#today we were talking about grad school programs and i said i needed to write something for a portfolio and he was like. what do you mean?

[el-im]

todayyyy in class the guy i hate asked a stupid fucking question and antonio elbowed me to get me to notice he was saying something fucking stupid again (i noticed) and he said. i don’t know why you hate him so much. you two are exactly the same. and i said. what are you talking about. and he said. you look the same. and i was like. because we’re both asian? that’s racist. and he started laughing, then got a hold over himself, and was like. that’s not even what i mean--you dress the same. and i looked at him and he was wearing shorts and a sweater and a scarf and i said. i do not dress like that. (i was wearing trousers, patent leather shoes, a turtleneck, a massive wool coat...) he said. you’re both so pretentious. i said what do you MEAN. 

#i am sort of. pissy #i'm pulling my head out of the sand a little and realizing that Now That He's No Longer Flirting With Me As Overtly he doesn't ask me any #questions about myself. doesn't respond to the things i tell him. responds to my questions with one word answers. #and i'm just like. why am i wasting my time on this. #what the fuck. #captain's log #i just dont get it. he's not nice to me anymore. #and then he IS #and then he ISNT #and i think. he's using me. and he's getting so much a sense of self importance from this. #today we were talking about grad school programs and i said i needed to write something for a portfolio and he was like. what do you mean? #you dont need to write stories. if they read your letters they'd know you can write. or even your notes. anything you write. and i said--no #you have to write something... original. with a narrative. and he said. why dont you write a book about me? and i laughed and said yeah i #bet you'd like that. and he was like. addyyyyaa write a book about me! write a book about me! #and i said. what--like a biography or just my impressions of you? and he said. what you think of me. and i said. i'm not sure if you'd enjoy #reading that. and he said. what do you MEAN. and i said. well some things i'd have to say are harsh. but true i think. #and he asked me what i meant and i (pressed) gritted my teeth and tried to explain myself #and i said. you think so highly of yourself. sometimes rightly but. my god. you dont take anything seriously. and he said. i DO take things #seriously! and i just--. #and i said. you feed people. so that they'll bolster your ego. you give them fodder to work with. and he looked at me and said. adya-- #i dont feed my ego. if anything--you're the one making it what it is. #so anyway i hate him im sick of him he's so-- #he's such a narcissist and he's so self important and i am simultaneously SO in love with him and SO sick of him #because he's so selfish. and i dont think he understands any of this. and if he does--he doesnt respect it. and he isnt kind about it. #and he deliberately misleads people to get what he wants from them. #AHHHH

[rosewaterandivy]

10. a kiss is not enough

Summary: Rumor has it, that hometown hero-turned-teacher Steve Harrington is hot for teacher. The English teacher next door to him at Hawkins High, who also happens to be his childhood friend, that is.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x chaotic!dumbass reader

W.C.: 4.5K

Warnings: No use of y/n - reader goes by the nickname Trouble instead, cursing, sexual situations - SMUT & idolatry (my usual bullshit), real-talk with Nancy Wheeler, idiots still being idiots, Modern!Teacher AU, English teacher reader, History teacher Steve, slow burn, friends to lovers, romance.

A/N: Holy shit, I can't believe we've come to the end (or is it 👀) of this series! When I started this, I had no clue how many people would respond to Trouble and Steve's idiots-to-lovers story - but I'm so glad that they did! This series will always be near and dear to my heart, for a variety of reasons, but primarily for the people it brought into my life (here's lookin' at you, babe!). This isn't a goodbye from Trouble and Steve so much as a see you later - don't hate me too much! Poetry excerpt from John Keats. 18+ mature content (minors dni). Reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated, please let me know what you thought; enjoy & thanks for reading! 💜

series masterlist | playlist - newly updated!

Trouble’s playlist from Steve: trouble will find me

Steve's playlist from Trouble: rebel without a clue

previous || epilogue

Now, May, Finals Week

“Just think about it, kid,” Hopper says on his way out your classroom door. He’d requested a meeting during your conference block, when normally he’d amble in under some pretense just to shoot the shit.

You nod, at a loss for words. It’s not like you needed yet another thing on your plate— waiting to hear back from admissions and not spilling to Steve or the gang was bad enough.

Yeah, you’d applied for grad school (even though grad students were the worst) and Hop had been contacted as a reference, which prompted his little visit today. Apparently, the district had approved a stipend and sabbatical for faculty furthering their education in graduate school.

“I’d like to recommend you,” Hop said matter of factly, sitting in a desk across from yours. “Maybe not for the sabbatical until you’re further along in the program, writing your thesis and whatnot.”

“I, uh–” you stumbled to find the words. “Cart, horse. I haven’t been accepted yet.”

He leveled you with a look, “Are you shittin’ me? Of course you’re getting in.”

You swallowed audibly and busied yourself emptying your desk for the summer, “Well, time will tell I suppose.”

“This isn’t—” Hopper paused in thought. “This isn’t about Harrington, is it?”

“Huh,” you nearly yelled, clutching the cardboard box for dear life. You had been so careful too.

He cracks a smile, “I saw the pair of you at graduation, you think you’re so slick.”

That brings a smile to your face, good ol’ Hop sussing out the goings on like he’d never left the force. 

“It’s nothing.” You assure him, “We haven’t— We’re professionals, okay?”

“I know,” he nods, voice lowering as if he could spook you. “I’m happy for you, really.”

A small smile breaks across your face, “Yeah, uh, thanks.”

