes over. A hand in his pocket, a rounded glass tucked into his palm, faced down. 

“I told Bob here to go ask Y/n to dance.” 

“No wait- I wasn’t-“ He protests. 

“Ha– That I want to see. Do you even know how to dance? Can you dance?”

“Well, no… I can do the Charlie Brown in the cha-cha slide though…” 

“You don’t say…” Walker closes his mouth. He shakes his head at Bob’s enthusiastic confirmation. “Maybe teach the kid a step…or two.” Walker lifts his drink to his lips. Bucky pats Bob comfortably against his back, his chin face down, embarrassed that he admitted his lack of dance skills. “Before he asks her.”

“I should’ve stayed home…” Bob muttered to himself. 

“No you shouldn’t have. You just need a wingman.”

“A wingman?” Bob’s brows crease. 

“Yeah, someone who can help you get the girl. That gives you advice on how to look good in front of her.” Bucky's words cause Bob to look down at himself.

“What more could I do to look okay? Y-Yelena already helped me do my hair and tie.” 

“This will have nothing to do with your appearance. You already got the face and the build, kid, don’t worry about that. I just meant more of teaching you how to hold yourself confidently and how you speak to a woman.” 

“But Yelena told me to just be my-“

“Forget everything Yelena has told you. Let us help you, alright.” Walker butts in. Bob wrings his hands, he wasn’t too sure about the whole ordeal. Yelena told him to take the chance, to tell you how he felt before it was too late, to be himself, because that’s who you were drawn to. Now the guys were telling him he had to work on himself, on their way to giving him tips on how to bring out his confidence, it didn’t make sense. 

“I don’t know…I wanted to do it on my own terms. N-Not right now…She’s busy.” 

“She’s networking.” 

“I don’t want to pull her away to tell her how I feel…” The idea felt selfish. He didn’t want to be the one to tamper your fun night.

“Trust me, kid. You’d be doing her a favor. She’s miserable.” Bob turns, inspecting your joyous body language. If your discontent looked like you were happy, then so was he. 

“Maybe we should wait-“

“Oh.” Walker draws their attention. Bob turns to him before looking back at you. “Trouble in paradise.” Walker quips, gesturing to the new fellow that caught their attention. Your smile disappears when you turn around to face the hand that tapped your shoulder. 

“Who’s that?” Bob glances back at the troubled expression of his teammates. He rocks back and forth on his heels. Nervously waiting to know of the man, who brought you displeasure from what he could tell. He watches you shake your head no, turning and walking away from him and the group you mingled with. An unsettling torment rumbles in his chest, when the guy grabs your upper forearm, halting your retreat. 

You quickly turn your head around; a quiet disagreement begins. A few other guests glance over at you both.

"Sadly that is Y/n's former partner. His name is Ryker Stride.” Bucky reveals the information about your ex-boyfriend that you failed to talk about. To him at least.

"I had no idea she was with someone…" Despite the fact that he didn't look like your ex, Bob couldn't help but let his wandering thoughts get the better of him. He felt insignificant compared to how Ryker held himself.

“They weren’t together for long, they hit month six before she ended things with him.” 

“Is it ‘cause he’s an asshole?” He didn’t like the way he grabbed you. You pulled your hand back, before you walked away, Turning a corner out of sight. 

“Unfortunately.” Bucky sighed. Walker watched the scene unfold, before an idea struck him. 

“Go save her.” Walker urges, noticing Ryker following after you. 

“What?”

“I didn’t stutter. Go!” Walker nudged him a few steps forward, but Bob only shakes his head. 

“I-I don’t think it's a good idea…Walker, Yelena told me to not get into trouble before she left me here. I-“

“Oh my god! It’s not like you’re gonna kill the dude, you're just gonna follow them, make sure she’s okay. And if he so much lays a hand on her, then you slightly intervene, use a bit of that strength of yours to show him you don’t mess around when it comes to her. It’s completely harmless dominance. Show how much of a gentleman you are. Trust me, she’ll be kissing you by midnight, you’ll thank me later. Promise.“ Walker steps up to him, pats him on the chest. 

“I don’t know…I think we should get Yelena. Get her opinion on this.” He reels into himself, not believing he could carry it all out. He was a gentleman, he thought so, so did Yelena and you, why would possibly getting a man’s hands off you further highlight the fact he’d never do such a thing as lay a hand on a woman. It felt risky…but was this the risk Yelena encouraged him to take things with you further?

“I think it could work.” Now Bucky, mauled it over. 

“I don’t want to hurt anyone. It’s risky…” Bob kept insisting.

“No. It’s not. You should go save her.” Walker persisted. “This is your chance and you’re seriously not gonna take it?” He scoffs. “If you’re not gonna do it, then I will. The guy’s a prick anyway.”

Bob couldn’t believe what he was hearing. First, the guys suggested he should ask you to dance, and now they want him to barge in like some knight in shining armor? Did they seriously expect him to just waltz over to you, interrupt your conversation with your ex, and play the hero? But what really caught him off guard was the fact that he actually considered it. Sure, he didn't think much of your ex when he saw his hand on you, but to intervene?

Walker and Bucky continue to implore him, emphasizing the importance of this moment. Telling him to man up. He knew this was the opportunity to act, but as usual, his nerves get a hold of him. With a hesitant look at the super soldiers, he nods once and moves with small steps in the direction he saw you go.

-

Bob felt nervous when he came to a stop around the corner. Your anger evident with every grit of your teeth. It was daunting to see you so worked up. His brows furrow as he saw Ryker hold you in the exact same position.

You wished you hadn’t walked away from the crowd. Crowds kept you safe, they granted you witnesses if something were to happen to you. Much like so. 

"Let go." You grit your teeth at the man preventing your exit.

"Let's talk about this-"

"There's nothing to talk about. I gave you your answer. I ended things with you for this exact reason. Your aggressive, abusive, and right now a real pain in my ass. If you can't be a grown-up about it, that's a personal issue. Not mine. Let go." Your voice lowers, firm in your conviction. 

“No come on, give me a chance to explain myself. I told you I was going to work on myself-”

"Ryker if you don't take your goddamn hand off me so help me-"

Bob was torn from the sidelines. He understood it wasn’t his place to interfere, but his heart began to beat faster as the conversation between you and your ex grew more heated. He clenched and unclenched his hands, taking a few steps towards the altercation. He had to say something, but he also didn’t have a clue how to approach.

"She...She said let her go." A dark, low rumble emits behind you. The rasp in Bob's voice usually sent a tingling sensation down your spine, but upon seeing how intensely he glared at your ex, and the way his shoulders curled in around himself. It did nothing but give you goosebumps. Bob's gaze settled on his hand, the one currently leaving impressions of his fingers on your skin. Your gaze stays on him as you catch a flicker of amber in his eyes. No. 

"She said, let go." Bob’s gestures with a pointed finger. A nervous laugh emits past his lips. It does nothing to ease the tension.

Ryker's hold on you tightens at Bob's words. The defiance in the man's demeanor only fueled his determination to maintain his grip. "Mind your business, freak. This doesn't concern you."

Your heart hammers as Bob’s eyes go full gold. “She said let go…”

You turn back to the stubborn fool with cogs and nuts for brains. "Ryker, let go of me now." You push against his hand, which doesn't let up at all. "Terco! Suéltame!" You curse at him. "You have a death wish. Surely, that’s the case!" You feign sudden revelation to his unrelenting grip. You shove against his chest, before looking back at Bob, exclaiming frantically. "Bob, I'm fine. Go find Yelena!"

"He's bruising you..." His gaze was unmoving from Ryker's grip. “He shouldn’t be hurting you.”

Bob steps to move closer, but your desperate attempt to keep him away from the impending situation stops him in place. His gaze flicks rapidly between Ryker’s tight hand on you and the sight of your growing distress.

"Bob, it's fine!" You curse under your breath, as you try to hide the pain you begin feeling, etching your features. "Ryker!" A disheartened chuckle slips past your lips, but it's not joyous. Bob didn't misplace your whine. "You're drunk, go home. You're making things worse-"

Ryker's grip on you persisted, his drunken state only fueling his stubbornness even more so. He ignored your attempt to diffuse the situation; a scoff left him. "The only one making things worse is this pri—" His words were slurred and then interrupted. Bob stuck a hand out before Ryker's grip lifted off of you, and then he flew towards Bob. 

Bob didn't hesitate to grip the intoxicated man's neck.

"You were saying?" Bob's raspy growl was not missed.

Ryker croaks, his airway being cut off by Bob's hand around his throat. He tries to form words, but only a strangled gasp leaves him.

"Bob..." You step closer to them. His cerulean eyes meet yours, and a speck of hope fills you, thinking he's not far from being helped. "Bob, can we talk about this?"

His grip doesn't loosen on the guy. Bob's eyes are locked onto yours for a split second before returning to Ryker, the grip on his neck more harsh than what is necessary. His demeanor had changed; his usually soft-spoken words and timidness were gone. He stands straight, shoulders squared. A subtle but commanding aura emanated from him. He was losing an eternal fight that the eye couldn't see, but you saw the signs. His lack of empathy, dissolving, a rugged exterior slamming down like a shutdown protocol. You didn't like the man who wanted to take over.

"Bob?" Your heels click softly with each approaching step. "Listen I know Ryker's a piece of shit okay. It's why I broke up with him..." You put your hands out to show him you mean no harm. "I thought I wanted him gone at one point in my life too, but contemplating about the asshole in such a way didn't feel worth it anymore." Ryker pays you a glare. "Bob, he doesn't deserve one second of your time." Bob clenches his jaw as he peers down at your darkened marks. He twitches as he tries to think through his inner turmoil.

"No, no. He shouldn't have hurt you. He put his hands on you." Bob's voice cracks. "I don't like it when people hurt you..."

"Yeah, well, people do stupid things when they're drunk. He's an idiot." You give Bob a pained smile. "I'm fine. Nothing serious." He still had Ryker in his grip. The man was turning red.

"He-He deserves it." With one final tightening of his grip, Ryker falls limp. You barely register the crack, surely his neck. The sound haunts you as the hairs on your arms rise again.

You watch as Bob releases Ryker. The man flops to the ground, unmoving. Your heart picks up as you realize what he's done. Your eyes go wide before you swallow the lump in your throat. "Bob, you...Did you-"

Bob's gaze was locked on Ryker's unconscious form, and he finally turned to look at you, noticing you had backed up. A flicker of realisation passes across his expression at your reaction and withdrawal. Bob's gaze remains steady, his eyes devoid of the softness you're used to, replaced by something else. Hatred.

"He had it coming." Bob's tone is firm, his voice still hinting at his usual timidness, but tinged with a hardened edge. "He hurt you. What gives him the right to do that to you? To anyone? I did him a favor." He nods more to himself.

"You didn't need to kill him."

Bob's gaze intensifies as he keeps your gaze, the look unyielding. The gold in his eyes is more prominent now. The tension was dense, the moment hanging in the air, thick like fog. "He deserved it." Bob's tone, confident and cold. No remorse. "He hurt you."

"Oh my god…No it wasn’t necessary.." You release a sigh.. "H-He just held my wrist."

Bob's eyes narrow. He scoffs in disbelief. "And you were wincing, were you not?" He steps closer to you, closing the distance. You never liked his gold eyes. Not when he was looming over you.

You hold your head high, trying not to let your gaze waver from his intimidation. "I'm fine. Killing shouldn't have been your first choice. It never should result in death unless the situation requires it. I could have knocked him out, Bob..."

"Maybe you're too kind." The intensity in his gaze was unbroken. "Sometimes, people like him don't understand anything but violence."

"I don't think you do either..." You wished you could have taken it back the second the words fell past your lips. "I didn't mean that-" You close your eyes. Regret hitting you.

Bob recoils at your words, flinching as though you hit him. "I think you did." His gaze sharpens, hurt and confusion flashing across his features.

"No." You insist.

The intensity in his gaze doesn't let up, even as you try to retract your statement. "No. You did mean it." His tone is stern. Grim. It cuts through the air like a knife. "You think I'm as violent as him, is that it?"

You only keep shaking your head, even as he corners you against an adjacent wall. "No. I think-"

The weight of his body is imposing, shadows slowly casting over him starting from his shoes as he corrals you into the wall. His hands find the space beside your head, trapping you in as he leans in close, his voice low and sharp. “Why shouldn't I use my full potential, especially when a damsel is distressed? I'm strong, so why wouldn't I try to help someone in need? Though I'm starting to think this damsel wasn't worth the time or energy anymore. Since she's yet to thank me. I came here to save you from that asshole.”

Your lip trembles as you reach for your gun. You act fast on impulse. Switching the safety off your weapon with precision and speed before a shot rings out. Surely someone's heard it go off.

Bob's reaction was instantaneous as pure adrenaline surged through his veins. He acted on instinct, seizing your wrist in a firm grip. He holds your gun-wielding hand steady. The weapon was aimed at a spot just past his right ear. His voice is eerily calm. “You missed.” 

Your outcry was real this time as the gun slipped out of your hand. Out of reach now. Bob held your wrist, much like Ryker had. Only this grip was severely cruel, whereas Ryker's was bruising you, Bob could easily break your wrist with slightly more pressure applied. "Y-You're hurting me-" You shove against his chest. He was unfazed by your attempts.

"And you were going to shoot me....God, why do we even keep you around?" Your eyes widen as the shadows reach up to his torso.

"'Cause I'm one of you..." You arguably strain.

He doesn't allow himself to give in to your words; he doesn't soften or falter. You press the left side of your face into the wall as he sneers and breaths heavily into your cheek. "You sure about that?" His tone was condescending. He pulls you into his chest, dragging you away before you know it.

-

A yell breaks out when you're thrown across the venue’s dance floor. Your body hits the ground roughly, sending you rolling before you stop face down into the ground. You lay there trying to gather your bearings.

He threw me! Your thoughts alert you.

"T-That hurt..." You mutter to yourself as you take note of the crowd, stepping back and away from the center. Separating a path as Bob, halfway transformed into Void, approaches with steady, slow footsteps.

"Y/n!" Yelena makes for you, but you shake your head.

"No, no, don't." You held your hand out, halting Walker and Yelena from approaching you. Your face fell when you noticed them reach for specific spots on their attire. Weapons. Hidden from wandering gazes. Had they anticipated this to happen? "Stay back!" You warn, pushing off the ground with shaken legs. Your chest rises and falls heavily, trying to push through the pain of being thrown like a rag doll.

"B-Bob stop!" You cry out, a rasp to your voice.

Bob's eyes remained fixed. Golden. The shadow within him, consuming his being. His expression was almost feral. He stops in front of you. He had no hesitation and no mercy. No, not for you. No more.

Bob watches you stumble forward with an unsettling lack of regard. Even though he had been rougher with you than he'd like, his demeanor didn't soften. He begins stepping towards you. "You're a drawback." His tone is harsh, lacking the usual warmth he holds towards you.

Your head falls into your shoulder, defeated and solemn, as Bob's demeanor doesn’t change. Black overshadows his delicate features. He is no longer the timid and awkward man you thought you knew. Now, he is Void—a twisted, broken force to be reckoned with. The two white dots for eyes stare back at you hauntingly.

No trace of warmth or familiarity in his eyes. Just a tormenting, head tilt directed at your vulnerable state. "A liability." His head tilts to the other side now.

Yelena steps closer to you. A hand was held out in front of her, ready to shove you behind her. She was all too familiar with the Void's dislike for you. He hadn't been too kind to you in your shame rooms. Giving you hell the most when the group rejoined in the attic. He hated you, hated how you made things quiet for Bob. You provided a sense of comfort and a safeguard for him to fall back on. Void wanted you gone. Now more so than ever.

"Bob?" Yelena gives it a go before she reaches for you.

Instantly, you're yanked by your wrist, slamming into his chest, forcing you to meet his menacing stare. You watch his wickened grin grace you, the white dots for his eyes reflecting the sliver of hope within him. Barely there.

"No!"

"Let her go!"

"Bob, let her go!"

"Bob, if you can hear me. Stop this!"

Multiple safety clicks are echoed all around the room. You turn briefly, locking eyes with Ava, Yelena, and Walker, directing their pistols' ends towards the shadow man. Bucky is on standby with his weapon of choice. You lock eyes with him, shaking your head. Their hesitance to shoot is noticeably painful.

"You can't be trusted." Void continues speaking slowly, calculatingly, each word falling heavy and deliberate, as the shadows consume you from your heels. "You act impulsively based on your emotions. You're a waste of time. You're only making him weaker."

The shadows wrap around your ankles, coiling around them, consuming them in darkness. You feel the shadows creep up your legs, snaking their way up your body, now to the halfway point of your waist. It didn't take a genius to know what was happening. "Then get it over with already..."

He chuckles darkly before you see your friends and various guests begin being turned into shadows. Void's gaze flickers around the room. People start to scream and flee, while others begin to try to fight back. He remains unfazed by the panic as he lifts you to his eye level, the shadows reaching your chest now. "You don't matter...you never will." You release a gasp, your eyes closing as the shadows curl over your head like a hoodie. Then your body's gone from his grasp. No shadow in sight.

-

Bob sat up, startled. His eyes snapped open, his breathing heavy and ragged as he shook his head and ran frantic fingers through his now messy curls. His heart raced in his chest. "What..." He muttered, trying to shake the remnants of the horrid nightmare from his mind.

"Bob?" He whips his head up fast, causing him a sudden dizzy spell, before he locks eyes with Yelena on the ground. He begins to register not only her disheveled state but also various other bodies, sitting up from the ground as well.

"What the hell..." Ava curses as she goes to stand. Yelena followed suit, as shadows started to disperse from each figure that had stood in the room a while ago.

"What happened here?" Bob, nervous, stood up, trying to find his bearings.

"Great, you don't remember."

Bob's confusion grows as he takes in the sight of everyone around him. He rubs his temples, trying to make sense of what's happening. "I...I don't know..." He shakes his head, feeling dazed and disoriented. "I was... dreaming, I think. It was a nightmare. But, I can't remember much."

"It's fine, Bob." Yelena waves him off.

Bob rubs his hands over his face, trying to shake off the remnants of his nightmare. The group is gathered in the venue, their surroundings in disarray. Chairs toppled, tables were knocked over, and the floor was littered with shattered glass. "What happened here?" He asks again, taking in the state of the room.

"Void." Bucky sighed.

Bob's heart sinks at the mention of Void. He knew all too well the damage and chaos the other guy brought with him. "Void did this?"

"Yeah..." Walker nods. "But from the looks of it, you only maintained it here, so I call progress." Bob was lost.

"I did? I don't remember anything. I only remember seeing Y/n talking to that Ryker guy, before everything got fuzzy again."

The mention of your name had them freezing. Yelena looked to him before her body swirled around in search of you. Yelena's eyes widen with realization. 

"Y/n... Where's Y/n?" The room falls silent as they begin to realize the absence of your presence in the venue.

"What's with the long faces?" Bob wrings his hands together, not understanding the concerned glances everyone threw his way. He turns his head like they do, eyes darting around, falling onto multiple strange faces, searching but never really finding what they looked for. "What's wrong?... Where's Y/n?" His body tenses, dread seeping in.

"What do you mean, where is she?" Yelena's heart plunges. "Bob?" She inched closer, trying to get a read on him. "D-Do you remember anything?"

"No, I told you all that I know. I saw Ryker with Y/n before everything got dark." Bob glanced over to Walker and Ava's hardened gazes. He curled in on himself. He didn't need to be a genius to know something was wrong and that he was at fault. "W-What do you mean? Where is she?"

"Alright, kid, quit messing around. Where'd she go? We all came back, so why didn't she?" Walker rolled his eyes, not in the mood for his oblivious antics. "Where is she, Bob?"

"I-I don't know where Y/n is? What did I do?" Bob frantically shrugs his shoulders.

"No." Dread fell over Yelena's face. "No, no, no." Yelena cupped her stomach.

Bob noticed Yelena's expression, confusion etched on his face, "W-What's going on? What did I do?"

The group looked at him in pity, their faces riddled with worry, fear, and confusion—all except Bucky, who remained silent and stoic. Everyone waited for Yelena to speak. Yelena's voice was shaky, her words softly spoken.

"You didn't do anything." Yelena's eyes started to water, her body trembling. "No..." She looked around the room once more. Nothing. "Okay...Okay. How do we get her back?" She highlighted.

"Get her back?" Bob shook his head.

"You're asking us?" Bucky pointed to himself. "How would we know?" He perplexes.

"I...I don't know!" Yelena's breathing grew ragged, on the verge of tears. She blew raspberries. "She can't be gone...we all came back, there's that!"

"Yeah, but she didn't." Walker voiced everyone's dread. His tone grew sharp and impatient. He pointed to Bob, "Why is that Bob? Why didn't she return like the rest of us?"

"Surely there's some reasonable explanation for this-" Ava tried leveling the situation.

Bob's expression turned somber, his eyes darting to each person searching for an answer. He stuttered, "I...I don't know why. I swear, I don't know. I...I'd never ever hurt her, I promise. I'd never hurt her." 

Yelena's voice was shaky, her words barely above a whisper. "We know you wouldn't, but she's gone. Maybe still in the Void, and we need to get her back."

"The question is how, though?" Walker queried.

Yelena shrugged, her eyes reddened and puffy. "I got nothing...." Everyone remained quiet.

Bob wrung his hands together before a suggestion conjured up in his mind. "W-What if you knock me out?"

The group froze, all turning to look at him in disbelief. 

"What?" Yelena furrowed her brows, confused by his reasoning. 

Ava chimes in, disagreeing. "That doesn't even sound plausible."

Walker let out a scoff. "Knock you out? Are you out of your mind? What good would that do for us?"

"We risk the Void escaping again!" Alexei voiced his concern. "It is a no from me!"

"Sorry, it was just an idea. I thought it could work- Sorry." Bob shakes his head, letting his head fall to the ground again. Bucky, the more level-headed of the group, weighs the idea before speaking.

"Bob..." Bucky steps forward, his gaze fixed on the distressed male. "What do you mean by that? Why do you suggest that we knock you out?"

A spark of hope ignites behind his eyes. Someone's taking a chance on his idea. Bob nods before saying, "Maybe if you guys knock me out. I could find her...in here." He peers up through his lashes at the soldier, gesturing to his temple. "It was just an idea..."

Bucky's gaze remains locked on Bob, contemplating his proposal. Yelena moves from her spot, placing her hand on Bucky's arm. "Bucky, you can't be serious."

"You got a better plan… We don't have anything to go from. It's better than nothing. It could work..." Bucky shrugs at Bob, who straightens. Bob stares at Bucky, surprised that he was on board with it. He turned to the others, waiting for their opinions.

"But how can you know for certain... that it will work?" Yelena counters.

"It's a stupid idea," Ava mutters, shaking her head.

"Alright, how hard do I have to hit him?" Walker begins removing his blazer, rolling his white dress shirt up to his elbows. 

"Woah woah woah! Let's think this through, there are other ways we can do this!" Yelena cuts in frantically.

"She's right, punching him won't phase him."

"Then how the hell are we supposed to knock him out?" Walker complained.

"You could..." Bob swallowed back a lump. "You could choke me..."

Ava whips her head over to Walker's baffled gaze. She nudges him with a shit eating grin. "Choke him!" She urges.

Bucky places his hands on his hips, and a heavy sigh leaves him. "You sure about this, Bob?"

A mixture of nervousness and determination washes over Bob's face. Bob nods, trying to seem brave. "Yeah...I'm sure. I have to try…For her. I wouldn't be able to live with myself, you know?" He lets out a faint laugh, but his smile only lasts a few seconds.

A grimace is on Yelena's face as she watches the scene begin to unfold. Bucky places a firm hand on Bob's shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. “Don’t kill him, Walker. Do it quickly, just enough to make him unconscious. Got it?” 

Walker shakes his head. "I can't believe I'm doing this." He approaches Bob, hesitant about his decision. He grabs Bob’s forearm before making him turn around. His back now faces him. "Sorry in advance, kid..." Walker swallows hard before he wraps his arms around Bob’s shoulders. It's not long before his arms tighten around his neck. Bob protests, raising his hands to where Walker's hold reduces his oxygen. He knew he had to give in, for your sake, but he'd be lying if he said the whole plan was terrifying.

Bob tries to resist even as he meets Yelena's pained expression. Bucky's head turns away so as not to look, but he thinks twice before looking back, to be there as his source of comfort as he starts tapping against Walker’s arms.

"You'll be fine, kid. Just relax, alright? Don’t fight it." Bucky tries to reassure him. Bob feels the pressure build up in his head and lets out a gasp before he nods. His eyes flicker back and forth between gold and blue. His throat feels like it's being crushed, not the most pleasant thing he's experienced, but what's worse is the way Yelena is watching him. Not at all okay with this. She never liked seeing him hurt.

His eyes meet Yelena's, and her eyes are filled with dread. He manages to mouth his words with a weak smile. I’ll. Find. Her.

Bob's eyes start fluttering. His expression starts drooping as he's on the verge of passing out.

The world blurs as he starts to feel the rush; his head starts pounding. Then his surroundings turn dark. The pressure becomes too intense, and he goes limp. His body falls into Walker’s arms. Walker sighs, letting his arms unravel from his neck before he walks backwards, gently laying the man on the floor. He stays crouched next to him, hating this more than anything. “Now what?”

"We wait." Yelena chimes in solemnly. Grabbing a discarded chair, planting it before her unconscious friend, and plopping herself down on it. “And hope this work.”

-

Bob didn’t know how long he had been roaming through his shame rooms before a particular doorway appeared. The brown door, sticking out like a sore thumb from the white walls of his childhood home, his shame room, where his dad was screaming at him, asking him where he was going. He gave his father one more glance before he rushed towards it. Opening and slamming it shut behind it. But as he put his force behind the shove. The door itself caught on the doorframe. He tried again, but it wouldn’t budge, leaving behind the hope that it would close, but a thin space between the doorframe and the door prevented its enclosure. 

“It doesn’t close…The floor is sunken there.” A high-pitched voice raises the hairs on the back of his neck. He pushes himself from the door before he swivels in place. A small child greets him on the floor. 

"Y/n?" Bob inched closer to what he presumed to be your younger self. You were donning a pink and purple sweater, a sequined puppy plastered on the front of it. A few sequins turned over like you had run your hand across them. Black leggings worn out and fuzzy purple socks on your feet. A mirror of your adolescence.

Your younger self looks up as he approachs. He met her gaze before she pointed to the other end of the room. “She’s over there.” 

He swiveled around, scoping the room's entirety, until his gaze settled on his goal. His search concluded as he saw you curled underneath a desk. His shoulders slumped at the sight. Your face was dazed, staring straight ahead. Eyes barely blinking. You, too, donned the puppy sweater and leggings. Different from your dress, which you looked lovely in tonight.

You hadn't even bothered to acknowledge his presence as your younger self kept trying to build a puzzle laid out before her. An image of a snowman, in a forest surrounded by trees. A few pieces were chipped, and one, unbeknownst to him, was missing, lost, meaning you'd never fully complete it over the years of trying to, in this room.

"Y-Y/n." He reveled in saying your name out loud.

"I don't want to talk to anyone." Bob turned to look back at the child, placing another piece in its correct spot. 

Bob crouched down to be eye level with you under the desk. He held his breath, waiting for any sort of reaction. For a flash of recognition, but there was nothing. No response.

"I-I didn't mean for you to be trapped in here." His voice shook.

Bob's expression twisted into one of deep regret. He reached out to touch your knee but stopped himself, his hand hovering a few inches above as it trembled. His gaze flitted to your younger self. She seemed focused on the puzzle piece in her hand, utterly oblivious to his internal torment. The sight only intensified his agony.

"I–" He opened his mouth to reply, perhaps to reassure you, but no words were forthcoming. "C-Can I join you?" Bob fell back on his bottom and gestured gently to the center. Your younger self looked up.

"Sure." She barely peers up at him, unbothered by his request, but holds out a piece to include him all same.

Bob accepts the piece, his fingers lightly brushing against hers as he takes it. He turns it over in his grasp, examining the surface of it before looking back at the puzzle. He slides his piece into place, his movements careful but precise, ensuring a perfect fit.

"Thanks." He murmurs, his gaze drifting back to your younger self. He swallows hard, his jaw clenching as if chewing on words he couldn’t quite muster. He lets something out for now. "I've never been good at these..." Bob confesses, "Could never finish them. Sit still."

"It's okay...We've never finished this one, but we keep trying to." The child's disheartened smile makes him want to break down.

Bob nods curtly, his throat tight. The sight of your indifference nearly unravels him. He turns his attention back to the puzzle, trying to ground himself in its simple but comforting task. He picks up another piece, turns it over.

"I’m... I can't-" Bob stops short, clearing his throat as it threatened to close up. He tries again. "I can't believe I did this to you." He whispers, more to himself than anything. "I wish I had more control over my powers. I could have saved you the pain."

"We're not mad at you for it. We promise." Your younger self reassures. Handing him another piece after placing another perfect fit down.

Bob's breath hitches in his chest. Your reassurance is like a balm to his wounded soul. Hearing those simple words from you, from her, eases some of the guilt that has been consuming him. He accepts another piece from you, gently placing it into the puzzle again.

"You… You should be." He mutters, his voice barely more than a hoarse whisper. "I put you in here." His gaze flicks back to her face, taking in her innocence, how calm she remains. It's infuriating. Why are you not raging at him? Shouting? He deserves it.

"The Void put us here." You corrected him. "What's being upset over it gonna accomplish?" Your younger self hovers her hand over a certain area; uncertainty flashes behind her eyes. You're hesitant. Bob, conflicted, reaches forward and guides her small hand over to a spot he thinks it will fit. It does. "Thanks." She’s appreciative before enthusiastically grabbing another, ready to advance in the puzzle's completion.

Bob's heart clenches as you respond rationally. It's eerily shocking how mature you are for your age. The way you forgive so easily is at odds with the guilt he feels. Yet, somehow, your words have an undeniable power over him. He can feel the grip of the Void's hold on him loosen ever so slightly. He helps you slide in the next piece as it clicks into place. Your giggle warms his heart. The corners of his lips curl up at the sound.

"How can…. How can you be so calm about this?" Bob can't help but ask, his voice tinged with disbelief mixed with awe.

"I-I have to..." Your younger self falters. Her composure glitched before she blinked and continued as if nothing had happened. She avoided his gaze, looking back down at the puzzle. "We have to be. Otherwise, what comes next would be unbearable."

Bob's brow creases with concern at the glitch. A ripple in your memory, the imposed calmness that he couldn't miss, faltering. The way you had been referring to yourselves as we, never as I. He was getting somewhere. At least he hoped he was.

"What…" He hesitates, but curiosity gets the better of him. "What's coming next?"

"Ya estoy harta!" Your younger self flinches as a glass breaks in the distance. "Vete con tus pinche putas! Ya no me importa! Largarte! Largarte!"

"Ya no puedo! Ya basta. Pinche loca ya no puedo!"

Bob immediately tenses, ready to protect you and your younger self from whatever threat looms, but as the shouting continues in the distance, he recognises something familiar in the language. Spanish.

"Is... Is that...?" He whispers, knowing the answer but hoping he's wrong.

"S-Spanish." Your body convulses and twitches as the vulgar language is spoken. Feeling gross. You try to block them out, pausing your puzzle making, your hands harshly slammed against your ears. Tears form in your eyes as the screams only continue. You run over to the door, banging and kicking it. The kick makes the door widen, before you push against it. 

"Shut up!" Bob flinches as your small body screeches. "Shut up! Ya cállate!" Your outcry only intensified. Your body shaking with sobs. "Shut up! Shut up!" You turn the lock, knowing it serves no real purpose. Your bedroom door barely closed. The doorframe stopped it from entirely shutting. You've never been able to lock it, not once. You turned and walked over to a corner where a dresser sat. You go to push it until it starts sliding across the floor. Pushing with everything you had in your tiny body, until it sat in front of the door. Blocking them from entering. You didn't want them near you. You kick the wall next to it in anger. To have them hear just how upset they made you. Hoping your meltdown would cause them to stop, to see how much they’re hurting you. You go far as to grab something heavy launching it into the wall too. The bang as agressive as your parents anger. 

It's not long before you move to where you remain under the desk. Your younger self crawls underneath with you. Scooting herself next to you as your older self ticks and shivers at the language exchanged. Your younger self cups her ears and lets out an ear-piercing scream. All the while, yourself sheds a tear. It's only then that he finally gets a real reaction from you. You turn to your younger self wanting to save her the pain. You wrap an arm around her and tuck her in close to your side.

Bob is frozen in place as the scene unfolds before him. The sheer desperation in your voice is gut-wrenching; you just want it to stop. He watches with staggered breaths as your younger self curls into you. The shouting and screaming continue in the background.

He wants to move, to grab the dresser and shove it through the wall, to put an end to the shouting and the pain taking place on the other side of that door. But he remains where he is, watching yourself try to help your younger self find solace. His eyes dart to the blocked door, listening to the muffled yelling from outside. He grits his teeth, anger bubbling within him.

When he turns back to look at you both. Your younger self is nowhere to be found beside you. "Here!" His head turns to the child sitting before him again on the floor. Another puzzle piece was offered to him once again.

How long did you relive this before he got here? The memory had reset again, he realized.

Bob's hands tremble as he gradually accepts the puzzle piece. Peering down at the upright face, snow-like texture painted on the piece to help him determine where it could go. He stares at it, guilt slowly seeping into his bones as he lifts his head to watch your younger self concentrate on the image the pieces were curating.

"How...How many times has she-you-" Bob can't even fathom how long you've been sitting under your desk, to appear so numb to everything. "How long have you been in here?"

"This is loop ten." Younger you, spares him a pinched grin. It doesn't reach her eyes.

Bob's stomach churns at the revelation. Loop ten? You've had to face this same scene ten times over, stuck in an endless cycle. He wants to scream, to tear everything apart, to make it stop. But he can't. He's just a participant in this twisted nightmare. His eyes shift between the puzzle and your younger self, his guilt weighing heavily on his shoulders, but he'd be damned if he didn't try. He had to try; this was you he was talking about. You'd done so much for him; he owed you that much. To push past how scared he was of screwing things up even more.

Your younger self looks up, halting her movements. "I-I can't finish it." You finally refer to yourself in first person. You look down at the puzzle. "I just wanna finish it."

"You want to finish the puzzle?" Bob questions, his words tinged with both confusion and understanding. He glances at the puzzle, taking in the incomplete image. It's beautiful in its own way, even without all the pieces. But the thought of you stuck in this repetitive loop, trying to complete it, it's unbearable. "You... You don't have to finish it." He says softly, his hand hovering over yours, unsure if he can even change your mind within the confines of this memory.

"I want to." Hope. A small spark ignites within Bob as your younger self expresses her determination. He picks up on the subtle changes in your expressions, the way your younger self glitches and gives way to glimpses of your older self. He clings onto this as a sign of change, that he can somehow alter this loop. 

His back straightens. He looks back at you under the desk. You were still there, but a sliver of hope had him realizing you wanted to crawl from underneath there. "I... I get close, and then I never do. There's always a piece missing." The child's brows furrow with frustration. You go to place the remaining six pieces before pulling your hands into your lap.

"Missing piece?" His eyes flick back to the puzzle, taking in the image, searching for what could be amiss. Then there it is, the center spot, vacant. His gaze darts around the room. "Maybe it's somewhere else? In a drawer? Or under the bed?" He muses, his mind racing with possibilities, until the screams of your parents have him glancing at the door. He glances down at you, then at you under the desk. 

"Hey!" You peer up at him. "Just... Just focus on me. Listen to my voice…not theirs. Okay?" With labored breaths, his grin grows as he tries to reassure you from the shouting behind the door. "Where would you look first?" Your younger self gets up and heads for the door, when suddenly you appear criss-crossed before him. His eyes widened, trying to gain your attention this time. "Y/n? Hey!" He exclaims, reaching forward, touching your shoulders. "Hey. Hi, oh my god hi!" You turn back to face him after having peered over at the door.

"B-Bob?" Your voice croaks.

"Yes!" Bob lets out a sigh of relief. He can't help the small laugh that escapes his lips. "Yes, it's me. Me Bob. That's me!" He gives a firm nod, still holding onto your shoulders. He leans down to meet your gaze. "I'm so sorry. The team told me what happened and how Void got out and ruined everything. How everyone came back, but you never did. I... I should've stayed home. I knew it was a bad idea to go to that gala, but the team insisted, you insisted, on getting me out of the tower, and...I screwed everything up again. Like I always do. But I'm here. I'm here and I want to make things right. I'm gonna get you out of here." His conviction bled through.

Your eyes glisten. You looked so small compared to the confidence you carried around him and the others earlier in the evening. You flinch, glancing over your shoulder as another vulgar word reaches your ears. "D-Don't listen to them." Bob turns your chin back over to him.