Finals done and grades posted, you’d never been so happy to get home. Had plans to pour yourself onto the couch and not move for 72 hours. 

But life (and Steve) had other plans.

He was sorting through the mail, chucking envelopes into various piles on the countertop. The loft was quiet that afternoon— Eddie had a gig in Indy that evening and Robin was crashing at Vickie’s for the night. Steve hummed a tune to himself, the occasional slap of paper hitting the granite punctuating it.

“Oh hey,” Steve turns with a large envelope in hand, “This looks important.” Tosses it with freakish accuracy, the white paper landing with a thwack where your shorts had ridden up against your thigh. 

Distracted by whatever drama was unfolding on TV— something about a crew working on chartered private boats— you mindlessly slip your thumb beneath the lip of the envelope and tear it open. 

It’s only once you’ve pulled the papers from it that you glance to see what’s what. The university’s crest shines like a beacon, your thumb worrying over the topmost letter. Steve, the bastard, has stopped his mail sorting and turned toward you.

He leans lazily against the counter, a knowing smirk fixed on his lips. You scramble up from the couch with the papers, too nervous to see for yourself. “Here,” you say, thrusting the envelope and documents to his chest. “Can you—”

Pulling you to his chest with an arm, he brushes his lips against the crown of your head. “Sure, honey.” You wrap your arms around him, burying your face into his chest— warm and familiar.

“You know,” he drawls, “The big envelope generally means something good, right?”

“I know,” muffled against his shirt.

He chuckles, hand coming up to cradle your head. Steve clears his throat, reads the opening of the letter in his best announcer voice. “Congratulations! It is with great pleasure that…”

The rest is drowned out by the rushing of blood in your ears, the tears pooling in your eyes breaking free to cascade down your cheeks. He squeezes you tight abandoning the acceptance letter and letting it flutter to the floor in favor of drawing you closer. Steve kisses you, licking your own tears into your mouth, your taste onto your tongue. And it’s so weirdly hot that your heart starts fluttering again, like you’re seeing him for the first time.

Because of course, just as things were going right something had to come and throw a wrench into things. 

Plans for lazing in the early summer forgotten, the next few days saw you coming and going from the university campus for orientation, meetings with faculty, so on and so forth. As you were leaving the grad student mixer, a professor peeled off from a group of faculty to flag you down with a call of your name.

You turn, not recognizing them from the English department. She’s an older woman, has maybe a few years on your mother, and is swathed in a lovely linen dress— the cool elegance of minimalist style.

“Hi, I’m Dr. Holland,” she says shaking your hand. “I’m on the admissions committee and was very impressed with your work on Dante Alighieri.”

“Oh, thanks!”

“And you studied Italian as an undergrad?”

“Certo.”

That brings a smile to her face. “Perfetto,” she says with a perfect Italian accent and waves over another faculty member. “I only ask because there’s a summer intensive in Italy beginning next week that I think you’d be perfect for.” 

Your mind reels. The new professor introduces himself and echoes Dr. Holland’s sentiments— a summer session of classes in Italy, in partnership with Università di Bologna, the oldest university in operation in the world. Scholarships that would cover the cost of tuition, travel, and accommodations for you to peruse.

What the fuck.

Vision swimming, you somehow come back to the conversation at hand. Dr. Holland presses a folder to your hand, “I know you were planning on taking the introductory grad school courses over the summer, but I hope you’ll consider joining us in Italy instead.”

You nod, gobsmacked and make your way to the car. Settling into the sweltering seat, you start the car and call Nancy. If anyone would know what to say in this situation, it would be her.

“That’s the thing,” you sigh, wine glass in hand as you slump on Nancy’s couch. “We’re not anything, haven’t discussed it. I mean, sure, we fuck like rabbits, but aside from that?”

She blows a raspberry and sips from her glass. “He’s in love with you, get over it.”

You jerk up, “Okay, maybe,” you allow. “But he hasn’t said anything.”

“And you won’t pony up to do it yourself?”

A scoff as you drain your glass. “I’m sorry, have you met me?”

Nancy laughs at that, loud and bright. “Unfortunately, yes!” She refills your glass before continuing, “Let’s be honest, you’re both hopeless when it comes to eachother.” She raises her brow before you can balk, “Full offense intended.”

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

She hums at that, head cocked to the side in thought. Her nail taps against the glass with a soft clink. A bite to her lips before she heaves a sigh, “Sometimes he just needs a push.”

You narrow your eyes at her. “I am absolutely not telling him he’s bullshit, if that’s what you’re after.”

Nancy, to her credit, winces uncomfortably at the memory. “No, no,” a shake of her head. “Absolutely not, you would never.” She sets her glass down carefully, giving you her full attention. “What I’m getting at is this: do you want to be something with Steve?”

She lets the question hang in the air between you. 

“Because if you don’t know Trouble, you should back away now.” A low warning tone. “You’re it for him, have been since he laid eyes on you, but you’re both too scared to do anything about it.”

You drain your glass to the dregs and hastily take your leave. At the sound of the door closing, Nancy grabs her phone and brings it to her ear, “Hey Harrington, I need a favor…”

Returning from a less than helpful hang session at Nancy’s, you find a post-it note left on your bedroom, door that reads ‘meet me at our spot on lover’s lake. - s.’

Prizing it from the wood grain, you make your way back to the kitchen to scavenge for something to eat, in an effort to soak up the remnants of wine in your system. Opening the fridge you spy another post-it stuck to the topmost shelf: ‘get your ass down here, i’ll feed you soon enough. - s.’