Bob forces a pinched smile as your attention returns to him. He squeezes your shoulders, his fingers gently kneading into your flesh, trying to ground you. "You want to finish this puzzle…We'll finish it." He says firmly, his eyes never leaving your face.

You muster a nod before looking at the blank spot, mocking you from its completion. Bob pulls back. Your younger self begins screaming and pushing the dresser towards the door. Your eyes close as a tick rakes through you. Bob takes note of your reaction, how the side of your ear hit your shoulder blade. Your younger self finishes under the desk, before she appears beside you and Bob. The puzzle resets back to its previous state of incompleteness once again. 

Loop eleven.

He shifts his eyes down to your hands, something you twirled around mindlessly, catching his attention. His brows furrow as he reels in the object you acquired, the thing you fiddle with, it was the piece you needed to finish the puzzle.

You had it this whole time. His eyes soften.

"It seems almost selfish..." You concur.

His mouth parts as the realization dawns on him. "You..." Bob whispers, his words lost in awe. "You had it this whole time?" His gaze switches from the piece in your hand back to your face.

Your younger self's determination and stubbornness faded, replaced by the realization that you were holding onto the very thing you sought all along. He's struck by the simplicity yet irony of it all. You were so close to finishing the puzzle, but blinded by what was literally in your hands to do it. He shifts and turns to your younger self, peering up at you, expression expectant, waiting, filled with melancholy. She goes back to adding the six final pieces again. 

"This stupid piece…That I could never find. I threw the puzzle away when I couldn’t finish it. It’s so stupid…"

Bob looks at the puzzle piece, a mix of emotions roiling within him. He feels a pang of guilt, knowing how long you'd been trapped here, the endless loop of trying to finish the puzzle without realizing you possessed the very thing needed to complete it. Your younger sits back, wringing her hands together, a mirror of his timidness. It brought him a sense familiarity, something he weighed on now, that you both had something in common. He reaches out, gingerly taking your younger self's hand, before looking back at you.

"It's not stupid." He reassures you. "Sometimes… we search for things so hard we forget to look in simple places." He pauses, his gaze lingering.

Your inner turmoil was evident. You dig a hand into a side pocket of your sweater, he hadn't known was there. "It was in my pocket..." You scoff. Shaking your head. "This whole time!"

Bob watches you, the realization settling in for both your younger and older selves. Younger you then mirrors your actions, stuffing her hand in the pockets, only to pull them out and be left empty handed. It was a poignant moment. "You-" Bob can't even finish the sentence, words momentarily lost on him. It was so simple.

Bob couldn't help but let out a small chuckle, a bittersweet sound. The absurdity of the situation wasn't lost on him. You had been carrying the solution to your problem all along, hidden in your pocket. He shook his head, his expression a mix of disbelief and amazement. "I-I once lost my phone…It was in my hand the entire time." A lopsided grin took over his features. ”Though I’m pretty sure it was the meth that hindered my senses from realizing it was there the whole time...” He trails off, noting that his attempt to offer a similar experience did nothing to comfort you.

"It’s not the same…" You shake your head. 

Bob breathes a faint laugh at your pouting, the sound of it reverberating across the room, a stark contrast to the ongoing shouting and aggression outside the room. "I think...I think you'll be okay." He chides gently, trying to bring light to the situation.

“How do you know that?”

“‘Cause you guys helped me…Help me still.” He corrects

Your hesitance was not lost on him. You peer up through your eyelashes, then back down to the piece. "What if this doesn't fix anything?"

Bob pauses as he takes in your question. The weight of it hangs in the air, his earlier optimism faltering for a moment. Hearing your apprehension only solidified the concern. Bob's smile fades into a serious expression. He takes in your younger self’s small form, then to you, the way your shoulders are slumped, and the anxiety settled in your eyes. "I don't know if it will." He admits earnestly, his voice soft. "I just...I just really, really hope it does. It has to."

"Is this all it takes…To just fix it?" You twirl the piece around mindlessly. "This single piece my ticket to getting out of here?"

Bob looks at you, really looks at you. The piece of paper board between your fingers spinning in a rhythmic motion, your eyes filled with a mix of peace and anguish. He sees the way your breathing picks up and the way your eyes dart around the room. He can see how much this effects you, the battle between your logical side and the part of you that's been trapped here for who knows how long, trying to meet in the middle. Conclude a final resolution.

"I...I don't know." He replies eventually. He tries. "I...I mean, you all saved me with a hug." He laughs, its nervous but light, then lets it die out. Bob wants to reassure you, to tell you that this piece will fix everything, but he can't because he's never been great at it. You were the one always putting him back together. You always had the right thing to say and knew when to apply it in your heart to hearts. "So what's to say you can't be fixed by a puzzle piece?"

"Just like that?"

Bob nodded. "Just like that." He affirmed. He knows the simplicity of it, the absurdity, the notion of such a simple thing being the key to your liberation, could probably be seen as laughable. But he didn't see it as such, it might’ve been laughable—yes, but it wasn’t to him. Hope flared in him, a spark of optimism that the solution was so simple, so ridiculously easy. "Yeah…just like that." He repeated, his voice resolute, putting your worries and fears to rest.

"Just like that..." You shed a tear, echoing his words. You take a deep breath, hearing your parents argue once more before you reach forward and place the piece in the center. Your body convulses as you begin to sob hysterically, your younger self sighing as you finish it for once. Bob's lip trembles as he pulls you into his chest.

He holds you tightly, your body trembling against his. His grip is firm yet gentle, a silent reassurance that he's there. His heart aches as he listens to your sobs. The sobs wrack your frame as your emotions come out, a tidal wave of relief and frustration breaking through the surface after what feels like a lifetime. He rubs small circles on your back, whispering soothing words into your hair, as his own eyes glisten with unshed tears.

"I’m sorry I put you in here. I’m sorry." He whispers into your hair. "It's okay. I've got you. I-I got you."

-

“Guys.” Walker alerted the team as a shadow appeared beside Bob’s body—a dark silhouette, mirroring your form. 

The team looked over, frozen at the shadow's sudden appearance. Bucky took a cautious step forward, and Yelena rose from her chair.

It felt like you had woken up from a deep slumber when you came to. Everyone watched as your tar-like self was slowly revealing itself, like a sheet unveiling you. The shadows released you, shedding away from your form down to your heels. A sigh escaped from you as you pushed against the floor. Your dress draped around you like a blanket as you peered up at your team and the guest who lay witness. You hear a grunt to your right, you turn and watch Bob come to as well. His eyes were trying to settle amongst the warm lighting surrounding the gala. His suit was wrinkled and left in disarray as he sat up. Yelena's heels clicked closer as she reached down to help you stand. "Oh my god!" She pulled you in closer for a hug. You were still finding your bearings. "Thank god. I thought we lost you!" You peer over to see Bob take Bucky's arms appreciatively.

Bucky pulls Bob to his feet, and a sigh of relief leaves him as he sees him finally become aware of his surroundings. He pats Bob on the back a few times, his grip on his palm tight.

"I knew you could do it, buddy." Bucky greets him with a small smile, his expression slightly worried as he observes his disheveled appearance.

"Thank you?" Bob blinks a couple of times, a forced smile on his face, before it fades. "Do what exactly?"

"You don't remember-" Bucky confirms. "You brought Y/n back from the-" Bucky's words were interrupted by the touch of Alexei's grasp on his upper arm and the sound of Walker's words.

"Bucky...Let's debrief him later. Not right now." He suggested. "She's back and safe. We'll deal with it at home. Not here."

"Is everything okay?" Bob's gaze flickers over to see you surrounded by Yelena and Ava. They were checking you over, making sure everything was okay.

Were you hurt?

He looks back at Bucky, his expression hardening. "I brought Y/n back from what?"

"Not here, kid." Walker reached forward to pat his shoulder. "You did great, that's all that matters-" Walker inhales deeply as Bob's hand tightened around his wrist.

"Don't- Don't call me kid." Bob closes his eyes, his irritation getting the better of him as his eyes glow amber for a split second. He gestures a pointed finger at Walker. "From what?"

Alexei steps forward, placing a gentle hand on Bob’s tense shoulders. "Easy there." He cautiously speaks. "Everything is fine now."

Bob's face remains stern, his gaze steady, irritation clear in his expression. "Tell me."

Walker and Bucky exchanged a worried look, both of them noticing the change in Bob's demeanor. "Not now," Walker repeated, his voice firmer this time, his grip on Bob's hand that held his wrist, not letting up either. Bob sensed the clear indication that Walker wasn't going to elaborate, not in the middle of this venue. The commotion from earlier was probable cause for them to high-tail it out of there. Bob’s stubbornness didn’t help their favor.

Bucky leaned in, his tone low, hoping to diffuse the situation. He closed his eyes before giving in.  "Look, Void got loose, okay? Something happened. Everyone came back, Y/n didn't." Bob's grip falters, his eyes softening at the information. "Later, okay? We'll explain everything later. But we should probably leave, head home."

"What do you mean she didn't come back?" Bob's confusion only grows. His eyes shifted over to where you were reassuring people that you were fine, who asked if you needed a doctor.

"No, no. I'm okay. Really." He heard your voice bellow out from the short distance between you.

Bob couldn't help but watch as you shook your head, waving off any worried busybodies, and he found himself torn. Part of him wanted to let it go, to leave it be as Bucky and the others insisted. But there was another part of him that yearned to understand. He couldn't leave without answers. He pushed against Bucky's arm, which was trying to ground him.

"Yelena-Yelena!" He called out to her. She waved off another guest, who couldn't mind their business.

“Yes, yes, fine. All is good and well now.”

"Oh my god, what a mess! Is she okay?" Valentina's voice became apparent. Where did she come from? "Y/n, dear, the second you don't feel like yourself, say when. I got medical on call, alright."

"Oh no, I'm fine. I don't need a medic to come-"

"Oh my god, Valentina. She's fine. I promise. Don't intervene." She grew annoyed with Valentina's facade of sudden concern. She wasn't worried about your well-being, just worried about maintaining your image in the public's eye. Valentina continued with her rambling about how much she cared and would prefer it if you were checked over. "Oh my god, we don't need a medic here, ТЫ УПРЯМЫЙ МУЛ!" Yelena cursed. Who knows how Valentina would settle this mess with the press? She double-takes at the sound of her name being called before her attention settles on Bob's concerned one.

"Is she okay?" He mouths.

"She's fine," She waves him off. "Promise." She then nods before rolling her eyes as Valentina rants about having let him out of the house. He reciprocates her nod before his shoulders relax briefly at her assurance, his worry slightly lessened. But something still gnawes at him. His gaze drifts over to you again, his expression turning solemn as he sees the fake smiles and the feigned concern that some are displaying. You didn’t need their fake niceties.

His gaze lingers on you, trying to garner any sign that you weren't fine, but it wasn’t long before you locked eyes.

You catch his gaze, then begin excusing yourself from the small crowd, as a sense of anxiety overcomes you.

"Excuse me-" You politely muttered as you made your way toward him. It was as if a gravitational pull was urging you to him. The room, the people, everything else faded into the background as your focus solely centered on him.

Bob straightens at your approach, taken aback as you nestle yourself into his chest, your arms wrapping around him.

Startled, he initially freezes for a few seconds before his body relaxes, molding into you. His arms naturally encircle your form, pulling you into a tight embrace, his chin perched on top of your head. Your scent and warmth enveloped him, a sense of comfort washing over him. You felt like home.

"Hi…" Bob's voice, a soft whisper, reached your ears as he greeted you. You feel his hands mold more firmly around your waist, a gesture that makes your heart skip.

"Hi..." You return the greeting, your own voice just as soft, finding solace in the familiar sound of his breaths. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah..." His response short. “Are you okay?" He emphasizes, a hand gently stroking your exposed back.

"I'm fine." You wave it off.

Bob's eyebrow raises, his expression doubtful as he peers down at you. "You sure...?" He questions further, knowing you're prone to downplaying. But so was he.

“Yes and no.” A nervous laugh resounded from you.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” He offers, even though he’s not sure what he’s saving you from. He’s caught glimpses of your past before, not that you’d ever truly forego the idea of talking to him about it. He was much alike you in the manner of only giving surface levels of his ugly past. You both only knew what you allowed to be seen.

“You did. You helped me.” Your words, their simplicity, but all the more effective, affectionate, sure. He helped you? How could he have helped you, but have no recollection of it? You smile sweetly as you reach to place a kiss on his cheek. Was this your thankfulness wrapped up in an act of endearment? “You might not remember it, but you were enough, and you were there." You nod suringly.

He looks at the way you're molded against his chest. How his hands fit and embrace your figure like he's ready to protect and shield you from harm's way. The way your softened eyes perceive him in this lightheartedness. Like he's somehow hung the stars in your night sky. He can't help but wonder what he's done. What he's done to be truly worth being perceived delicately. You look like you're scared he'll disappear right before your eyes, when he's the scared one, thinking you'll break under his touch.

"Bucky’s saying Void got out again..." He looks down between your bodies. "I should have stayed home- I made everything worse-"

"You did nothing wrong, okay." You reach up, cupping his face gently, lifting his chin so he'd meet your gaze. "You did nothing wrong." You insist. He places his palms over your hands. Leaning into the warmth your touch brings him.

“I remember him..." He nods at his sudden recollection. It comes to him in bits and pieces. "Ryker." His hands slide up your wrist to the purple indentations marring your wrist, contrasting your skin's original shade. He opens his eyes, hoping he's wrong when he peers at the discoloration. But your hurt wrist only brings forth the truth. Telling him everything he didn’t want to be true. He feels guilty for even letting the asshole execute the action, he tries to conjure up ways he can make the injury vanish. Would a kiss heal your wounds? Take away his mistakes? He opted not to, but he was tempted to do so. "He bruised you." He nods, firm and sure.

"Bruises fade, Bob." There you go again, downplaying someone's unforgiving behavior.

"A bruise might...The memories won't." You shake your head at his trepidation. "Why didn't you fight him? You...You're capable of defending yourself?" Bob looks into your eyes.

"I didn't want to escalate the situation..." You shrug dismissively..

"But he hurt you? He hurt you, and I couldn't stop him in time, I-" He pauses, when it hits him like a tidal wave. The way various shouts echo through his head. Your voice bellowing in anguish. A flash of your face painted with pain.

You had been thrown across the center of the venue's dance floor. You rolled and then landed awkwardly on your stomach. Your once neat hairdo was disheveled in your sudden state. You pushed up with your heels and palms.

"Y/n!" Yelena made for you, but you shook your head.

"No, no, don't." You held your hand out, halting Walker and Yelena from approaching you. "Stay back!" You warned.

"B-Bob stop!" You cry out, a rasp to your voice.

"I hurt you..." Bob's eyes widen in fear. He tries to pull your hands away from his face. It was as though he were the Flint Striker and you were the one caught on fire. He was burning you. "No, no, no..." His eyes close as he gently grips your palms and lowers them to your waist. You didn't want to let him go. "I make everything worse. I should have stayed home- I didn't mean to hurt you-"

"Bob." You begin your reasoning. “No, I’m fine. You saved me! You got me out of there, everything’s better now.” You reach for him when he flinches. He hates how your face falls, even more so, when he denies you proximity.

“I-I should’ve stayed home.” He accepts before making his way back to Bucky, asking if they could leave.

“B-Bob!” You call after him, your dam cracking, hearing faint clicks approach your form from behind, you look up.

“Come on. Let’s get you both home before Valentina makes an ever bigger show.”

Yelena.

You peer at her, eyes glistening. She tilts her head, an apologetic smile on her face.

“Come on.” She wraps a blazer around your shoulders. One that smelled oddly like the shaggy-haired man. You were dreading the car ride home, that much certain.

-

“So you instigated him?” The drive back to the watch tower was nothing short of an unbearable experience. Your scowl and crossed arms giving way to how pissed off you were. Bucky and Walker avoided your harsh, directed stare. Bob had sat to your side, curling in on himself as the tension only intensified. His hands were warm, a mock of how close your skin was to touching, but he’d more than likely pull away.

Dreadful.

Now you all had made it out of the elevator with the team hot on your trail. Your heels clicked heavily against the floors. Bob stood off to the side slowly discarding the tie Yelena had done for him. He looked down at the fabric. Messing with it idly to distract himself from the fight he knew would break out. His shoulders reflected that of a small child anticipating his parent’s anger, slumped over on his tall frame.

“I wouldn’t say that? It was more of a friendly bit of teasing. All we did was give him the nudge he needed to confess the undying love he has for you.” Walker sighed as he went over to the bar. “We saw how pissed Ryker was making you…told the kid to go save you or to stop bitching about how much he wants to be with you.”

Asshole.

“So you hazed him and made Void come out.”

“Well, when you put it that way…” Walker trails off.

“You’re unbelievable!”

“Look, we didn’t mean for it to happen-“

“Didn’t mean-“ You laugh incredulously. “Spare me, Walker. No one can function properly, when you’re down everyone’s throat with childish antics. What were you even thinking?”

“Y/n, you don’t need to stick up for me-” Bob tried to create space between you and the Soldier.

“He wasn’t.” Bucky stepped in. Running a hand down his face tiredly. “We thought it’d be harmless, Y/n. Why would we ever intentionally put him through that sort of thing?”

“I told you we were gonna get him out of the house so he good have a fun night. Did I not tell you I wanted no weapons for tonight? To not wound him up to the point of his other self being unleashed. I was gonna come back after I handled Ryker. I had it handled.” You sneer at the man. Tears forming in your eyes, shaking your head at his ignorance.

A scoff to your left makes everyone’s head turn. Bob fiddles with his tie, his head shaking, a half smile settled over his face. “He bruised you…that’s not handling it.”

“Bob-“ You sigh.

“It…It wasn’t their fault, Y/n. If anyone’s to blame, blame it on me. I went after you…”

“No-“ You protest.

“Bucky and Walker only brought the idea up to me...It was my choice alone. I made the decision…to check on you. But now…I-I should have stayed home-“ Bob shakes his head. “Valentina was right…I shouldn’t have been let out.”

“Valentina can dig her grave and lie in it. I’m tired of her trying to keep you locked up here. You’re allowed to go outside when you feel like it! You’re not under house arrest, she can’t confine you to this place-”

“I just make everything worse.” Bob's brows pinch together. You cup your stomach as tears begin to spill down your face.

“No. You don’t. Don’t think like that. You don’t, I promise.” Your protest further escalated his self-loathing.

“Void took hold of you from what everyone is saying, and for whatever reason, felt the need to keep you from getting back to us. He hurt you, I hurt you.“

“But that’s not on you! That wasn’t your fault! It was mine. For thinking I could somehow bring you back down from in there.” Your eyes meet his temple. “I made things worse. I mean—I shot a bullet at you! I could have knocked him on his ass, but I didn’t and it wasn’t the right call for me to make.” You argue.

“We’re one whole. How is it not my fault?” His shoulders slumped, looking at the team’s conflicted expressions. “Am I wrong?” He breathes a laugh out. “Nothing ever turns out great when I’m around.” He slowly retreats towards the stairs. “I told you guys I should’ve stayed home...” 

“Bob please…” You call after him.

“Let him go.” Bucky orders. You turn back to look at your teammates. 

“D-Did I just ruin this things between us?” You let your arms flop down to your sides.

“No…it’s not your fault. This isn’t your fault at all.” Bucky reassures you. He walks over to you and squeezes your shoulder.

“Why didn’t you knock him on his ass?” Walker questions.

“I was going to,” You snapped back at him. “-but I didn’t. I couldn’t. I don't know...It felt like I was back there again, enduring his abuse when he grabbed me...I guess I froze." You shrug nonchalantly. "Then Bob showed up...and I couldn't think straight. Couldn't think of a way not to escalate things further, but I only made it worse, and it cost Ryker his life in the end...Cost Bob a fun night."

"He killed him?" Walker closes his eyes; your turmoil didn't do anything to hide it. He didn't miss the coms from the authorities either, claiming one casualty earlier on their way out of the venue.

You looked at the floor. "He did...and he doesn't need that put on him. So don't fucking tell him." You warn.

"I think Bob should decide that for himself, no?" Bucky raised a brow at you. "What happened to letting him make his own choices from now on?"

“Well, he wanted to stay home, but we all kept insisting he go out with us. So I don’t know anymore! And I'm not deciding for him..." Your hands were balled into a tight fist. "He should decide, yes, but when he's ready. He doesn't need to know about it right now...It just happened and a part of me isn’t too upset with him about it, but he's in such a vulnerable state right now...I feel like it’ll only do more harm than good...It'll be another thing for him to hate himself over...He doesn’t need that right now.” You say softly. “You guys should have seen him when we were in the void…He’s so capable and we take his gifts for granted.”

“We never thought he was incapable, it's why we agreed to allow him to make his own choices, decide what he eats for dinner, allow him to find his own hobbies. Tonight was just a one-time incident where we peer pressured him into leaving his room, when he didn't want to."

“Well, that peer pressure backfired, didn’t it?” You said under your breath. You run a hand down your face in frustration. “God, he didn’t even want to leave his room...Did you see how uncomfortable he was at dinner? You said it yourself, we coerced him. And I’ve never seen him more upset about it...” You turn your head, peering at the staircase. "Was it stupid of me to think we could show him a fun night out?"

"No. We all wanted the same for him." Yelena shakes her head. "It's not stupid."

"Then why does it feel like it is? He's probably up in his room beating himself up for even stepping outside."

"'Cause you love him..." Yelena gave you a pinched tired grin.

You look away from her. Your shoulders slumped as your eyes burned with unshed tears. It was quiet. No one was sure of what to say. You closed your eyes as that familiar pain in your chest returned. "I do. I love him..." Your voice broke. "But this isn't about how I feel. It's about him." You shake your head. "He was just starting to feel a little more secure with himself in public...He's gonna hate himself for thinking he ruined everyone's night. I could see it in his eyes...The last thing he needs is to feel guilty over something he has no control over." You continue.

"It's not fair to him...He's had it rough for so long, and every time there's progress, something bad happens that takes him thirty steps back." You let out a small scoff. "Maybe I never should have brought up the idea of a night out in the first place...How can he forgive me after a night like tonight?"

"'Cause he loves you too." Yelena tilts her head at your self-deprecation.

You look at her. Your body stiffens, and your chest tightens as you let her words sink in. "But what good is it to love me if it only brings him pain? How long before that love fades to nothing because of my negligence?"

Yelena shakes her head, taking your hands in hers. "You can't doubt yourself, or his feelings for you. I know it's difficult, but the last thing you need to do is start putting yourself down and feeling sorry about tonight." She squeezes your hands.

Bucky stood next to you, his arms crossed over his chest as he nodded in agreement. "You know that you mean a lot to him right?"

“And he only agreed to go out because you wanted him there with us.” Yelena admits.

“Also, we might’ve encouraged him to confess his feelings for you, but he wanted to do it at his own time…I should have stopped then and there, kid. I’m sorry.”

Bucky’s admission only added to the weight that sat heavy in your chest. You look over at him and nod slowly, unable to form words.

Yelena gently rubbed you on the back. “You know he can’t stay inside that room forever. You both need each other." Yelena chimed in. “Plus he can’t go a day without his cereal so there’s that…”

"He'll come to his senses..." Walker gives you a faint grin. “He’d be stupid not to.”

“T-Thanks guys…” You step back from Yelena’s hands. “I’m gonna be outside if you need me…gonna clear my head.”

“Want some company?” Ava offers surprisingly.

“N-No I’m okay.” You brush her off before you head out to the roof.

“Take the time you need, little one.” Alexei chimes after you. You raises a thumb in the air in your exit.

When you're out of sight, Walker asks. "What time is it?"

Bucky checks his watch. "Just a quarter till midnight. Why?"

At the realization, Walker takes off towards the staircase. "Walker, what are you doing?" Yelena called after him.

"Keeping my promise!" He called from over his shoulder. “You'll see!” Bucky, Yelena, Ava shared a look as he ran up the stairs and disappeared.

"What the hell is that about?" Yelena gapes before shaking her head. “Whatever, I’m going to bed. Someone make sure Y/n doesn’t jump off the roof.”

“I don’t think we have to worry about that…” Bucky shakes his head.

-

You hadn't fully registered how the cold breeze stung you until you felt a jacket fall over your shoulders.  You had been so caught by New York's optics that you missed the metal door creak open. You jump at the sudden contact, thinking you'd see someone beside you, but you had to turn further around to see the man of the hour, who had been running through your mind, stood at the door. You take note of the hand he lowers back down to his side. Putting two and two together about how the jacket made it to you. He made it float. "Bob..."

“Walker said you might be cold…” He said, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"Right…I-I was...thank you." You turn your head, nuzzle your nose into the fabric as you insert your arms through the arm holes.

He nods his head. “Welcome…” His chest feels tight watching you snuggle into his jacket. His gaze settled down in front of him. Neither of you say anything. The sounds of New York City echo throughout the night air. Car engines, taxi cabs, faint horns in the distance. Time did seem to stop up here, whereas life continued down on the streets. It was oddly comforting. "C-Could I join you?"

You look back at him, surprised by his suddenness. "Yeah...Yeah of course."

He nods then takes the spot next to you; awkwardly fidgets with his fingers in his lap. He turns his head, looking at you in his jacket. It was a sight for sure...He tried to ignore the way his heart palpitated in his chest.

He tries to focus on the sound of the wind and the city in the distance. But his eyes linger on you, taking in your form. How the evening sky envelopes you in its darkness, distant lights from neighboring buildings causing a warm hue to make your face visible to him, the way the wind nipped at your nose, and your sniffles took over you...He couldn't deny it...You looked beautiful, so carefree.

You turn at the right time and catch him gazing at you. Your eyes crinkle with a hint of heat that rushes up to warm your cheeks. You both emit a nervous laugh, settling your eyes onto your laps. His hands wring together, yours fiddling with the jacket's sleeves.

The silence continued, but this time, there was an obvious tension in the air. The both of you were hyper-aware of it. His eyes continued to dart between you and the city lights. "Can I ask you something?"

"Anything..."

His heart stutters in his chest. He takes a shaky breath, his nervousness building. He looks back at you. You look at him reassuringly, like you genuinely meant that one word...Anything.

It makes it difficult for him to get the next words out. "...It’s a stupid question." He rubs the back of his neck. 

“That’s okay.”

"I-I just-" He sighs, his jaw clenching as he looks out at the city again. "This might sound weird...But do you know how to tie a tie?" He swallows down any anxiety, forcing his gaze back on you.

“Oh.” Your eyes widen at the peculiar question. “Do I know how to tie a tie?” You ask again to ensure you heard him right. Bob nods yes. 

“Sorry...I warned you it was a stupid question. Just...Forget I asked, okay?" He rubs the back of his neck again, looking away.

"No, No...It's okay. If you really want to know. I do."

His eyes flicker with curiosity, meeting your gaze. "You...You do?" He quirks an eyebrow.

"Yeah. Why do you ask?"

He shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant, but there was an underlying hint of something in his eyes. "Oh, I was just...I was just curious, that's all...I can’t put one on myself...Yelena did it for me, but I…" He trails off, looking back at the city. "I just thought maybe...You could-" His words die in his throat, cutting himself off before he lets any more words slip. He shakes his head, his hands continuing to fidget in his lap.

You register the implication. "Teach you?" You try.

His breath hitches in his throat as you finish his sentence. He looks back at you, his eyes a mix of vulnerability and relief. He could sense the anticipation in your gaze, waiting for him to respond. "Y-Yeah...Teach me." He finally manages to rasp out. "So Yelena won't have to anymore..."

"Yeah, I can. Tell me when okay." You grip his hand. He nods.

"O-Okay..." He looks down at his lap. Your touch is soft and warm. He can't help letting the guilt eat at him. You were being so gentle with him when he was anything but. "I'm sorry I hurt you..."

"Don't-” You shake your head. “Don't do that. Don't apologize." You squeeze his hand gently. "It wasn't your fault...You weren't in control."

"But that doesn't change the fact that my other half hurt you!" He snaps back, his grip on your hand momentarily tightening. You both look down at his hold, his shoulders lose their tension before he's holding you like you're made out of porcelain.

"Look at me, please." You request softly. He raises his head, trying to avoid eye contact. His chest tightens, knowing he can’t hold your gaze for too long. "It wasn't you."

His jaw clenches, his eyes stinging. "I should've stayed here...Then I wouldn't have ruined the night." His breath shakes, the words leaving him in a broken whisper. His eyes meet yours, tears blurring his vision. He hated this—all of this.

Tears sting your eyes as well. Your free hand reaches up, brushing his cheek gently. His eyes flutter at your touch. "You didn't ruin anything..."

He shakes his head, refusing to accept the comfort you try to offer him. The guilt is too heavy, weighing him down like a thousand-pound weight. He feels so undeserving. "I did...I always do. I-I..." His voice trails off, tears spilling down his cheeks.

"No-" Your hand cups his face, forcing him to look at you. "No, you don't. You might make mistakes, but you don't always screw things up. You're a good man, Bob. You're so much more than what you think of yourself..." You lean your forehead against his. “You’re good.”

He tries not to melt at the way you say his name. His face falls forward, leaning his forehead into yours. He closes his eyes, savoring the feeling of your touch, your words. "How can you say that? Especially after tonight..."

"Because it’s true.” You softly run your thumb over his cheek, catching another tear that slips down. “You are such a good man.” You take a shaky breath, trying to find the right words. “You’ve been through a lot…You’ve been beaten down many times…but you keep bouncing back up.” He’s still against you, his breathing ragged as he lets the comfort of your proximity soothe him. “You brought me back from the Void, you didn’t leave me…You’re so good!” You breathe out a laugh. "I wish you'd see it yourself."

He can’t speak, the lump in his throat preventing him from doing so. Instead, he closes his eyes tighter, relishing in the sound of your voice. He’s desperate to soak up every word you say, to have them sink in, become second skin. He’s been deprived of something so simple for so long, to hear the one person he cares about say those words…It’s making him unravel at the seams. When he finally speaks, it’s barely above a whisper. “Do you love me?” 

The question hangs in the air like the sound of a church bell. You take note of how he’s looking at you. The way he leans into your touch, seeking the comfort of human contact that he’s been deprived of. Your hand gently cups his chin, your other moving to rest over his heart. His gaze is fixed on yours like an anchor, waiting for you to respond. You can read the desperation and need in his eyes, the vulnerability that he's trying so hard to conceal.

You see a man wanting, no, begging to be loved. To be told that he's worthy of it despite believing otherwise. You look at the way he's clutching your hand, desperate for some kind of reassurance. He's hurting, still so damn broken, but not loving him with every fiber in your being would hurt you more. "Yes…God, I’d be stupid not to." You breathe a laugh.

Your words hit him like a tidal wave. His heart stutters in his chest, the grip he has on your hand clenching involuntarily. His eyes search yours again, looking for any sign of deception, anything to tell him you don't really mean it. But all he sees is complete honesty looking right back at him. He shakes his head; a broken laugh escapes his lips as his chest tightens at the confession. "Yeah…You really mean that?"

His questioning. It only hurts you further. So you cup his face, bringing him closer so you could look into his eyes. “I do. I mean it...I love you.” He flinches. He’s frozen, eyes searching your face, waiting for you to take it back. You don’t. 

You run your thumb over his skin, gently brushing your nose against his. You see tears form in his eyes again, and suddenly, his hands are on your waist. Gripping the material of the jacket he gave to you, pulling you close. “Can you repeat it?” He finally croaks out.

“I love you…” You’d tell him three thousand times if he asked.

He shivers; the tremble of his chin is barely noticeable. “Again?” You’re suddenly pulled into his lap with a soft force. The grip he has on you is tight, not rough, as though he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

"I love you." You trace his jawline. He lets out a shaky breath. It's not long till you're leaning in to capture his lips with yours.

The first touch of your lips against his has him releasing a low groan. His eyes flutter as he melts into it before he suddenly pulls you flush against him, desperately trying to savor it—savor your touch. His lips move against yours in a frenzy, his hands gripping you tighter on your hips. The kiss is filled with need, a longing he can barely contain.

He can’t get enough. The taste of you was so sweet and warm. He’s been deprived of such a simple thing that now his body screams for it. His heart beats wildly in his chest, his hands exploring every part of you he can reach. He can feel your body against his, its heat, that only adds fuel to the fire. The kiss deepens, becoming more passionate and desperate than you expected from him. When you pull back to gather your bearings, to allow oxygen back into your lungs, you can’t help but cry. Bob, already second-guessing the little make-out session, feeling he's done something wrong, was relieved when your words deterred his troubled thoughts.

“You're good, you're worthy, and you are so loved…” You wipe the remaining tears with the back of your hand. "If you ever take anything from this conversation, Bob, let it be those three words. You deserve to be wanted. To be happy, to be loved…"

[minothtime]

I'm a translator, which is sort of linguist-adjacent, so let me try to shed some light onto this! Lengthy sort-of-explanation under the cut

(Disclaimer: English is my second language, so please forgive me for any mistakes, oddities or typos ^^;)

first of all, the whole "referencing posts or known sentences to evoke feelings" is what linguistic in-groups are like! Tumblr has its own set of specific words and references that are constantly being flung around. This exact thing happens in other circles -4chan boards, kpop stan twitter, tiktok comments- or even smaller groups like fandoms! References are what separates the in-group from the out-group, as Etymology Nerd explains in this tangentially-related short.

But... Tumblr feels different, somehow, right? Because it's not just very specific references made in a relatively close-knit fandom. We're not talking about the Zohar or about Hyunjin actually being part of Odd Eye Circle. These references are SITE-WIDE! They're extremely easy to come across and you can find an explanation by asking literally anyone! How come?

Well, I'd wager this has to do with two things: Tumblr's unique features and the Tumblr userbase itself.

Tumblr is unique among other social media for many reasons. One of them is the interaction with old posts: there's no stigma surrounding it, unlike other social media, and there is no deterrents put in place by the website itself either. This way, posts can live in the common consciousness for much, much longer, cementing them in people's minds and becoming part of the website's zeitgeist.

To be fair, I personally believe that this is the case thanks to those "popular" or "iconic" posts being spread across the internet, giving new users the chance to look for them and reblog or interact with something they are familiar with. This naturally extends the lifespan of such posts. This is also why humorous posts like "the tubby custard machine", "tea tastes different in hot water" or "children's hospital", among a slew of others, have an easier time surviving the passing of time than more serious or niche posts.

Tumblr's userbase, on the other hand, is also quite... unique. This section will all be from my point of view and from observations I've made myself, so do not take my word for it. Or do. Don't hesitate to chip in about this part yourself!

Anyways. The Tumblr userbase - or "ecosystem", as it has been called. There's a staggering amount of variety in this webbed site, and many others before me will probably explain it better than I ever will (Strange Aeons, for example). Since the so-called 2018 "exodus" (when nsfw was banned from the platform and many users left for greener pastures), Tumblr has been considered a "dead" site, when it couldn't be further from the truth. Somehow, by virtue of not shooting themselves in the foot like literally every single other social media, Tumblr has survived. Even if its behavior towards trans people (mostly women) is still very suspect. But I digress.

Basically, I think Tumblr users like to feel included. Because so many of us have struggled socially, we suddenly find ourselves in a site filled to the brim with people similar to us. A site with accessible inside jokes that are funny, easily understandable, and easy to use. A site with the bare minimum rule of "don't be a fucking jerk but otherwise go nuts". These references make people feel good when they see them, when they understand them, and when they use them themselves. "Oh, I know what you're talking about! I get it!". Also personally as an autistic person i like knowing what something means. And I love making references other people get. It's something I struggled to do before and now I can do it!!

That's the socio-linguistic explanation for the iconic post references. But, really, I think that also affects the whole typing and rethorical-question side of things!

This very clear distinction between a question that requires an answer (usually marked with question marks) and rethorical questions (no question marks whatsoever) helps a lot! Neurodivergent people who struggle with tone suddenly have a clear-cut indicator that helps make them more comfortable, which perpetuates the system. Because it's great!!

The hyper-exaggerated compliments might come from a place of necessity, tho. Language has evolved to a point where non-ironic/common sentiments like "oh i rlly like ur art!" or "wow, what a cool use of space!" feel lackluster and barebones. The way the internet requires exaggeration for anything to be taken seriously, because of the flashiness or the so-called "algorithm speak", has bled into everyday speech patterns. If I'm talking about a painting i saw and I say "god it makes me wanna claw my eyes out. it makes me wanna scream and yell and grab the artist by the lapel and shake them like a maraca" my mother will look at me and go "what the fuck". My friends will just smile and nod in agreement.