With a laugh, you let the fridge door fall shut and grab your keys.

_

He can see you now, just barley, even in the indigo dark. Wonders to himself, how are you even real? How is it that you’re mine? An explanation that won’t ever come. 

You slip into the cool water of Lover’s Lake like a dream, with nary a sound. Steve stumbles after you on the piles of clothing you’d left behind—bunched up denim shorts here, a threadbare tank-top over there, the silk of your thong musky and damp. 

Fisting his shirt to pull it up and over his head, it falls to the forest floor behind him, jeans shucked off and tossed elsewhere, boxers joining your lingerie by the shore. His patience is wearing thin as you wade further and further from him out into the lake. 

Little minx, he smiles and takes a breath before diving beneath the waves. Arms cutting through the placid water at a quick pace until he’s occupying the space between your bare legs, and coming up for air. 

One arm drags you near, lazily pressing you close, tight around the small of your back as the tide breaks around your waist, minute movements almost imperceptible— the slow roll of your hips against his.

Water shallow enough to tread and keep you buoyant. Steve kisses you slow and sweet, pulling you flush against his chest while you writhe under the water’s surface. Body slick and wanton and arching into his own. 

His dick jumps when you lift yourself to drape your arms around his shoulders. A sharp breath replaced with a shaky exhale as he brings his forehead to rest on yours, dark eyes taking in the exhilarated flush of your body. 

And Steve knows, under his skin and tucked into the cage of his ribs, near the beating of his anguished heart, that you’re the only thing left in this world worth worshipping. To keep you, and render you a flightless bird, to clip your wings, would be all for naught.

He has to let you go again, and so soon after you found him. From perihelion to aphelion before the moon’s full turning. The soft curve of your throat drawn taut as you glance upward, marvelling at the stars and planets in the northern sky. 

“A thing of beauty is a joy forever.” Your voice is a husk, low and hoarse, in the dark. “Its loveliness increases, it will never pass into nothingness.” Your eyes, once fixed on the sea of stars above, shift to him once more.

Closer to the shoreline now, and unbeknownst to you, Steve had gently waded you both inshore, until he could draw you toward the dock. 

You let him walk you back until you’re flush against a mooring pole, wood rough against your moon-bathed skin. Body yielding to him as both his hands slide beneath your bottom, squeezing the soft flesh of your ass before he pulls you forward by the hips.

“S’okay, honey,” He mutters—right into your panting mouth with a sultry pull of his lips. “I’ve got you.”

“Steve,” You gasp, “This is unfair.” Your body jerks with every teasing kiss from his lips that he laves and sucks to the column of your throat.

He ignores you, crawling his hands onto your hips to keep you from squirming. Works his thigh in between your legs for good measure. Once you’re settled, he moves one hand to your center a finger trailing up and down your slippery folds. His mouth latches onto the spot that makes you keen, just behind your ear. You fist his hair in both hands at the same time he slips a digit inside.

But Steve doesn’t move. Other than his tongue’s soft licks on your neck and into your kiss-bitten mouth, he doesn’t move at all. He happily lets his finger rest inside of you, gathering your juices all over his hand.

You whimper, trying to shimmy against them, anything to create more contact. Its intrusion lights a terrible match inside of your body, and goddamn it, you want to a forest fire.

Calming breaths in and out. Steady head, steady heart. When you’re able to meet his gaze again, you take a moment to see him as he truly is: dappled in moonlight, forelock hanging in front of his eyes, his entire focus trained on you.

It feels like an eternity passes before he finally lets you have another—adding one more thick finger inside, stretching you as he moves them both around, curling them, scissoring them, pumping them in and out.

Steve sucks enthusiastically on your sensitive skin and lips, fucks you with two fingers almost wildly, and your body responds with fervor. You gasp and moan, arching back into his hand, goosebumps blooming all over your shoulders and down your arms and legs.

You shake like a leaf in his arms, not knowing if it’s from the cool night air or due to the man before you. 

Instead of increasing his pace, Steve continues to stroke you with his fingers, slowly prodding at your entrance with a third. Your eyes roll back and get lost in your head as you lean back with a whimper.

“Just trying to get you ready.” He murmurs, so soft and low that your heart stills.

Your legs wrap around his back loosely as he holds you still, his previous two fingers pushing inside gently. The third finger meets resistance as you tense up. “S-sorry,” You whisper, “I’m…” 

Your head knocks back against the wooden pier. But you move his hand back and try again. He’s so tender and sweet with you as he turns his head to place kisses on your cheek and ear.

You blink owlishly, trying desperately to weave your threads of thought together. A shake of your head to rattle them loose. A sweet smile up to Steve, a barely there kiss to his lips.

Your eyelids are heavy, breaths heaving from your chest. Steve commits to memory the way your lids flutter when he touches you.

You gasp and moan, arching your chest into his and pulled as taut as a bow sting—back forming a crescent-shaped arc, a sliver of the moon radiant in the inky blue reflection of the water.

“C’mon, that’s it, honey. You’re so close. Almost there… Good girl… Good girl.”

With a cry, you come undone, rolling your hips every which way as you reach orgasm on Steve’s hand. His voice continues to praise you, lips kissing your sweat-slicked collar, bristles on his cheek and jaw tickling your sensitive skin.

Coming back to yourself, you shiver bodily. And Steve looks at you as if you hold infinities in the palms your hands. 