Now that I stop to think about it, this obsession with hyperbole probably comes from a place of desperation - we want to be perfectly understood and leave no doubt about our stance. This, of course, is the natural consequence of those many years the internet at large spent obsessed with so-called "irony". Being earnest wasn't "cool", so you had to appear unaffected by everything and behave as unimpressed as possible to be taken seriously at all. Nowadays, you can't say you like something without having to preemptively write seven paragraphs defending your stance. And this sucks.

I'm a staunch supporter of the bring-back-earnestness movement. While saying things like "i'm gnawing at the bars of my enclosure" is funny and all, sometimes just commenting a heartfelt "i really loved this piece. I think about it a lot!" feels mor efreeing than having to think a funny, quirky way of saying the same thing you've been adding to the tags of your reblogs for five years.

TLDR tumblr is how it is bc neurodivergent people. my advice: be yourselves, don't be malicious, be earnest, be curious, never be afraid to learn.

do feel free to correct me on anything i've said if necessary! i might be linguist-adjacent and very interested in sociolinguistics and neurodivergent behavior online but i'm not omniscient and i love to learn.

(play xenoblade chronicles x it's a very good game)

when did tumblr collectively decide not to use punctuation like when did this happen why is this a thing

[3liza]

after meaning to get around to it for years i finally listened to almost the entirety of Sold a Story and it is as groundbreaking as everyone says it is. it's also the most confusing, to me, single event in American culture in my lifetime and my reasons for thinking that are pretty complex so im not sure theyre fully formed yet. there's a list of shit in this podcast that made me feel like i was going insane

i KNEW something was going on at a population level, i've been noticing it for years, people kept telling me i was imagining things, but i was RIGHT, two generations of kids have been reduced to barely-literate levels of language function because of this shit and you CAN see it and hear it while talking to people in the world!

the entire adoption of the Calkins programs in the first place were based on the majority of people responsible for American child education deciding basically overnight that "children don't need to learn phonics in order to become strong readers" which is literally and not figuratively equivalent to saying "children can learn algebra without learning what numbers are". it is so self-evidently false i dont even know how to respond to such an assertion. you have to be fundamentally devoid of common sense to think this is true. language is comprised of sounds (phonemes), sounds are represented by letters, letters make up the alphabet, the alphabet makes up words, and words make up sentences. you cant just skip over the parts of this you dont like, it's the basis of our entire civilization. "i dont need to learn individual notes i just want to play to saxophone" okay well. too bad? you cant

american primary education apparently has no communication whatsoever with the scientific fields of human behaviorism, pediatrics, neurology, linguistics, the science of learning generally, and there is next to zero communication between teachers who are actively responsible for educating children and the entire research field of educating children. they just dont talk to each other, at least in huge swaths of the country. in retrospect this is obvious, i just have been assuming incorrectly this entire time that maybe, surely, some aspect of how our public schools are administered is in some way being guided by scientific evidence and research. this has apparently not been the case for 20+ years. Lucy Calkins herself claims she "didn't know" that the research on how children acquire language had been essentially settled by the 1990s, she just wrote her stupid book based on her own self-assurance that what she THOUGHT children were doing when they learned language was correct. she ddin't check, she didnt ask about research or studies, she didn't test her hypothesis, she just told everyone she had figured out how to teach kids to read based on nothing but her own untested assumptions. and everyone was like "okay sounds good". every single person involved in this process is or was in a position of responsibility for educating american children. and almost none of them thought to ask "okay, but have you tested it? does it work?" because they didn't test it, and it doesnt work, and for some reason that was never even brought up

teachers kept being interviewed on this podcast who kept saying things like: "they never taught us how to teach children to read" and "they didn't teach us how children learn so i had no idea how it worked" and then explaining this was why they were so easily hoodwinked by the Calkins program. i don't understand this. what is actually taught during the two year degree programs at teaching colleges? if it's not child psychology, pedagogy, neurology, and actual techniques for teaching children, what are they teaching you to do there? one of my friends who went to a teaching college told me they mostly provided classes on lesson planning.

individual teachers apparently are not reading books or articles or papers on any of these subjects either. so having graduated from a teaching college knowing nothing about children, teaching, or even basic english literacy ("i didn't know how to teach phonics and no one told me" is another thing actual teachers kept saying on the podcast. girl, SESAME STREET can teach basic english phonics, and it does), almost none of them actually do any investigation on their own. they just show up to their workplace (the school) and "teach" whatever admin hands them. ?????????????? how is this possible?

i realized last night in a fugue of post-exertional malaise that the three-cueing method of teaching reading is training children to approach language very similarly to how a large language model does it. they laboriously instruct the children to guess what the next word in a sentence will be, often by actually covering the word with a post-it note and then cajoling and badgering the child until he guesses the word under the post-it, based on the vibes on the sentence he's reading. this doesnt teach you to read, it teaches you to act like youre reading

this isnt directly addressed in the podcast but we used to just teach everyone english like it was an actual system that has parts and rules and structures, because that's what a language is. everyone would start with phonics and the alphabet, then later do stuff like sentence diagramming and grammar, neither of which have been taught in primary schools in decades. i think i was probably the very last generation of kids to get ANY of that stuff unless they went to an exceptional school, and it was only because my 8th grade teacher knew it was important and went against school admin's instructions in order to teach it. the couple days of sentence diagramming and grammar he gave us, out of SPITE, have been more useful to me in reading and writing than the entire rest of primary english education i received in public school, and i didn't even go to a school that had adopted three-cueing stuff yet.

[juicebuck]

i saw a post earlier that i now can't find that talked about buck making assumptions about other people. particularly when it comes to eddie. and GOD. yeah. it's been rotating in my mind ever since. the way buck has assumed the worst about eddie on multiple occasions this season instead of talking to him. and i actually do think a lot of this is due to buck’s black and white, all or nothing thinking. and most recently, in 8x17, was exacerbated by the grief assessments. significantly this is something he does when he is Hurting. when his abandonment issues are triggered. this is clear in 8x09 and 10. where he's consistently implying that leaving LA means nothing to eddie. eddie's an "abandoner", who doesn't "know how to stay" and is leaving him "like it’s nothing" and this is, well. it's buck struggling with black and white thinking. unable to see any inbetween so coming to the worst possible conclusion about eddie and lashing out. and it's hurtful. that's an extremely hurtful thing for eddie to hear. that buck thinks eddie can so easily toss their friendship aside. that it's nothing to him. and then, same again in 8x17. buck assumes eddie (and everyone else too) is doing fine, an assumption based on Grief Assessments rather than actual conversation, and feels like he's the only one struggling, that no one needs him, that he’s been abandoned in his grief. buck literally says, "sorry i'm sad bobby's dead" and it's passive aggressive. it's implying eddie's Not sad, that he’s not grieving too. and it fucking Hurts eddie that buck would think that. that buck hasn't even—not just that he hasn't even asked. but hasn't even considered what it's been like for him. because he made another assumption instead of talking to him. and then, eddie opens up about it. about the guilt he feels about not having been there. and buck's response is "you don't think i did everything i could to save him?" and it's. God. it's painful to watch. because buck's still doing it. he's still making passive-aggressive assumptions instead of having a conversation. takes it as an accusation. when it's eddie starting to deflate and trying to actually talk about what it was like.

and i say all of this as someone who has a lot of experience being in buck's shoes in this situation. in assuming the worst in people when you're hurting. it's an extremely difficult mindset to break. and it's an extremely painful mindset to try and navigate life with. because your first instinct when you are hurt will always be that assumption. i have had so much therapy. but it's STILL my first instinct. i'm just able to challenge it better now. and i don't think that buck actually does believe what he is saying and what he is implying. he's just lashing out. because he's grieving and he's not in a space right now where he is able to challenge those assumptions and that black and white thinking. grief is a fucking horrible beast. you can have had all the therapy in the world and react like you haven't (i don't think buck has had all the therapy in the world but. a point he does make is that he's had enough therapy. he THINKS he's handling it in like, a healthy way. when he's not.)

and to be clear. this isn’t about making eddie the Right One in this situation either. they have both handled it all Badly. and they've clashed because they have both handled it badly in Different ways. ways that inevitably conflicted. and eddie gets mean directly. when he's hurt. buck gets mean by making assumptions with passive-aggressive implications (i.e. sorry i'm sad bobby's dead. implication: eddie's not) but eddie is more direct. he'll outright say it (i.e. making it all about you). but acting like those two things don't hold equal weight, acting like eddie is Wrong and buck is Right is genuinely fucking insane and a gross misunderstanding of the scene. the kitchen scene was so, so good. because it was such a raw expression of grief, and the conflicting ways people lash out at those they love when grieving. buck was lashing out just as much as eddie was. just because he didn't yell about it doesn't make it not true.

[maidenvault]

It’s weird seeing so many takes painting them both as total monsters after what happened on Ghorman, when the whole point is they aren’t. They’re human people with this very human relationship but Dedra still does what she does and Syril still allows himself to be used by a horrible system, and Dedra’s only regret is how crushingly hollow it feels to win and get the recognition for a job well done when she can’t share it with Syril.

Syril and Dedra have a very messed up relationship but they do care about each other. Even after Syril leaves Dedra after choking her in a rage over what she’s done he is not willing to let somebody kill her. As cathartic as it must be after all the time he’s hunted him, it’s why he attacks Cassian without thinking.

But I don’t think Syril ultimately would have hesitated to shoot Cassian if he didn’t genuinely have some doubt about whether he’s been on the right side all this time and feel some true horror about what is about to happen to Ghorman. He’s very confused, and it’s just way too late for it to matter. Dedra just told him everyone on Ghorman is going to die, whether it’s as victims of the massacre or when they destroy the planet - he just helped make it easier for the Empire to control the narrative about it and no fighting back in that plaza is really going to matter.

I think the tragic thing about Syril is in his own weird way he has a sense of integrity and that makes him not totally fit in, but also is easy for the right person to exploit. The creepy shit he says to Dedra to explain why he feels drawn to her is totally sincere. He first learns of Cassian as a guy who got away with murdering two officers, and he’s disgusted that his superior wants to sweep it under the rug. But he’s had a fairly comfortable life seeing little of the bigger picture of the Empire, he can’t imagine things any other way and just takes it for granted that serving the Empire is right. Syril has this extremely arrogant conviction that he’s right, he’s truly loyal, he’s not just some middle-class nobody who doesn’t deserve any of the favors he’s gotten, and almost no one can live up to his high standards of what’s just. And of course that makes it extremely frustrating that he’s disgraced after Cassian and Luthen run circles around him on Ferrix, which really could have happened to anyone, when he initially was one of the only people who even cared about catching Cassian.

I think Syril truly believes that if he can only make enough of a good impression and get in a room with the right people, the Empire will recognize and reward him for that kind of integrity. But he learns from Dedra, who’s much higher up in the chain and has been more personally connected to the Empire her whole life, what true loyalty to the Empire actually means. That all it rewards is unquestioning compliance, not being an “individual.”

Parts of the article where Denise Gough is talking about Dedra and her feelings for Syril. Girl is down bad. I want to see her kill Partagaz in revenge (Won't ever happen)

[alwayslurkinginthebackground]

Rules - A Joel Miller Drabble

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader Rating: E. Smut is backkkkk baby. Fingering, unprotected p in v, the usual. Word Count: 2829 a/n: Someone destroy the USB before episode 6 premieres or I fear I actually won't make it past next Sunday. Anyway, here's some smut!

“So what’s he like?” you ask, trying your best to sound nonchalant. “You know, when he isn’t being an asshole?” 

Maria follows your line of sight, right to where your gaze is fixed on the two men across the street, chopping up the tree they’d spent the afternoon taking down. “Joel?” she asks, and you know she’s looking at you now, but you don’t acknowledge it, keeping your focus on the flowers you’ve been planting in your front yard. 

You only hum in confirmation. 

“He’s pretty closed off,” she sighs, “but I can’t say that I’d expect anything else. He’s been through it according to Tommy.” 

“We’ve all been through it,” you fire back, perhaps with a bit more venom in your voice than you want. You let out a breath to calm yourself, “I mean, it’s just…he’s…not a bad neighbor so I was just wondering.” 

The woman at your side smiles, letting out a soft laugh as she plants another bulb in the soil. “You should go talk to him,” Maria comments, a suggestion that finally has you staring at her like a deer in the headlights. 

“Why the fuck would I…” 

She raises her eyebrows in question, effectively stopping you. “You know as well as I do how…” she trails off, contemplating her words, “...unwelcoming people in this town can be sometimes.” 

“I know, but…” 

“But what?” she cuts you off again, “you can’t talk to him because of your dumb rule?” 

“It’s not a dumb rule,” you counter, shoving a plant into the ground with a bit more force than necessary. “I think it’s rather smart, actually.” 

Maria laughs again, loud enough this time that it causes Tommy to pause and look in his wife’s direction. There’s love there, in the way he looks at her, the same kind of love that you swore off a long time ago. The kind of love that was scary enough to think about without the outbreak and the constant threat of loss. It’s why you made an oath to yourself to avoid men years ago, a rule that had been easy to follow since a relationship of any kind hadn’t really even crossed your mind until you found a relatively normal life in Jackson.

Or until Joel Miller moved in across the street. 

You’re prepared to argue, conscious of the way your friend stops what she’s doing to turn in your direction, but her voice is soft when she continues. “Do you want my honest opinion?” 

You let out another sigh, already well aware of what she’s going to say, but you nod anyway. 

“You, my friend, need to get laid.” 

As if he can hear your conversation, Joel chooses that moment to slice through a piece of wood with near perfect accuracy, a loud crack sounding from across the street. It’s enough to make you jump, eyes darting back to him, and this time they meet his, both of you freezing. 

Maria chuckles from beside you, already turned back to her work. “I’m just saying you should think about it. He's a good guy, you know,” she continues, as though she needs to add more fuel to the fire. “Tommy wouldn’t have let him in if he wasn’t, blood relation or not.” 

Your eyes are still locked on the man in question, who seemingly forced himself to move on to another thick cut of wood, ax swinging through the air. There’s little you can do to argue with her, though, on either point. Joel’s given you no reason to believe that he isn’t someone you can trust, no matter how quiet or unsocial he might seem, and you can’t deny the dull ache that lingers when you watch the way his muscles move beneath his black t-shirt. 

“Just think about it, okay?” Maria comments again, right before the two of you fall quiet with only the occasional echo of splitting wood filling the silence. 

You know he’s home. 

The light is on in the kitchen, with the soft glow leaking into the living room. Ellie is out somewhere, you know that too, because you saw her leave earlier. 

Not that you’ve been watching or thinking in the slightest about what Maria had said. 

After all, you have a rule, and that rule has a purpose. There’s enough of an opportunity to be hurt in your world without adding a relationship, or even just sex, to the mix, and after all, you’ve been fine this long without someone in your bed, much less him. 

But you also can’t help the way your mind wanders back to that afternoon. To the way you could see the faint sheen of sweat on his brow from across the street. To the sound of his grunt with each swing of the ax. To the way each move he made somehow seemed to make you more desperate for something you've denied yourself for far too long.

Maybe Maria was right. Maybe you do just need to get laid, and maybe this is the perfect opportunity. Joel hasn’t seemed like someone on the hunt for a relationship either, even as women flock to him at The Tipsy Bison. Not that you’ve noticed. 

As you try to pry your eyes away from where they’re locked on his living room window, you see him. He’s changed into a different t-shirt, this one white, and his hair is slicked back from the shower he must’ve taken once he’d finished outside. For a brief moment you wonder if he’s going to go to bed, but then he sits on the couch.

And in the next second, you’ve left yours. 

The walk across the street and up the steps of his porch has your heart beating like you’ve just run a marathon, and you will its pace to slow as you stand in front of his door. You tell yourself you should turn back, follow your rule, go home, and you’ve just about convinced yourself when the door swings open. 

Joel looks understandably surprised to find you in front of him, a guitar in his hand as he stares at you the same way you’re staring back.

“Hi, Joel,” you manage to get out, wringing your hands at your sides. “I was just…Maria said that I should…”

“Maria?” he asks, cutting you off with a gruff voice. 

“Yeah,” you continue, “Maria said that I should come and just, I don’t know, say hello? Welcome you to Jackson?” 

“I’ve been here five months and…” Joel trails off before letting out a huff, one hand running through his curls, which you can now confirm are still damp. He sets down the guitar before continuing, “Tommy told me that I should come over to your house and introduce myself. Get to know people.” 

It takes you aback, and suddenly everything seems to click into place. Maria’s insistence that you plant flowers today, the same day that Tommy happened to insist on taking down the tree in Joel’s front yard. The way she’d been so quick to suggest that you check in on Joel, and the way she met Tommy’s gaze from across the street. An interaction you’d initially read as a simple exchange between two lovers suddenly more clear. 

They’d set you up. 

“I can’t believe them,” you laugh, hands slapping against your thighs as you pace back and forth slightly. “See, this, this is why I don’t do this. Why I have a rule.” 

Joel’s quiet, but the look on his face reads as confused when you finally stop rambling. “What rule?”

You let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand down across your face. “I don’t date. I don’t…get involved with people. I don’t do this,” you explain, your hand swinging back and forth between the two of you as though that will somehow make it all clear. 

It doesn’t. 

“And just what is it that you think this is?” he asks, his hand mirroring your own, "because last I checked I wasn’t necessarily interested either.” 

“Who said I was interested?” 

“You’re here, aren’t you?” he challenges, accompanying his words with a step toward you. “Why?” 

Your breath hitches. “Maria said…” 

Joel shakes his head. “Yeah, and Tommy said the same thing to me. Said that you’ve always been a bit of a loner, that you don’t date, but maybe if I just walked across the street and knocked on your door I’d find something I haven’t thought was possible in the last…” 

He stops, then, cutting himself off as he looks down at you, something shifting, and then he’s turned away, stepping into the living room and leaving you with your thoughts. 

It’s enough to keep you quiet for a moment, your attention focused on his footsteps as they trail back and forth in front of the couch. “I’ve seen you,” you continue eventually, stepping into his house, your voice soft, “with the women.” When he doesn’t respond, you continue as though you need to elaborate further, “at the Bison.” 

“I know damn well where you’ve seen me,” he retorts, swinging around to face you. “And I know you’ve also seen me turn every one of them down.” 

“Why is that?” you can’t help yourself from asking, the words out of your mouth before you can stop them.

Joel crosses the room again to stand right in front of you, closer than before. 

“Because I have rules, too.” 

You don’t stop to consider your next move. In fact, you’re barely conscious of what it is you’re even doing until after your lips are already on his, hands woven into his hair as he cups the back of your head, holding you firmly against him. It’s only when his tongue trails along your lower lip, seeking entrance, that you pull back forcefully. 

“Fuck, wait,” you breathe out, desperately trying to put some space between you in a half-assed attempt at reminding yourself that this is the absolute last thing you should be doing right now. 

He doesn’t push you. He just stands there, staring, breathing just as heavily as you are as you both try to figure out what you’re supposed to do next. What you’ll allow yourself to do next. 

But your body chooses for you. 

The next thing you know, you’re on the couch, trapped between his body and the back of the sofa. His lips never leave yours, devouring you like a man dying of thirst as his hand trails lower. You don’t stop him when his fingers tease the edge of your jeans, and you definitely don’t stop him when they slip beneath the waistline, hot against your skin. 

“How long?” he asks when he lets you come up for air, his lips still marking a path along your jaw. 

“What?” you ask, too focused on the way you’re already arching against him when his fingers find your core to fully comprehend what he’s asking. 

It’s with a breath hot against your neck that he explains, “since someone touched you like this. How long?” 

At first you can’t tell if your lack of response is because of the way he’s moved onto circling your clit or the sudden realization that you’re about to tell Joel Miller that you haven’t been properly fucked in twenty years, but every thought leaves your mind when he pulls back. 

“What the fuck, Joel?” 

“Tell me,” he insists, teeth grazing your collarbone and nipping at the skin there as his fingers trace against your stomach. “How long has it been?” 

“Outbreak Day,” you murmur, hopeful that your response will have him resuming the motion between your legs. Instead, he stops entirely. 

“Outbreak Day? God, baby, no wonder you’re so fucking wet.” 

A groan leaves your lips a moment later when he resumes his mission to make you come on his couch, fingers swirling around your clit as he returns his lips to yours. You battle against one another, your hands roaming across any part of him that you can reach, until you’re left motionless by his fingers teasing your entrance. 

He slips two in easily, your body going rigid as he holds you steady. “Easy now, not yet, baby," he murmurs, letting you adjust. When he starts to move, it’s slow, a steady pace that allows him to learn what each sound that falls from your lips means. The way you whimper when he curls his fingers just right, the catch in your breath when you’re close, and the groan that escapes when he stops, leaving you teetering on the edge of bliss. 

“I fucking swear,” you breath out as he laughs against your neck. “This is why I don’t do this. Easier to just take care of…” you trail off, words lost as he adds a third finger to the mix, pace suddenly faster than before. His lips are hot against your ear as his thumb finds its home against your clit.  “You sure about that?” he whispers just as he finally lets you tip over the edge, your hand tightening against his bicep as he guides you through it, only pulling back when you’re pushing him away, overstimulated.

The world is still a bit black around the edges when you hear the clink of his belt and the pull of fabric, and you’re barely aware of the way you tear at your shirt and push at your own jeans, frantic to rid yourself of them. The haze lingers when he settles between your legs, looking down at you, and the world only clears when you realize he’s staring.

“What?” you ask, voice soft and a bit rough from the strain he’s already put on you tonight. You look down to where his cock hangs heavy and hard between you, and you know now that he does want this just as much as you do. 

“You sure? Because we don’t have to…this doesn’t…” he fumbles over his words, “this doesn’t have to mean anything.” 

You’d had your fair share of one-night stands before the outbreak, and maybe it was the fact that the world you lived in now was very different from the one you lived in then, but you wonder if he can feel it too. The sense that that isn’t what this is. 

That somewhere between his front porch and his couch, both of your rules had been broken, and that neither of you are really sure what to do about it.

Instead, you guide him closer, your hand reaching for his length so you can guide it to your entrance, letting your actions answer his question instead. When he slips inside, it’s in a singular motion, his hands coming to rest on either side of your head. His eyes are shut tightly, enough to make you wonder how long it’s been for him, but then he continues with a precise snap of his hips. 

You thought you remembered how it felt, how this would feel, even after all this time. But as he fucks you into the cushions you start to wonder if you do, because this feels like something else entirely, something you can’t quite explain. 

Joel is grunting against your neck, lips buried into the skin he finds there as each shift of his hips hike yours further up the couch. Your shoulders, and then your back, catch on the arm of the sofa, and you hold on, one arm wrapped around to claw against his back and the other desperately holding to the fabric. You can tell he’s barely hanging on by the way his thrusts grow more erratic. 

“Joel, it’s okay, you can…” 

“You first,” he insists, reaching between you to thumb at your clit again. It’s enough, pleasure sparking in your veins until it settles and you’re clenching around him, just for a moment before he pulls out. You whine at the loss, but he’s quick to replace his cock with his fingers, working you through your orgasm as he wraps his other hand around his length. 

He spills against your stomach seconds later. 

The room is left with just the sound of your heavy breath when you both come down from the high, his fingers slipping once more from your heat as he stands, retrieving his t-shirt from where he’d thrown it to the floor. With a gentle touch, he wipes it across your stomach, cleaning his spend from your skin. 

When he's finished, you start to move. “I should…”

“Stay,” Joel surprises you by saying, and you swear you catch a hint of a smile on his face as he runs his thumb over your lower lip. "You should stay."

Something in the back of your mind triggers an old alarm bell that sounds the warning that this isn't what you do. You don't get involved. You don't do this.

But as he offers his hand to help you stand, gathering your discarded clothes before he leads you to his bed, you wonder if, perhaps, rules are made to be broken.

[lostwysteria]

(Part 9! Alright. I lied. One post today because I'll need the mood booster all the likes, reblogs, comments, and asks give me. The next two weeks are gonna be hell. Inspections are comin up at work. Save me.)

Masterlist

Lin Ling watched Moon wander around in a daze, staring at her tablet like it held the secrets of the universe. He was dusting the whole apartment. Nice had been more than happy to fly him to the ceiling so he could get anything there.

The poor touch starved thing had been purring the whole time. That made Moon even more dazed. 

“I have no clue why I can purr. It started about a year ago, though.” Nice explained. Moon had choked before lunging towards her tablet. She had a maniacal look to her face. She ran over to the hidden closet and grabbed streetwear and changed quickly. She sprinted out of the apartment. 

She doubled back after Ling reminded her to grab her teleportation gun. 

…

Faejay @rockinrobin

I never knew I needed an unhinged Moon until I had it in my life.

*A video of Moon, in the corner of a cafe, a teleportation gun on the table nearly hidden by 5 empty cups of coffee. She was laughing maniacally as she did something on her tablet*

…

Moon returned several hours later, looking satisfied. The Ling and Nice looked at eachother and decided not to ask.

“Did Miss. J need me for anything whike I was out?” Moon asked.

“Nope. She’s been pretty quiet, honestly” Nice said.

Ling choked on his drink. “I think I know why. Look”

Ling showed the two Nice’s tablet screen. He’d been catching up on some news when a new headline popped up on the feed.

“Nice climbs to rank 13” Nice read aloud. “But I didn't do anything?” 

…

J looked at the news in satisfaction. She had seen the signs of Nice breaking for a couple of years now. There was very little she could do, though. At this point, he was thoroughly cracked, mentally. Broken. 

Homemaker was the perfect solution. Someone that could keep the shining Paragon together. Plus, people were starting to see that Nice could be hunan as well. Not some perfect doll. They loved him even more for it, too. 

Perhaps there was a way for her to give Nice his boyfriend, too. People loved a good redemption arc.

…

“Alright. Don't be nervous. Moon and I will be on set. You can wait right here with Miss. J.” Nice said to an awkward Homemaker. He had been dragged to the True Love Recipe Studio after losing the argument with the white haired hero. 

“Moon. I need to talk to you over there for a moment.” Nice told his fake girlfriend.

Miss J was talking to the producers and he led Moon to a corner. 

He had a perfect plan. This way she could get her freedom, he could get rid of her, he could have Ling all to himself, and hopefully soon include Wreck in the equation.

“Alright. Here's the deal. I'm going to need you to follow my lead, alright? I have a plan to end this farce.”

“You mean our “relationship”? Alright. This better work, you Ken doll.” She agreed with narrowed eyes.

…

Ling was biting his nails as Enlighter took over the show.

“Moon isn't my love. She hasn't been for a while. How can I love her when that love traps her?” Nice said emotionally. The polygraph thing read true.

“What!? That idiot. Follow the script!” Miss. J yelled.

“So your relationship is fake? All a Lie?” Enlighter asked, gleeful.

“I am saying that Moon isn't happy. She hasn't been for a long time. She was a travel blogger. She traveled the world, saw wondrous sights, and could go where the wind took her. Now she is trapped by my side. How could I truly let myself love her when that love is a cage? Our love has been more that of siblings for a couple of years now. I just want her to be free.” Nice said, impassioned.

Before Enlighter could say anything a loud screech rocked the studio and a wall was destroyed.

“Well, well, well. It seems as if the show’s over.” Wreck said as he strode onto set.

[zepskies]

Just the thought of it alone sold me too!! loll Thank you so much for diving into this one, Wayne!! Hope you had an awesome Mother's Day 😘💗💗

Yes!!! Midsummer Night’s Dream is my favorite! Good choice 😁 Also, those descriptions of New York in the beginning drew me right in. The weed and piss got me, especially as someone living in a big city. It’s everywhere 🤣

Aw thanks! When I saw it in the moodboard I couldn't not feature Midsummer, especially when I just taught it/reread it this semester. 😂💖

Oh I'm so glad to hear that because I really wanted to set the scene with that opener. What hit me first on my own visits to NYC was always the smell. 🤣🤣

Gah, I love that she fell right into his arms! It’s always my favorite meeting for two characters 😝💕

We're going all in with the rom-com moments on this one! (Even with the reader's quip on rom-coms later lol) 😁

*snorts* God, what I wouldn’t give to hear Dean’s lecture on fairies 😂 (It’s my favorite comedic episode of SPN lol)

lmfao yaaaaaas, and the best part of that first gif--

"...Nipples?!" 🤣🤣 Gets me every time.

Oh? Interesting. Wonder what happened there… 😏 And of course all the girls in class are talking about him. If he’d been my professor, I either would’ve been a straight A student and listened to every word that left his lips or I would’ve failed because I would’ve stared at him and daydreamed too hard to pay attention

Yess, you caught that angsty tidbit of backstory for Dean. This is definitely gonna be explored in the series. But of course you know these nosy-ass girls are taking his class just to watch him and listen to him talk, like he's modern-day Indiana Jones or something. 😂

And I love how you characterized this AU Dean here because the professor profession is not easy to pull off for him if you’re leaning toward fancy university (I’ve always wanted to write a community college prof AU for him lol), but you still kept his essence alive in this one with the way he dresses more casually at school and speaks, and you can still see the “professor” part as well. Bravo, friend!! 👏

Oooh thank you so much!! That's something I was really working on with his characterization. Like, of course he's going to feel a little more sophisticated because he got to finish high school and actually went to college, got his master's, etc. The challenge was trying to make him still feel like Dean at his core, so that's exactly the balance I was going for!

In the rest of the series, he's for sure going to continue that trend of being the "laid back" professor, probably not taking the university office politics as seriously as he should. 😂

However, I also love that idea of a community college au for him!! Loll You would do such an amazing job of that. I’m already seeing Community vibes 😂

Is it just me or did he think of himself there because he’s already crushing on reader? 👀 (I mean obviously he is – he went to a Shakespeare play because she told him about it. That’s love lol)

Ah I'm so glad you caught that reaction! This is him starting to feel that on an unconscious level, but maybe not totally realizing just how into her he is until this night. 😝

How about I put a dent in your face and call the cops for harassment and stealing my fucking phone???? God, I hate people 🤬 But of course Brady’s an ass 😅

ughhhh ikr? I hate public transportation for this reason. And you especially never know what's gonna happen on the subway. 🙄

Omfg, I snorted so loudly. I told you that story, right? 🤣🤣

omg YESS I remember you saying some rando was like, "So is it serious?" about your relationship. 🙄🙄 Like how gross can you be, sir?!

But I love that Dean tried to let her handle it on her own before stepping in when the guy couldn’t take a fucking hint. Also bonus points for bringing her home too because I worried Brady would follow her and try something 😒

Some people wanted him to jump in earlier, but I wanted him to give her that chance to handle it. You can already see his protective side coming through.~ 😏 (Oh yeah, Dean was 100% clocking Brady's vibes and had to make sure she got off the subway safely.)

Uh-huh… Only now you’re realizing this, Professor? 😝

hehe he can be such a dummy sometimes, but by the time they parted ways, he definitely realized he was in trouble. 😂

Typical 😂😂😂

Oh yeah, I think I'm gonna have more fun with Benny and Dean in this one than in If I Stay. 😂😅

This English major is geeking out throughout this entire exchange and nodding along 🤓 (Although I was surprised you’re calling rom-coms boring, my hopelessly romantic Alex 😜)

ehehe I knew you'd pick up everything I'm laying down here! 😘 Oh trust, she loves rom-coms. (And I personally love every single one of those movies, especially CSL!) 😂 She's just trying to make the point that "the course of true love never did run smooth" is almost a cliché at this point, while the Helena line is a more powerful statement about love~

Any relation to Buffy? What high school did she go to? Would explain all her interest in mythology 😂

I'm about to out myself, but I've actually never seen Buffy! 🫢 But that's actually hilarious loll. Let's say "Ruby" is Buffy's cousin 😝

Died at this description 🤣 Oh, he’s smitten, alright

He needs her to keep him on his toes! lollll

Uh-oh. Professor Dean is wading into dangerous waters now… 😏

It was at that moment he knew...

...he fucked up and fell in lust 🤣

N’aww, but ten years isn’t so bad. Women are more mature anyways. I bet she’s even more mature than him lol

Yeah exactly loll - on all three counts too. 😅 His mind pretty quickly skips over the little age gap and focuses on the potential "career ending" part of it. 😆

Omfg, I’m rolling my on the floor 🤣🤣🤣 And I always love Dean’s lack of self-awareness when he goes all “she doesn’t see me that way.” Like dude, have you never looked in a mirror or heard an audio recording of your voice?! 😆💚

ehehe glad you liked Dean's nerdy moment there! But we all know teachers can't every say no to an apple 😜🍎

That's such a funny Dean thing, right? Like "oh she can't possibly want me."

SIR?! Be so for real 😭😭 (Bet he's gonna get a kick out of her calling him "sir" too. 😆)

Man, I can’t fucking wait for this little miniseries!!! 🤩 (I’d take a full one too, y’know? ^^) And please, gimme all the lit nerd references 🙏🤓🎓📚

You know how much I appreciate you for that? 🥹💜 Honestly once I start outlining, it may very well become a full series. I already have so many ideas and plot twists I want to explore. This basically marks halfway through spring semester in February, so I could cover the rest of spring, summer, and her last fall semester of school.

Of course typically students graduate in spring, but when you're doing your master's it just depends on when you started, if you took breaks in between for summer or not, etc. (I graduated after a fall semester, for example.)

Anyway, lol, I'm so glad you enjoyed my first try at this kind of au!! I've gotten some great responses on this from you and others who want to see more, so I guess I'm writing another Dean series soon! 😂💕💕

10 'Til Midnight

Pairing: Professor!Dean Winchester x Student!Reader

Summary: A chance encounter outside of the classroom shifts the way you see your professor. Forever.

AN: Here’s a one-shot for @chevroletdean's 500 follower celebration! This also fulfills a request for one of my lovely Patreon members, @redhoodieone, who wanted to see AU Professor!Dean with a plus-sized student!reader. The reader is a graduate student (mid-20s) and Dean is in his 30s in this, so not really a wide age gap, but we’re still flirting with a gray area here lol.

Word Count: 4K

Tags/Warnings: graduate student!reader, plus-sized!reader, Shakespeare geekery, mythology and other nerdy classic lit. references, AU Brady sighting, sexual tension, mutual pining(?)

The ash cloud of exhaust rose up from the sidewalk steam grates. It infiltrated your nose as you hurried down a few well-worn concrete steps and into the bowels of the subway, a transition into deeper darkness.

To you, that acrid, mini plume of pollution was the smell of New York City; old cigarette buds and weed hash, fresh tequeños and hot dogs wafting from the open door of the bodega on the corner, mixed with a whiff of piss.

This was the city of broke creatives clinging to their fragile dreams with both hands, usually while the natives rolled their eyes. You were one of those shiny happy people with a dream and the battle-tested will to make it happen, especially tonight. You finally got to see a play on Broadway, an excellent production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream.

You replayed your favorite scenes in your mind like 1940s movie reel, except it was live in technicolor. An unconscious smile spread across your lips, but you had to hurry. Your train was about to leave in…

You checked the time on your phone—ten minutes to midnight—and compared it to the digital sign up ahead. Your eyes widened.

Shit! One minute?!

You had no choice but to try and run in your heels. That had you skidding to the open doors as they began to close, but you just managed to slip inside, albeit literally slipping with a yelp.

A man saved you by grabbing hold of your arm and waist before you fell, bunching the fabric of your coat beneath his hand. You gasped when you stared up at a familiar face. A sharp jawline covered with stubble, just neat enough to be respectable; dark brows shaded over green eyes, trained on you; bowed lips pursed with confusion.

“Professor?” you said, breathless and shocked.

He was just as baffled, but he finished helping you up as your name fell from his lips.

“You okay?” he asked.

You nodded and thanked him for the save, still catching your breath.

“Here, sit down,” he said, gesturing to a couple of empty seats on the subway. You joined him in sitting, though you ignored the stare of the guy standing closest to you who was holding onto a rail. He wore jeans and dirty hipster Vans, a brown bomber jacket and a gray beanie. The stench of weed and cheap cologne clung to him.

And his gaze followed you until you sat down. Slightly unsettled, you were subtle in the way you angled yourself toward the man beside you.

Professor Dean Winchester.

He really was the last person you expected to see on your way home tonight. You still couldn’t believe you ran right into him!

But then, you noticed the playbill sticking out of his coat pocket (his coat looked more expensive, a dark charcoal gray with a high collar, and it suited him).

“Oh, you…you saw the play too?” you said in excitement, showing him your own playbill that you fished out of your purse. You’d told him about it a month ago, after his lecture on fairy lore. You thought he might enjoy a play that was all about the convergence between the fairy realm and the human realm.

He’d admitted that he’d never seen a Shakespeare play live, but he said he’d look into it. You didn’t think he was actually taking you seriously though.

“Uh, yeah, I did. I’ve never been a big Shakespeare guy, truth be told, but you hooked me,” he said. When he smiled, it made the corner of his eyes crinkle a little.