You reach for him reverently, desperate for his shape of beauty and noble nature. A dream realized, a wish granted, gentle and true. You feel brave enough to shift and stroke him with determination.

You whisper, "Missed you," eliciting a shudder from him as your palm grips him tenderly. 

Relishing in the temperature of his body, you sigh. Spreading the beaded precome at the tip of his cock up and down his shaft. Steve groans, head falling to yours.

“Missed you more,” He hums, eyes heavy-lidded and lustful. 

Gasping as Steve guides your hips with one hand, and grips himself with the other. Slowly and without haste, he fills you inch by inch until he’s so deep inside you think he could burst from your throat.

You whimper. There aren’t enough words to describe it— the gratifying sting, an all-encompassing and chilling burn, a mystifying and utter fullness that nearly brings tears to your eyes. You’re fearful to move, to lose this sensation, and afraid to feel what comes next. But you know that you want it.

Steve kisses your lips tenderly, babbling praise, whispering affirmations, soothing the shock that surges up your spine with his warm palm. Slowly, he rocks you back, as water lapping against your thighs, holds onto your body with one hand, smoothing the hair that falls over your face with the other.

You’re gripping him so tightly it takes some effort to slide even an inch of him out— and there’s many inches of him. Sweat collects on your brow as you grind, dragging against his length, forcing shudders to course all over both your bodies. “Is this okay?” you cry, delirious, “Steve? You feel so good.”

He moves in you, like a prayer.

A groan escapes him as his hand squeezes your back just a little too hard. He’s holding back, trying to prolong your pleasure, but his own is chasing him down, only a few steps away from pouncing.

You coax it towards him with faster snapping of your hips against his, clawing at his back, nibbling on his ear. “Come on, lover… just a little more.”

With a grunt and a shudder, and a hard kiss to your lips that makes your teeth clack against each other, Steve thrusts one last time as deeply as possible, riding out his orgasm as he pulls your hips against his. 

The two of you feel rooted together, sticky with sweat and so tightly flushed that you’re not sure where he ends and you begin. Your body slumps as you drape your arms over his neck. Steve turns his head to kiss your shoulder before making the effort to pull away, your shaky legs held in his secure grasp.

The black slik of night gives way to the earth’s rotation, stars and moon bending to the will of gravity. Splashes in its silent, dark depths as you broach the shore. A little shaky on your feet, but he’s close behind, sultry and brilliant like the summer morning quickly approaching.

Whispers and murmurs tucked between fervent kisses as you dress. Fabric sticking to damp skin as his hands roam. Frenetic movements as he backs you up against the car, the coolness of it causing you to shiver. 

“You should do it,” he rasps against your lips. “The Italy thing, you always loved it there.”

“How did you–” you sputter.

You can’t see him roll his eyes, but you just know. “Nance, who else?” 

The warmth of Steve’s body burns against you, a hand threading through your hair half-convinced the moon is hiding there, hanging like a jewel in the night. And you’re a mess when you kiss him. Your breath is warm and so sweet, and the center of his chest squirms like something alive. 

In that moment, you love him but can’t tell him, not yet. You decide the sun that will kiss freckles to his face will do it for you.   

The song of summer sings out as you load your suitcase into Nancy’s car a few days later. The trunk slams closed and your back is pressed against his chest, his arm hanging casually around your collar. It is the end of May, the first bloom of summer balmy on your skin.

Steve had not taken the news of Nancy driving you to the airport well.

At all.

A sponged necklace of kisses to your throat as the light creeps in. Sheets kicked to the edge of the bed so you’re tangled up in him. Skin already glinting gold in the summer sun. Twisting in his hold, desperate to glance at the time. “Steve,” muffled against the heft of his shoulder, “I gotta go, Nance will be here soon.” 

The turn of his weight bearing down, trapping your body under his. A cruel circle of his hips has you shuddering. His breath ghosts along your skin, “Baby, baby please.” Nose trailing down from your sternum to the swell of your stomach. Pausing there for lips to lave kisses on the curves that trailed to your hips. 

Eyes dark and heady with promise, “Just a taste.” Lips and mouth delving lower now, fingers parting the cleave of your cunt with a squelch. He hooks them back into his mouth with a groan. “Mmm,” he slurs, drunk off your arousal. “You taste good, sweetheart,” His nose bumps against your clit, “Like honey.”

Breath stuttering in the cage of your ribs, you fist his hair in one hand and tug. Steve moans overtly, pupils blown wide while he’s face deep in pussy. “Steve,” Your voice trembles. He glances up, smoldering and glorious, drinking you up. “Ah—fuck,” before you’re overtaken again.

You’re desperate, and he can hear it in your voice. A quiver in your throat, you swallow thickly mouth falling open in a pant. His fingers work into you easily, dragging exquisitely along your channel—warm and wet, only growing more so with every thrust of his hand. You mewl, hips bucking up as he sucks your swollen clit. 

Legs thrown over his shoulders, as he cants your pelvis forward, arm heavy against your stomach to bully you in place. “Sweet girl,” He coos, lips ruddy and wet with your slick. “Doin’ so well for me.” You shiver in his hold, sunbeams hazy with orange glow, the refracting light makes a halo to crown him and for a second you feel blind.

Then you feel something pulled taut in your belly. A chord stretching like a rubber band before it snaps. The wind up is excruciating, Steve’s litany of devotions falling in hushed murmurs from his lips. His fingers plunging up into the chasm between your legs, pulling away wetter each time.

He bends back down, tongue circling your clit at a dizzying pace. A third finger slides in impossibly, a keen igniting from your throat—high and whimpering. God, you’re so close. You babble, hands scrambling purchase against his dewy skin.

“Come,” he commands, “Come for me right now and I’ll fuck you through it, how you like. Then I’ll make you come again and we can go.”

“Oh my god,” you thrash on the bed, hair sticking to the sheen of your face, hanging on by a thread as his fingers drive into you, on a mission to break either the bed frame or your brain, both were fine. In a rush. Can’t quit now. A little bit more. Your entire body is folded against him, insides fluttering desperately, maddeningly.

“Everyone’s gonna know,” Steve promises, “You stumbling in there.”

The image flashes through your lust-addled brain, the telltale sign of him screwing you stupid— lips swollen, legs wobbly, outfit crumpled up, smelling like him and sex in front of all your friends.

“You want it, don’t you, want them to know you’re all mine?” He smears your wet around the sides of your cunt— spit, slick— up to your clit. And then he pushes you like a button, flicking the pad of his thumb upwards and grins at the way you jerk in time.

“Stevie,” you mewl, “Steve.” The syllable breaks, your panting comes out in choked babbling.

You drily sob out something broken, a tiny echo of affirmation as he keeps fucking into you like he could break through. He’s really abused your pussy this morning, maybe gone too far, but every time you come like this, it’s like he’s seeing something holy. 

“Oh my god…!” It’s a small shout as you shatter, and it makes Steve’s spine light up as you rub your face further into the pillow.

“Praying to me, sweetheart?” but doesn’t stop those tiny, hard circles, doesn’t stop melting into your body, his dick pulsing as he ruts against the sheets. “You can keep doing that,” he urges, “I like that.”

So, you’re not surprised when the two of you stumble into a nearly finished breakfast, as predicted, in a terrible disarray, and Robin crosses herself before promising, “I’m getting you two a goddamn chastity belt.”

On the couch, Eddie clicks the remote to a new channel, snapping his ring-clad fingers with an offhanded, “A-fucking-men.”

As much as you tried to tell yourself that this wasn’t goodbye but instead see you soon, it didn’t stick. But the ache in your gut did—low and menacing, growling like an animal. 

Eddie and Robin were easy, promises to stay in touch and bring back the best candy. Your parents were less so, tight hugs and dried tears on cheeks. 

Steve, however, you needed to brace yourself for. Short of chaining yourself to Nancy’s car, you weren’t sure how you’d escape with your dignity intact. He was already kissing on you, soft and sweet, as Nancy slid into the driver’s seat while Eddie and Robin waved goodbye walking back inside.

You slip from his grasp in a flash, pulling him by the belt loops to knock hips. “Stevie, lover mine,” you sing, his palms cupping your ass as his hands slide into your back pockets.

Lover.

What a word.

You think about it every waking second—the way he stretches in the morning, how he sings in the shower, dances in the kitchen, smiles and beams at anyone who passes by—how good he is.

How you love him.

“Mm—” raspy, tongue darting out to wet his lips.

Feet walking you closer and closer and you’re pressed against him. Nosing along the column of his neck, nipping at the delicate skin there, watching as his throat bobs when he swallows. 

Hands free themselves from denim confines, a thumb caresses the small of your back. Steve pries your hand from his chest, and brings it to his mouth, placing a tender kiss against your palm. 

You hum as his lips brush your skin, observing as he meanders to the thin flesh of your wrist. Hazel eyes near golden in the morning sun as Steve looks to you, face open and fond. Lips featherlight when they kiss your thundering pulse.

Only then do you start to break. 

You thought you were prepared. But it steals the breath from your lungs, levelling you to ruin, a creeping sense of hopelessness in its wake. 

He’s quick to notice, crushing you to his chest and hand cradling your head. Soothing murmurs of “S’okay honey, we’ll be alright,” and the rasp of your name. Fingers brushing hair from your face with a soft smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

And it is hard to leave him, but you can do difficult things.

Forehead bent to yours, back warm in the sun’s decorous rays, a searing tear-laden kiss and you’re off. Turned back in your seat to see him recede in the distance until he’s a mere speck on the horizon as Nancy tugs you forward.

All the goodbyes had all been said, save one thing lodged in the depths of your throat. 

I love you. 

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington smut #stranger things fanfiction #the kids aren't alright rosewaterandivy #modern!steve harrington #teacher!steve

[fuck-customers]

Beyond Frustrated

I work in a group home, so not retail or food service related, but we're still talking about serving people. 

I get that the job will entail the people we take care of being angry or difficult or frustrating to deal with at times. I'm not bothered by that so much as I am by the fact that when there is some of this behavior there's zero consequences. I don't know what types of consequence that could be given that isn't going to be bad or create issues, but honestly. Just trying to do the job and you get your face ripped off often by the same couple of people and it gets old fast. There's also no manners, no please, no thank you, just swearing and yelling and grumbling and demanding. The other home I was in hardly EVER had these issues. So yeah. 