You couldn’t help but smile too every time you noticed that…even though it made your cheeks warm in a blush. He really had no business being this handsome. And the suit? All crisp and black, paired with a classic, off-white dress shirt and a black pinstripe tie.

Clearly he’d dressed for the occasion of going to the theater, because usually he was one of the chillest professors you knew. He showed up to class in jeans, boots, plain henleys and jackets, though never without his watch, a classic leather time piece with a silver watch face and bold black numbers. It was so vintage, you’d asked about it once when you met with him to talk about one of your essays on Native American burial practices. He’d told you that the watch belonged to his father, who passed away a few years ago now.

“So what’d you think?” you asked. “Weren’t the sets beautiful? It was so ominous and creepy in the ‘forest,’ and ethereal too, like the fairy realm part of it.”

He nodded, smiling slightly wider at your enthusiasm. “Yeah, was a good production. The actors were top-notch.”

“Oh, incredible. That was the best Bottom I’ve ever seen.” You paused, realizing what you said, and a nervous giggle tumbled out of your mouth. “Well, the character. Not the ass—donkey—whatever. You know what I mean.”

The man laughed, rich and deep and washing over you pleasantly, even though you half covered your face in embarrassment.

“Can’t argue with you there. The ass was hilarious,” he smirked.

Another giggle, and you flipped through the playbill again to distract yourself from looking at his ruggedly chiseled face. Why, oh why did he have to be so fucking attractive? And somehow he was still single. You’d heard some of the girls in your class whispering about it after class one day—a full-on engagement that fell apart two years ago.

“But really, the actors who played the couples in the love quadrangle were awesome,” you said. “Helena was my favorite.”

He raised his dark brows. “Really? The girl who gets shit on the most in the play?”

That was another thing. He didn’t really talk like any professor you’d met in your life. You let out a snort.

“I don’t want to be her, I just think she did so well at showing that vulnerability,” you explained. “There’s nothing worse than being in love with someone who doesn’t even see you, you know?”

He tilted his head, his amusement fading as he listened. You felt emboldened to continue your thought.

“In her mind, she’s probably thinking, ‘Well, even if he’s yelling at me, at least he’s acknowledging I exist,’” you said, “which is incredibly sad and isn’t giving Shakespeare many brownie points for feminism, but it’s a reality that some women go through.”

After a moment, he seemed to see your point with a nod of his head.

“That’s fair,” he said, arching a brow. “Though I gotta hope you don’t let any guy talk to you like that.”

You shook your head with a smile, but before you could answer him, your phone slipped off your lap and tumbled to the dirty subway floor. You twisted away so you could reach down and grab it, but you caught that whiff of cheap cologne again. Gray beanie guy let go of the rail and bent down to scoop up your phone before you could. You offered a polite thank you and went to take it back, but he held it out of reach at the last second, giving you a teasing smile.

“How about I put my number in first, so you can call me when you get home,” he said. “I’m Brady, by the way.”

That oh-so-gracious offer was followed by a glance down your dress. You sat up straighter, adjusting the collar of your coat back over your neckline with a weary huff.

“Ah, you know what, I’m good with just my phone…please.”

This was why you kind of hated the subway. You didn’t know when you were going to have to interact with a creep trying to steal your phone, shoot his shot, or look down your dress as a consolation prize.

You held out your hand expectantly, but still, “Brady” didn’t take the hint.

“Aw, what, you have a boyfriend or something?” he asked.

“Oh my God. Are you fucking serious?” You sighed and decided a white lie was best here. “Yes, I have a boyfriend. Now give me my phone, please.”

“Hmm. Is it like beginning stages, or...?”

“Jesus Christ, dude.”

“Hey, I’m just saying, maybe we can grab a bite to eat, theeen you know. If things are going well, we could take things back to your place,” he said, his brows popping with sleazy suggestion. He still held the phone away from your grasping hand in frustration.

“Hey,” a deep voice cut in. 

You hesitated, glancing back at Professor Winchester. He glared up at Brady with a stony look that you’d never seen on him before.

“Give her the damn phone,” said the professor. His tone boded no argument.

Still, Brady pushed his luck.

“What, you her boyfriend or something?”

The professor didn’t bother to answer the question, but he stood from his seat, his long coat draped down all six feet and change of him, broad shoulders and calm confidence. He stared down at the lankier, scruffier pothead. Then he held out his hand.

Brady shifted back on his heels, seeming to realize that he didn’t want this version of Midnight on the Orient Express—the kind that ended up on the 6 o’clock news the next morning. With a roll of his eyes, Brady dropped the phone into your professor’s hand, complete with a dickish quirk of his lips. Professor Winchester gestured at him to fuck off.

“Walk away,” he said.

To your astonishment, the Brady just tossed him a “fuck you, bro,” and went to the other end of the car. You stood up too, just as the subway pulled to a stop. Professor Winchester handed you the phone.

“Thank you,” you said quietly.

“Is this your stop?” he asked, still glancing back with a suspicious eye at the asshole still glaring at your backs.

You nodded, biting your lip.

“Okay, come on,” the professor said. He laid a guiding hand on the small of your back and joined you in stepping out of the subway car. To your relief, Brady stayed on the train.

“Thank you,” you said again. “Really, you didn’t have to miss your exit for me.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Dean said, with a shake of his head. His frown was still in place just thinking of that fucking loser. “I’ll have better peace of mind knowing you got home safe.”  

Once you told him that your apartment was another few blocks away, he knew he was going to be walking you home. You told him you weren’t that new to the city, but in his mind, it still wasn’t a safe neighborhood for a young woman to be walking around by herself at this time of night.

He had no other motive than that, however…

He’d been pleasantly surprised to see you tonight. You were a flash of scarlet that tumbled into his arms, the scent of your floral perfume teasing his nose before he caught sight of that little dress clinging to your curvy form, ending just a couple inches above the knee. But you drew your wool coat closer to your body, hiding the tantalizing flash of red from view.

It was for the best, he thought, as he cleared his throat and tried to find something else to focus his eyes on while you two walked together. He couldn’t help but land on your face again, on your pretty painted lips.

A deep, full-bodied red.

It was a familiar shade. You’d worn it before, while chewing the end of a pen absently in concentration during one of his lectures on the difference between skinwalkers and shapeshifters—those long, pointed nails tapping a quiet rhythm against the plastic. It was one of your many quirks, but only now did he realize how much he’d actually noticed about you. If nothing else, he always knew he had your attention.

He also knew you were getting a master’s degree in English, and you were taking his class as an elective. You’d actually sought him out before the semester started to make sure you got a spot in his class.

“Sorry, sir, I know it’s early. I’ve just been trying since last year to get into this class, and I really wanted the chance to take it before I graduate this year.”

He’d shifted in his swivel chair with his jean-clad legs casually crossed. He bounced a tennis ball against the wall, as was his habit. (Mostly because it bothered Benny, who had the office next to his.)

The repetitive bounce really helped him to think sometimes; it was basically his version of a fidget spinner.

“You like mythology that much, huh?” Dean asked.

“Oh, yeah!” you said, as your eyes lit up. “I find it so fascinating how every culture in the world has their own stories that have still survived for thousands of years. Some of them even overlap. Like, maybe it’s technically a different creature, but they have the same name, just in another language. Or it’s the same creature, different backstory. It’s like any novel I’ve ever read—similar tropes, but the style, the packaging. That’s what becomes new and creative.”

Amusement tugged at Dean’s lips.

“Same candy, different wrapper, right?” he offered. His reward was your bright smile.

“Yeah, exactly.”

He’d approved your request without a second thought. Unlike 95% of the students who came and went through his classes, you weren’t just smart. You cared. You had a passion for this stuff…and it mirrored his own.

“So, uh, you liked that play, huh?” he asked. Wanted to rub his hand over his face right after. Smooth, Winchester.

But it succeeded in brightening your eyes again.

“Oh yeah. People tend to think of it as one of Shakespeare’s sillier plays, but it drops some interesting ideas about love, for example.” All while you spoke, you spun vivid gestures with your hands.

Dean’s remained in his coat pockets, but watching you made his smile deepen. He liked when you got like this, so animated and alive with your thoughts. It threatened to draw him out of his somewhat jaded shell.

“Oh, yeah? Like what?” he asked. Not because he really wanted to talk about what some sixteenth-century ye olde-y English douche thought about love, but because he wanted to hear you explain it.

You didn’t disappoint.

“Well, there’s the famous Lysander line, ‘The course of true love never did run smooth,’” you said, “but that’s not even my favorite. That’s boring. That’s every rom-com ever, from Harry Met Sally to While You Were Sleeping, all the way to He’s Just Not that Into You, and Crazy, Stupid Love.”

Dean had to interject. “You watch a lot of chick-flicks, don’t you?”

Your lips puckered, but the amusement in your eyes answered his question.

“Like I said, I think Helena is the most underrated tragic figure in the whole story. Yeah, she’s pretty much a doormat, following Demetrius around even though he claims he’s in love with her best friend. Even though he curses at her, threatens to kill her if she keeps annoying him, following him around like an abused puppy. We can agree, he’s like, the biggest asshole in existence, right?” you said.

“Oh, very much agree. You want some coffee?” Dean asked, pointing to a guy selling warm pretzels and drinks from his vendor cart on the side of the road. It had stopped snowing a few days ago, but the February air was still sharp and bitterly cold at this time of night. If only it were midsummer.

“Uh, you know what, I could go for some tea. Thank you,” you said. But you didn’t let that derail you from your thoughts on Shakespearean love. You were still waxing literary analysis while you dug into your purse to find your wallet, but by the time you got it out, Dean had already paid for both drinks and a large soft-baked pretzel.

Your brows furrowed. “Oh! I meant to pay for my part—”

“Don’t worry about it. Here, take half,” Dean said, and he shot you a smile while handing over your hot tea and half of his pretzel. He got your eyes to light up for a different reason as you took the treat. You thanked him with a sweeter smile.

Then you took a bite, and you kept talking.

“But then she says, ‘Love can transpose to form and dignity.’ It can make us act like idiots, right? I mean, back in high school I wrote my boyfriend’s essays for a whole year because I didn’t want him to fail English, and let’s face it, he could barely spell his own last name.”

“Yikes,” Dean chuckled. Sounded like a GED and a gas station job in that guy’s future.

“Right? And what did he do? He dumped me the week before prom because he knew Ruby Summers would put out.” You rolled your eyes, accepting Dean’s sympathies with a gracious nod and a dismissive hand wave. Still, he hoped all you’d given to that guy was your time.

"Well, the guy you're seeing now better be treating you right," he said.

You blinked, your brows furrowing a bit in confusion, until realization dawned on you.

"Oh, I don't have a boyfriend," you said with a small chuckle. "That's just what I tell pushy weirdos on subways."

Dean was tripped up for a second, but he eventually quirked a smile.

“So anyway, my favorite bar of the whole play is what Helena says in Act 1,” you said. “‘Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind.’”

In that moment, Dean’s eyes were a little too captivated.

But you broke the spell.

You glanced ahead to continue along the crosswalk with him, taking another warm, soft bite of pretzel.

“And that’s why Cupid’s always painted like a blind baby…or something like that,” you said. You laughed a little, and you seemed to realize just how long you’d been yapping his ear off. You came to a stop at what he assumed was your apartment building, but you suddenly got quiet. Embarrassed.

“Sorry, once I open my mouth on this stuff, I can’t really stop unless someone stops me and tells me I’m literally killing them with words that don’t make sense.”

“You’re making a whole lotta sense to me,” Dean replied. And he realized that he meant it. He rubbed his chin in thought. “Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind. I like that.”

Your mind seemed to be a hamster wheel on steroids, but he kind of liked that too.

“Well, did you like the play?” you asked, smiling in embarrassment. “Sorry, can’t remember if I even asked you that yet.”

He laughed softly. Even if you had, he didn’t mind answering again.

“I like it more now, hearing you talk about it,” he said. But maybe that was too honest. He padded it with something more appropriate, as your instructor. “It makes sense, since you’re an English major, but your passion always comes through in your essays. I’m really glad you decided to take my class this semester.”

You demured further at the praise. “Oh, thank you. It really is my favorite class so far this year, but…that’s because you’re the one teaching it. You're really good at telling stories. You make them simple and easy to understand, even when we're talking about hell hounds and old ghost stories, or the uh, Oedipus complex, or something.”

Dean smiled in amusement, but it was his turn to be touched, even if it surprised him too. You were just so honest and free enough to speak your mind. It was refreshing.

“Well, thank you. Glad to hear at least one person’s getting something out of it,” he said, his smile warming for once.

You smiled too, looking at him through your lashes. “All right well, thanks again for walking me home. I’ll, um…see you on Monday-ayy!”

You stepped up onto the first stair leading up to your apartment and caught an icy patch with your red-bottomed heels. A gasp fell from your lips as your arms spun out to catch yourself on anything that could keep you from falling, and that happened to be Dean—specifically his coat, and then his biceps when he moved in fast to keep you upright.

He ended up gathering you into his arms while you clung to his coat. Your red nails bit into the dark fabric. In his mind’s eye, he could imagine them popping the buttons of his dress shirt, carving shaky lines of heat and pleasure across his skin.

Fuck. He bit the inside of his cheek hard to rid himself of that image, his jaw ticking in response. But another one just replaced it when his gaze met yours, half-lidded and shocked, but…contemplating.

Hot breaths mingled in between, puffing visibly on the cold air.

“God, I’m sorry!” you breathed.

“Don’t worry about it.” He cleared his throat past the slight roughness in his voice. “You all right?”

“Yeah. Yeah, um…Take Two,” you said, laughing weakly.

You aimed to let him go and continue on up the stairs by yourself, but Dean couldn’t stop himself from trying to help you. He held your elbow at least, with a hovering hand by your waist in case you slipped again. When you finally made it to the door, you paused and turned to look at him over your shoulder. Again, that look in your eyes said you were debating something in your mind.

“You okay?” he asked again.

You nodded. “Yeah, I just, um…you know what? Never mind. Uh, good night!”

Dean nodded, giving you a casual salute. He didn’t leave until you got in the building safely, but for his entire long walk home, your face wouldn’t leave his mind. That look of internal conflict, like you’d been weighing some kind of pros and cons. He had to wonder…

Had you been about to invite him up to your apartment?

But no. Fucking no. He dismissed that thought as soon as it came. He was almost ten years older than you.

Didn’t stop Catherine Zeta-Jones from hooking up with Michael Douglas. She’s barely pushing fifty while he’s halfway into Senior Depends.

Second problem. Career ending and reputation ruining and his own clock punch at the local 7/11—kind of a problem.

You were a student.

Grad student, came a whisper from the back of his mind.

In Greek mythology, the golden apples of Hesperides in Hera’s garden were guarded by a dragon. The Norse gods also believed in their own version of immortal golden apples, harvested by the goddess Idunn. Sounded a bit like Eden, right? As in, the Judeo-Christian Garden.

As in, forbidden fruit.

What did they all have in common? There was always a consequence for the taking and sampling part. The question was, is the price worth how good it tastes?

Remembering the feeling of your soft curves under his hands, Dean had a feeling it would be more than fucking worth it.

But he shook the thought from his head, his fingertips digging into the soft insides of his coat pockets.

He was your professor. That was where those thoughts should end.

You didn’t even see him that way…did you?

You shucked your heels off as soon as you got inside your apartment. You heaved a deep sigh and shed your purse, your coat, your earrings and necklace, which you set down on the nightstand in your bedroom. You sat on the edge of the bed and fell back onto the creaky mattress.

Your hands came to rest lightly over your stomach, a safe place, while you thought back to how Professor Winchester held you so tight. Secure. Gentlemanly.

How he looked at you, his green-eyed gaze falling to your lips, like he was contemplating the best way to close that distance, bowing his head those last few inches and…

You forcibly shook your head. He was your goddamn teacher.

It didn’t matter that he was probably the youngest faculty member on campus, and you were a twenty-five-year-old graduate student. Whether or not the man was “age appropriate,” he was still your professor. You couldn’t think about him like that.

And he absolutely didn’t look at you like that…

Did he?

AN: Sorry again for all the nerdy lit. tidbits, but I had fun. 😂 I'm thinking about expanding this into an actual little series, so let me know what you think! ❤️

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[therainscene]

Gonna be a bit of a buzzkill here, but: I think what annoys me about Ted's been casually assuming that Mike was dating Will this whole time theories is that they always tend to treat it as a fun outcome.

Like, I get it: Ted's the useless one-dimensional suburban dad who makes bland observations he thinks are insightful quips, and he hasn't had much of a character arc beyond getting dragged along for the ride his more three-dimensional wife is on -- so what is there for him to do, really, other than to delight us with one final, genuinely insightful joke that subverts our expectations but makes perfect sense in hindsight?

But I feel like this would essentially make him one of those "allies" whose egos are more important to them than actually being supportive, and so they make smug jokes about how accepting they are at the expense of their kids' fear of rejection:

"I hate my gay son! Oh, not because he's gay, he's just an asshole." 🤭 "Why are you telling me you're gay? I figured that out years ago. Stop crying and go help your mother with the dishes." 🙄 etc.

It wouldn't be out of character for Ted to do this. I can totally see him doing it! But it's out of character for the show to make light of queer struggles, so I'd expect it to be critical of Ted for doing this.

Often, parents like the ones described above really do mean well, but they just don't know what they're supposed to do other than try to keep treating their kid the same as if they were straight. Lots of parents struggle with that; I'd argue even Joyce does in S3:

Will's clearly experiencing a specifically queer difficulty here -- boys like him aren't allowed to fall in love and he's upset about having to watch straight people openly enjoy things he thinks he'll never have -- and that apparently sails over Joyce's head. She just smiles at her Silly Immature Boy Who Doesn't Get The Appeal Of Sex Yet and drops the topic.

[Edit: To be clear, Joyce knows he's gay and is explicitly showing support for gay love here. She just has a blind spot when it comes to the gay teen experience.]

It's a disappointing change in her approach from the first two seasons, in which she fought her ass off to understand and advocate for his needs, even when communication seemed nigh impossible.

But then, maybe S3 is about granting Will his S2 wish to not be coddled by his mom anymore.

The Jonwill heart-to-heart at the end of S4 is my favourite scene in the whole show, because it's a pitch-perfect demonstration of how to balance closeted queer kids' need for support against their need to handle things on their own terms, all without embarrassing them by showing your hand of Already Knowing.

Maybe you're thinking: didn't Karen do exactly this with Mike all the way back in S1?