The bigger problem that I have currently is that my group home desperately needs two staff all the time but we're not going to get it. We have two highly medical needs people who are also often at each other's throats because one or the other gets the bulk of the attention. There's a ton of out of town appointments and there's times where we end up in urgent care or the like. One staff member is expected to medicate all of the people, take them to all their appointments, clean the house, grocery shop, meal plan, and assist the people with their goals. At least it's my shift that has to the bulk of al those things. The other shifts don't have to do the shopping, meal planning, or seemingly the cleaning because I often come into a disaster the next shift/day. Staff also drive them to the places they want to go when they want to go. That's the job. it's not why I'm upset. I get that this is the job. I'm furious that because of how busy it gets and how much might happen in one shift it should by all rights be split up between two staff so each of our people get their needs met. There's four people in our care all together. There's one of us. In a moment of weakness and feeling overwhelmed, I expressed that to one of our bigger bosses who were there that day when we had way too much for one person to handle well going on. I found out today that I can't say that we should have two staff and to just drop it. This big boss emailed my immediate boss to rat me out and complain that I had said this rather than simply talking to me directly or pulling me aside to ask if I'm doing okay or if I feel overwhelmed or anything. Nope. Just tell my boss to tell me that I'm out of line. No write up or anything, so that's good, but still. Not cool. 

THAT'S WHAT MAKES ME MAD. An employee is telling them that they feel overwhelmed, that they think having a second staff for the people would benefit the people, and that it is insane to expect one person to do this all by themselves, especially during the shift time I work during the morning/day and the response is "stop talking about it, it won't change and we don't care." No, they didn't say it this way, but that's the message. It's frustrating. It's not fair to the staff and it's not fair to the people we care for. But whatever. I'm not the boss or anything and I clearly don't know what I'm talking about. Just expect one person to do it all and then wonder why some things don't get done or aren't done as well as they could. Or why we might not be able to take the people to more things. Just ugh. 

I'm also annoyed that management insists that everyone, including the fulltime staff, work every other weekend. It means I get to work 9 out of 10 days in a row every other week and get four off before doing it again. The four days are great, but getting through the nine work days is grueling towards the end, which is perhaps why I'm so surly right now about it all. I'm almost to that four day break. One more work day to go. 

I'm just super glad that I graduated my grad school program and I am actively searching for that career job. This job worked out when I needed it to, but it's clearly time to move on. Luckily, it's possible that by the time this is posted that I might have already done so, fingers crossed.

#submissions #fuck managers

[whentherewerebicycles]

ok they said they would send me the prompt sometime today but did not specify when so i am still in PREPARE FOR ANYTHING AND EVERYTHING mode. i finished the first-gen programming book on the plane. there were a handful of very good case studies in there & a few ideas i would love to try implementing, but i feel like those edited collections with a million contributors are inevitably a little uneven and can get a bit repetitive by the end. on the whole though i’m glad i read it and i collected a handful of sources from the bibliography that i’m going to follow up on next.

one of the last case studies in the book was about career services and i found it really interesting... the writers were pointing out that university career services tend to focus a lot on the process of finding a job (resume and cover letter writing, navigating linkedin and job boards, interviewing, etc.) but most institutions don’t do a ton of work on teaching students career management skills - like, how to read a job posting to determine if it’s going to get you where you want to be, or how to proactively identify and develop specific skills in a role even if it’s not your dream job, or how to go back on the job market and find a better match for you if a job doesn’t seem to be aligned with your long-term goals, etc etc. i definitely notice this a lot in my first-gen kids who i do post-grad career support stuff with. like, the jobs they choose to apply to often confuse me because they don’t seem like a good fit for what the student is actually interested in doing, or they’ll stay in a job that isn’t a good fit for too long because they’re unsure about how to make the transition.

we did some work on this in my program -- i had this career trajectory mapping activity where they had to research organizations in their areas of interest, then find a high- or medium-ranking employee there in a leadership position they might interested in doing later in their careers, and then we had this in-class activity where we used people’s linked in profiles to trace their path from college to grad school (if relevant) through the early stages of their career. we made these big maps on the board where we wrote down the job titles the person had held, the way they described their responsibilities in each role, the amount of time they spent at each, the amount of time between promotions, and whether their experience was concentrated in one organization/program or not (and if they moved around if it was laterally within a company or to a new organization). we did a handful of these together in class and then as part of their research portfolios that semester they had to create more maps, one of which had to be for a person they’d set up an informational interview with (so they could use the map to ask more detailed questions about people’s trajectories and get insight into how professionals further along in their careers made decisions about what jobs to take, when to leave, etc.).

ANYWAY i think i could do a LOT more thinking/brainstorming around how to integrate those skills in managing your own career into different curricula... just something i’d be interested in returning to. ooh and also i learned about the National Association of Colleges and Employers’ Career Readiness Competencies which i think will be a useful framework if i need to talk about prof dev at any point during the visit.

#teaching #mentoring #to think further #i've been thinking a lot about areas of transition where we don't have a lot of student support #like for example #first-year students have a ton of structured support & touchpoints with faculty/staff & organized social and academic programming etc #but then that typically falls away in sophomore year #and i think that's part of why students struggle a lot with the sophomore slump #and then i think another area of fall-off is like #students have access to a lot of career services & prof development resources + coaching + support during their senior years #as they're preparing to enter the workforce #but then obviously once they graduate #they're on their own #and i think that's something i'd be interested in thinking about - like specifically developing resources targeted at alumni #or even extending access to career support/coaching services for 1-2 years after graduation or something #or giving students access to those for a very low fee (maybe subsidized by some kind of grant) #idk just something i'm thinking about today!! instead of doing work work!

[butgilinsky]

meant to be // np

warning; stress/anxiety, mentions a toxic ex but doesn't go into detail abt it, fluffy nolan, i think that's it?

summary; when you go MIA, Nolan makes sure you're okay. based on the song meant to be by bebe rexha & florida georgia line

word count; 2.8k+

a/n; this is a part of my yee haw series (all fics are stand alones, so don't worry about that) if you have any interest in checking those out too! until then, enjoy fluffy nolan

add yourself to my nhl taglist!