[Literally hiding his future beard in his closet during this convo lol 10/10 queer-coding]

Well, no. The point I made in my previous Wheeler analysis still applies: Karen, as of S1, is too prone to trusting dangerous authorities over her own kids -- and so her words ring hollow. She means well, but deep down she's prioritizing her need to feel like a good mother over putting any real effort into figuring out what Mike needs: reassurance that he and his flock of outcast friends will be safe if he's open with her.

The key thing Jonathan gets right is to understand his brother well enough to directly address the underlying fear that's been preventing Will from opening up:

So if Ted's sole contribution to Mike's queer arc ends up being a reveal that he's always known and been too cool to blab to anyone, but also that he did nothing about it other than to smugly wait for Mike to come out...?

...I just think that would feel more tragic than funny.

[thatnightlamp]

I saw you requests are open and I have a request I'd like to make.

I'd love to see a contuation of the courting gifts Cryptid Wedding Konrad Cruze x Reader. Or if that storyline is finished I'd love to see one set in the same AU. Something about one of the two Nightlords who brought wedding gifts and their courting (mis)adventures.

Thank you so much

Yahooo Night Lords courting.

In the aftermath of your unholy marriage to Konrad Curze, your apartment-turned-Night Lord club house had become ground zero for increasingly bizarre social calls. Sevatar had taken a particular liking to “dropping by” unannounced.

It was during one such visit, while he was critiquing your toaster for its “inefficient intimidation factor,” that he made an offhand remark.

“I should get myself one of these,” he mused, gesturing to you with his servo-claw, as though you were a particularly curious houseplant. “A spouse. Good for morale. Might spruce up my quarters, too.”

You blinked, halfway through sipping a cup of tea Konrad had brewed for you. “You mean, like a pet?”

Sevatar grinned, a wicked, lopsided thing. “No, no. A companion. A partner. A… snuggle-meat.”

You choked.

Konrad, without looking up from his whittling (he was carving a likeness of your head out of bone), murmured, “Do not steal my spouse.”

Sevatar held up both hands. “Perish the thought, boss. Plenty of terrified, emotionally compromised mortals. I’ll find my own.”

Which is how you found yourself, unfortunately, roped into helping Sevatar learn about “modern mortal courting practices.”

He refused to use dating apps. “Coward’s hunting ground,” he scoffed. “I believe in the thrill of pursuit.”

You tried to explain that chasing someone through a public park with a chainblade wasn’t considered “romantic” by most contemporary standards, but Sevatar was a traditionalist.

His first attempt involved showing up outside a bookshop with a box full of dismembered servo-skulls, offering them to the manager with a flourish.

“For you, fair maiden,” he said, voice like silk soaked in blood. “A token of my esteem.”

She maced him.

He thought it went well.

The next attempt was somehow worse. He crashed a wedding (a normal one, for normal people) and tried to woo the bride by challenging her groom to single combat. When the terrified man refused, Sevatar loudly declared himself the superior suitor by default and attempted to carry the bride off.

The groomsmen dogpiled him.

You spent most of the evening bailing him out and explaining to horrified police officers that he was “a very committed cosplayer with poor impulse control.”

It didn’t stop him. If anything, it encouraged him.

“It’s the chase,” Sevatar told you one night, leaning against your porch railing as Konrad brooded silently in the shadows. “The mortal fear. The thrill of pursuit. Tradition.”

You sighed, sipping your tea. “I think you might need to tweak your approach a little. Maybe start with, I don’t know… flowers?”

“Flowers,” he repeated, looking deeply offended. “Do I look like a fool? What sort of weakling offers botanical specimens when there are perfectly good bones to harvest?”

Konrad, to your surprise, spoke up then. “She liked the flower.”

Sevatar blinked. “You gave a flower?”

“Yes,” Konrad said. “From a memorial.”

“That’s different. That’s symbolic.”

You facepalmed.

Eventually, by sheer dumb cosmic luck, Sevatar did meet someone. A goth barista who didn’t flinch when he made eye contact. She complimented his armor, and Sevatar, flustered beyond measure, bought fifty cups of black coffee and left without a word.

He talked about her for weeks.

The next time you saw her, she was riding on the back of his jetbike, shrieking with glee while Sevatar gleefully razed a parking lot full of weird cultists.

“See?” he shouted over the din of plasma fire. “I told you mortals love a good adrenaline rush!”

You couldn’t argue with the results.

By the end of it, the Night Lords warband had unofficially designated your home as the “Courting Grounds,” a place of strange, blood-soaked romance and even stranger attempts at domesticity. And somewhere in the middle of all of it, you and Konrad sat on the porch, watching the chaos with a mix of horror and weird, resigned affection.

[huntingcupid]

LOWKEY — L.R

I don't really give a fuck about all the "he said, she said" bullshit so pick your poison love, let's go somewhere a little more exclusive

⌗ LARA — fem!reader, angst, fluff, silent animosity, no actual arguments, tension, swearing, dream academy mentioned, predebut - touch time line, 7thmember!reader, cyber bullying, etc...

⌗ SYPNOSIS — due to you being quiet and kept to yourself during dream academy, you unexpectedly made yourself seem like a mean girl, making the person you liked which is lara also have a secret animosity towards you

⌗ CUPID — warning missy and mitra are mentioned...ew, anyways request by @artistwitchgirl here ya go babe

you've been lurking around instagram for an hour now — until a message popped up on your phone, it was from a womans account, her bio read of being some producer and scouter — it sounded like a scam obviously yet you still opened the message

“do you want to be the next generation of idol’s?, today is your lucky day hybe has chosen to scout you, if interested send a 1 minute video of either a dance, song (with no backtrack) or rap, thank you very much” you tilt your head wondering how they even found your account, either way you didn't want to get scammed so you closed it

you didn't think about the message for a good week, there it sat in your inbox unopened since you first received it — it's not like you're untalented, and oh you only live once

you sigh defeatedly, setting up your phone to record yourself singing — you rewatched the video almost hundreds of times scared that you might have just did all this for a scam text — you clicked send and it was sent

you power off your phone, hands clammy and very much nervous, “it's just a video” you mutter to yourself trying to calm your nerves

ding, your phone vibrates with a notification just a few days after you had sent the video — you open it seeing the woman had responded, “can we have you in a video meeting later by 12?” you type and erase your response, eventually ending up sending a simple, “yeah of course!”

you take a cold shower, getting ready for the meeting wearing your favorite shirt that you barely even wear, doing your makeup extra pretty, the clock ticks each tick getting closer to 12, you anxiously open your laptop waiting for the woman to send the link

you tap your finger on the table, until you see the notification pop up, you click the link joining the meeting — two other people were in the meeting, the woman you had been talking to and some dude who looked quiet professional

throughout it they were speaking about what you are gonna join and how and where you needed to improve — and to be frank you didn't understand half of what they are saying you just smiled and nodded

well until they told you when you are gonna fly out to la, your eyes almost pop out of your head — you barely left your apartment now your gonna move to a completely different place almost thousands of miles away

you take a minute to let the words and decisions sink in, thoughts flood your mind of the worst case scenarios, what if i fail, what if i get into a accident, what if-

“y/n?, you there?” the woman's voice cuts through your train of thought, you blink and open your mouth to speak but your afraid of what you might say

“yeah, uhm I'll get my things packed and we'll fly out in a week right?” you mutter almost like it was a secret, “yeah, we will have one of our staff's pick you up when you get dropped of at la” the explanation continues

after the meeting the weight of your decision finally settles in, suddenly your packing away your life not sure of how this may affect it — you're ready to try it obviously

your shitty part time job that you got the quit was the best part — the plane ride was smooth and you didn't think about what may happen for maybe an hour or two

when you arrived you got picked up by a woman her name's aliyah, aliyah explained further where you'll be living and just what the woman you spoke to on Instagram said as well

when you made it to the house you finally met the other girls who had gotten scouted or auditioned to, “hi!, I'm karlee” the shorter korean said, “hi I'm sophia” the filipina one followed, there you met 7 girls, karlee, sophia, adela, megan, emily, daniela, ezrela and lexie — they helped you get familiar with scheduling and how to get around the house

after maybe a month or two you got introduced to more girls, and then the unthinkable happens

when the management had formed a group of 20 girls they announced how you were going public under the dream “dream academy” you however didn't like this

you had continuously asked the management if you were gonna compete or was it a competition yet they denied, now you're gonna go against the girls you had lived with for months?, this is absolute bullshit

you wanted to quit right away, especially when you realized how much you have grown to like lara, in a romantic way, the indian was talented, nice and so confident — you never really got close to her due to the fact you were scared to

for the next few weeks you tired your best to distance yourself from the rest, creating a barrier, as the show starts you got introduced to the world, you had a pretty big fan base, you always silently liked and commented on posts by the other girls, supporting them thru a anonymous account

the first group mission rolled around, you were grouped in the omg group, you did pretty well

what you failed to realize was lara's growing animosity towards you the rest of the girls had been talking about your strange behavior how you're very quiet and almost looked like your judging others

“yeah like why does she always side eye us?” lara chimes in as the rest of the girls nod in unison, “it's like if you hate us just say it?, don't be a bitch about it” adela follows

the door clicks as you enter the house, silence floods the living room as the girls look around keeping quiet — “hi” you mutter as the rest just wave, not lara though she rolled her eyes and went to her shared room, you follow up going to your room too — you knew something was wrong, the way they seemed to fake their reaction towards you spoke louder than their words, that night you talked to ezrela

“can i ask you something?” you said, the smaller girl nods smiling at you, “am i being a bit too off? like do i seem like a mean girl?” you follow for a moment ezrela stopped — her eyes wandering in the room trying to formulate a nice enough answer, “y/n, i don't know how to put this but the rest of the girls see you as maybe a bit of a bitch” she replies softly, you tilt your head confused and somewhat guilty of why they feel that way, you had acted way too distant making you seem so out of touch

the camera crew approached you and ezrela, and you went dead silent only nodding and hugging the shorter girl

two weeks in eliminations started — adela was first to go, making lara a bit upset — even more upset at you as you had the highest votes she didn't see you as deserving as the rest, yes you were talented but your attitude seem to tick her the wrong way

the night adela got eliminated you cried, you weren't close but seeing how much she worked hard and how loved she was by the rest made it hurt — and hearing the silent chatter around you made it worse, words like “y/n doesn't deserve it” or “she should've been first” made its way back to you — you couldn't help but feel lonely, feel unworthy, you stayed in your room until you heard faint rustling outside your door

“y/n can we come in?” sophias voice came through, “sure” you replied wiping your tears and composing yourself, “hey” you softy mutter, sophia, megan and emily came in

“we know you've heard what we've said about you, and we want to apologize for that” they explained which you nod to, “I'm sorry for being distant too, i just don't want to get attached” the girls understood, you started tearing up feeling so guilty about how you have acted — “y/n don't cry” sophia softly whispers hugging you, you haven't felt so safe in so long you four made up and they helped you make it up to the rest too

the last one was lara who refused to even talk to you — it was mission 3 near finals only a couple of you were left and it didn't make sense for you not to make it up to her

every elimination you felt scared maybe your next, maybe she is, you felt so vulnerable, how the management just recorded as you and the rest of the girls slowly got your mental health wrecked — you often talked to missy about your experience, since you had no one to run to

finally it was the finale — one by one the girls got picked it was the final spot only you, ezrela, marquise and emily were left, your hands shaky feeling nervous

“your final member for katseye is — y/n!” the announcer blares you crouch feeling happy and so proud, tears start flowing as you hug the others saying how proud you are — making it to the line up manon hugs you immediately as she mutters something about how grateful she is, “fuck i didn't expect this” you giggle as daniela laughs along with you

yet your eyes followed her, followed lara — she didn't hug you but only congratulated you from afar, after the event you went to stay at megan's house eating and celebrating

“we really are in a girl group now” you murmur as you and megan lay in her bed, “yeah, what the fuck is happening” she replies softly laughing — “missy told me we will be moving in a separate house in a few weeks” you mutter which megan hums to, “that'd be nice, god this journey wrecked me”, “me too” you replied

during the weeks you didn't have anything to do, you juggled working in a small local café and still training a bit, improving your dance and singing — during these days you reflected on how much you've grown as a person

the day you had to move in with the rest of the girls was the best — you were roomed with megan and lara which seemed a bit to targeted, knowing missy knew about your relationship with lara, you bunked with megan often sharing clothes with her

meetings were called about your upcoming debut — the girls got transformed some getting their hair dyed and some getting it cut, lara got this red fiery color which highlighted her features so well, you got a layered haircut with a dark blue dye

“okay miss fine shit” megan jokes which you laugh to, “yes miss ginger” you replied as you two giggle — you were in awe at how beautiful the rest were, yet you can't seem to peel your eyes off lara, how she looked like an actual goddess — manon noticed and teased you abit

“you are so gay” manon says, looking at lara too, you gasp, surprised with her words — “can't I just appreciate how a woman looks?” you tried explaining which manon only sarcastically nods to, “okay fine!” you mutter next defeated

the filming for debut was one of the best experiences ever, very tiring but fun — you got the hang off a building in the music video which was so amazing, it garnered quite a lot of views but when touch got released you really skyrocketed

the song garnered over 100 million streams in spotify and a few million on youtube, during this katseye was starting to promote in different countries starting in korea

that's until the documentary dropped — you didn't want to watch it nor promote it, yet seeing the hate you and the rest got was so draining, lara however got the most disgusting remarks ever, which made you boil in rage — you've addressed multiple times on weverse that you had no beef with anyone especially lara, despite this lara still got bullying allegations and non stop racism

during this you were in japan — promoting touch, the girls were out exploring tokyo as you and lara decided to stay in the hotel room, you heard faint sobs and coughing from the restroom, you didn't want to peek knowing she needed her own time

but as her voice grew louder and her sobs seemed to not stop you decided to enter, knocking and going in

“lara?” you ask as she sat on the ground head down hugging her legs covering her face — “what” she hissed, “lara you shouldn't take anything personally, don't mind them” you mutter sitting next to her,

she stood up abruptly and went to her bed, laying down muttering something, “lara, you are so beautiful,” you murmured, sitting next to her lying form, “why are you lying?!, you probably think the same way they do” lara snaps, sitting up as her tears continued flowing a moment, you were stunned, and quickly, you got upset

“lara i don't fucking know why you think i hate you but i don't, i care about you so fucking much that i want you to know what they say doesn't matter!, whatever those freaks on the internet say or do you'll always be pretty and talented — i know that, you're such a wonderful person and it hurts to see you cry” you heave, breathing heavily lara was shocked to say the least, “so don't fucking push me away now, hate me for as long as you want but I'll always love you and support you” you follow

a beat passes by and you two were silent, lara looks at you with this newfound interest — she slowly got close to you and hugged you tightly her head resting on your shoulders as she murmurs thank you's — her voice was small and vulnerable something you have never seen lara been, minutes pass with you two stuck in this predicament, the weight of the hate she got slowly faded replaced with your warm embrace

lara lifts her head up looking into your eyes, searching for something — her hands flew to your nape, soon connecting your lips together, it wasn't rushed but it felt fast, her lips tasted like cherries and were soft like clouds you melt deeper into her touch, your hands on her waist guiding her closer

“I love you,” lara mutters as you two pull away, needing to breathe. lara never looked better her lips swollen and her hair tousled — as her hands were on your nape, “I love you more,” you replied

it felt weird, that after months of animosity and how far you two were from each other just for it to be fixed with a simple comforting gesture — its crazy how lara hated your guts but now is gripping your body close to her

wc: 2.4k words

[hyuckswoman]

your doorbell rang and you thought you might be the unluckiest person alive because you were ever so close to a mental breakdown and not in the mood for whatever stood opposite of your door. “mark?” you ask seeing him on your front porch “saw your tweet, brought burgers and i’m here for a chat” he says coming in before you could even invite him. wayyyyy too comfortable you thought.

“it’s fine mark, don’t worry” “no it’s not, do you not want to talk about it? because if that’s the case then i just came here for burgers” “no i do but you’re not my therapist shouldn’t always vent to you like you have other things to worry about” “well it’s crazy you say that because i like it when you vent to me as i know you're not keeping it in AND it shows me you trust me enough to be vulnerable, so you will spill while we eat okay?”

“so what’s up?” mark says while setting down his burger back in it’s wrapping

“jisung is making me lose my mind” you start pausing for a moment to sigh, hating the words that were about to come next “i thought i moved on, like sure we were really close and i liked him but i hate it when people think i’m stupid and like ghosting me from nowhere? like it pissed me off so bad and today we get to do this thing with our group project partner right? and so we needed to team up and work on this assignment and he barely even fucking glanced my way and sat on his phone the whole time???? i had to do the assignment on my own” you say getting worked up recalling today’s happenings “damn he couldn’t have helped you?? sounds like he sucks” your best friend inputs “even if he paid attention i don’t think he would’ve been able to help, today’s assignment was on a section he struggled… UGHHHH i hate that i even remember that about him!” you say throwing yourself onto your couch fully committed to this mental breakdown. “and like after i handed the assignment WITH HIS NAME on it i was fuming like i was so pissed and so i angry texted him and part of me wanted him to either ignore me or i don’t know like be mean?? like he was originally but NO you know what he did?? he APOLOGIZED and then told me he MISSES ME like oh my god why would you do that to meeeeeeeughhhh” you finish dragging out the me “and the worst part is, i don’t know why it affects me so much but it does” “why did you reply?” “I didn’t, just closed the app and went home trying not to cry and then you showed up” “listen, i don’t think you’re going to like what i’m going to say but maybe it affects you so much because you liked him more than you think?”

“well that is pretty obvious like, i went from hating him to tolerating him to seeing and talking to him 24/7 so yes i figured that if i’m so upset about this is because he was a better friend than i thought of him” “no, y/n that’s not what i mean… i mean maybe you like him, as i crush i mean…. do you?” “i’ve never thought about it hold on this is a whole new thing we need to unpack oh my goooooooooooood” you say kicking the pillows on your couch. this was bad

so after a good hour and a half of unpacking every. single. conversation, interaction, glance, text, mention of this man you’ve ever had in your life, you turned to your best friend and said

“i hate you for making me realize that i have a crush on park jisung.”

34. bad

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notes: in case anyone cares… i did not go on that date and i am no longer talking to this man… all that in two days 😝😝😝 trust that one day i will go on a date tho..

also a friend (kinda) of mine wants to meet up (i haven’t seen this man in like three years and we were never really friends) and lord i hope i can bring other people bc i am not seeing him alone! i am wayyyy too awkward for this

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