You were usually pretty good at telling yourself that you were blowing things out of proportion. It didn’t always stop you from doing so, but it usually talked you off a ledge. This week, it seemed that there was no talking yourself off of the ledge.

Other than the fact that you were five pages into your portfolio that you were submitting to Temple in an attempt to get into their MFA program, one that you’d been wanting to go to for years at this point, your ex had made a recent appearance in your life. As if the stress from applying to grad school wasn’t enough for you to handle, you had run straight into your ex on your way home from grabbing coffee.

It would’ve been enough if you had just run into him, if you had to exchange pleasantries with the same person who shattered your heart into so many pieces you were still recovering two years after the break up. The same person that traumatized you enough to have to put your current relationship on a speed so slow that you were sure a sloth would have moved faster.

Nolan had been patient with you, which you were beyond thankful for. He was fine with things going at a snail’s pace, given that you weren’t the only one between the two of you that had a rocky past with romantic relationships. It wasn’t news to anyone that you were together, but it had been confusing for just about everyone outside of the two of you.

There wasn’t a label on it, neither of you needed one to know where you stood. Both of you had an understanding that you were just as damaged as you were interested in each other, and working slow without any labels or the need to structure your relationship in society’s idea of normalcy was your middle ground. It allowed the two of you to breathe, without leaving a lingering doubt about how the two of you felt about each other.

People pestered the two of you about it, why you wouldn’t wear a WAGs jacket or introduce Nolan to your parents when they were in town. They didn’t get it, but they didn’t need to. You and Nolan communicated very well with one another, and if the two of you knew what was going on with everything, then nobody else needed to. Neither of you needed anyone else’s validation to be content with where the two of you stood.

But then you ran into your ex. Your shoulder collided with his on the street and while you thought you were piecing yourself back together from everything he put you through, the mere sight of him sent you down a spiral that you had avoided for as long as you possibly could.

It’s not that you missed your ex, because you didn’t. You didn’t miss him or the way he spoke to you, nor did you miss the lack of communication and being left in the dark more often than not. Seeing him made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, but everything he put you through came to the forefront of your mind, and you were unintentionally overwhelmed with the worry that you’d end up in the same scenario with Nolan one day.

You didn’t think that Nolan would hurt you, not the way you’d been hurt in the past. You trusted him more than you’ve ever trusted anyone, and he proved that he deserved that trust. It wasn’t the thought that Nolan would become the person your ex had been, but the thought that there would be a day where Nolan was your ex.

It was scary and deafening, and the reason you couldn’t finish your portfolio. You’d been writing for hours, or trying to. The chair you were sitting in had grown uncomfortable in the first hour, and you had migrated around the apartment to look for a place that didn’t hurt your ass or your back. Unfortunately you couldn’t find one, opting to sit on the floor in between your couch and your coffee table. You’d been so lost in thought that you had spent six hours without responding to anyone, not even realizing that time had gone by that quickly until you got a call.

The only reason you even saw the call was the fact that the notification popped up on your computer. You knew he knew something was up because he rarely ever facetimed you without asking if you were free first; though, if he had texted you first there was no way of you knowing with your phone in a completely different room. He only ever facetimed you unannounced when you didn’t answer your phone for a while. He knew you could answer facetime calls on your laptop, and while you weren’t always in the mood to talk to him at that moment, it was enough to get your attention and let you know that he was worried about you.

But you answered it today, regardless of the fact that you looked a mess and felt even worse. You answered because you needed him to ground you, to pull your head out of the clouds and silence the thoughts that had been buzzing in your mind for over 24 hours.

“Hey.” you forced a small smile to your lips before reaching behind you to turn on a lamp, unaware of the darkness you were encased in until now.

“You okay? You’ve been MIA all day.” you rolled your eyes gently, a playful smile playing on your lips.

“It hasn’t been all day.” you tried to assure him that he was being slightly over dramatic, but the look in his eyes told you that that was not the case.

“Y/n, it’s midnight.” that it was, though it was the first time you were realizing that. You had no idea what time it was, and sitting in front of your computer for the past six hours had not helped that fact. “What happened? Talk to me.”

“This portfolio’s just stressing me out.” he hummed, unsure that was the full reason. He could tell in the way that your forehead creased and your eyes narrowed slightly that there was more than just a little stress going on. You’d been stressed about this thing for weeks, there had to be something else that was going on with you.

“So you’re not going to tell me what’s wrong?” you sighed softly, unsure if you wanted to unpack all of that right now. “Alright. Be ready in ten minutes.”

“Ten minutes? Nolan I can’t get ready in ten minutes-”

“Just put a pair of sweats on and go stand outside. I’ll be there in ten.” he hung up then, not giving you much of an option but to do as he said.

Nine minutes after Nolan hung up on you, you were standing outside, teeth chattering lightly while you bounced on the balls of your feet. The familiar car pulling up in front of you made you smile, and when you stepped up to the door you heard the lock click.

You pulled yourself into his car quickly, sighing out in relief at the warmth that encased you. Your eyes found his, a warmth spreading through your chest as you leaned over the center console to kiss him softly. He hummed against your lips, chasing you for just a moment when you pulled back. The next one lasted just a second longer, noses bumping against one another softly.

He pulled back then, moving to kiss your cheek before sitting back in his seat and moving the gear shift into drive. His right hand found its home on your thigh, the warmth from his palm radiating through your sweats and into your skin.

“Where are we going?” your voice was soft and peaceful, like the sound of home on a cold winter evening that Nolan wished he could live in forever.

“Nowhere.” he shrugged, glancing over at you for a moment to smile at you. He didn’t have a destination in mind, just driving around the city for the night. It wasn’t the first time the two of you had done this before, and you doubt it’d be the last.

These nights were your favorite; Nolan driving absolutely nowhere with his hand on your thigh and his ear offered up to you. Sometimes you didn’t talk for hours, just listened to whatever playlist the two of you chose and drove until one or both of you got too tired to continue. Sometimes you ended up hours away from home, which got the two of you (usually Nolan) into trouble from time to time.

“What’s up, what’s rotting your mind?” you leaned your head onto his shoulder, wanting to be close to him more than anything right now.

“It’s stupid.” you whispered gently.

His hand moved up from your thigh to cup the underside of your jaw. He moved towards you, eyes still locked on the road while his lips pecked yours softly. It was cheesy and a bit awkward, but it wasn’t the first time he’d done something like that. It was meant to soothe you, and it did. Nolan wasn’t a man of many words but his actions always spoke loud enough for you to hear him clearly.

“It’s not stupid if it’s bothering you.” his voice was as gentle as his heart, something you loved dearly about him. He wasn’t pushy or demanding, rather patient and gentle.

“I ran into Kai yesterday.” his muscles tensed, along with his hand gripping your thigh just a little tighter than it previously had been. It wasn’t a huge change but you picked up on it, along with the way his jaw clenched and he sighed through his nose.

Nolan had never met Kai, and you hoped he never would. Not because you thought Nolan would kill him or anything, but because you wished that nobody in your current life had to ever interact with people from your past. Kai knew a completely different person than the one Nolan knew, and you didn’t want to be the person you used to be. You didn’t want Nolan to be subjected to hearing about her or the life she previously led.

“Did he say something to you?” you didn’t expect much different from him. He’d always been a safe amount of protective. He wasn’t the type to run out of the house at the first sound of danger and pummel everyone into the ground, he just wanted to make sure you were alright. He wouldn’t put a bounty out on Kai, but if he did or said something that was still bothering you, he’d do everything he possibly could to make you feel better.

“I mean yes, but not in the way that you’re thinking. It wasn’t what he said it’s just,” you sighed, one that made your cheeks puff out and your eyes flutter shut for a moment.

“It’s just that now you’re scared that that’s how we’ll end up.” you lifted your head off of his shoulder, looking at him with narrowed eyes and a furrowed brow.

“How’d you learn how to read minds? That’s a pretty cool party trick, you know?” he laughed gently and tapped the inside of your thigh while shaking his head at you. You always tried to lighten the mood by making small little jokes out of things and while some people found it to be unbearable, Nolan loved every single second of it.

“I wish I could read your mind, it’d make things a lot easier most of the time.” you rolled your eyes but laughed, finding truth in his words.

“I just don’t want history to repeat itself, you know? I’m just scared that the things I’ve been trying to avoid are inevitable. What if they happen anyway? What if everything I’ve been working for is useless and everything i’ve run from is my destiny?” Nolan sighed softly and pulled into a parking garage, one that you weren’t familiar with.

“Everything you and Kai went through, stays between the two of you. I’m not him, and I’ll never be him. I won’t say we’ll never fight, because I obviously can’t guarantee that. We’ll fight, everyone does, but we’ll get past it. We’ll survive it all. That, I can assure you. I can promise you that I would never treat you the way that that douche did.”

He doesn’t promise you the world, nor does he promise to shoot for the stars. He doesn’t promise that things will always be alright, but that’s what you love about Nolan. He doesn’t set unrealistic expectations. He doesn’t tell you what you want to hear just to make you feel better. He’ll do a lot of things to make you feel better, but lying to you isn’t one of them.

“If it’s meant to be, it’ll be, you know? You just have to let it be, which you’re not entirely skilled at.” you punch his arm softly just as he parks at the top of the parking garage that’s almost completely empty.

“What if what it’s meant to be isn’t what I want it to be, though?” Nolan shook his head gently and turned towards you, a soft smile sitting on his lips.

“It won’t be at times, but that doesn’t mean it won’t ever be. If people could write out their lives exactly like they wanted them to be, nobody’s lives would align. You have to let things play out, baby, and I know that’s the scariest thing about life itself, but it’ll work out. If it’s meant to be, I promise it’ll be.”

Your lips move before your mind can catch up. You’re so immersed in him, neck deep in whatever he’s cooked up for you, but you don’t try to get out. He’s everything you’ve ever wanted and more. You didn’t think that anyone could be so perfectly hand crafted, treated with such care that even his flaws were beautiful. You didn’t plan on telling him you loved him, didn’t plan on saying the words that have done nothing but haunt you for the last few years.

“I love you.” it comes out in a breath, like it’s lifted a weight off of your shoulders.

He can tell you didn’t mean to say it, because your eyes blow wide open and your lips part in a way that he can tell you’ve spoken out of impulse rather than preparation. Your cheeks are hot and your hands shake just enough for Nolan to reach for one of them and hold it tightly in his own.

He’s smiling, which is as confusing as the small laugh that he lets out. It’s confusing and almost angering, but you don’t have time to ask because the second your brow furrows, he’s tumbling out an explanation for his reaction.

“I love you too. Have for a while, probably always will.” it melts your heart that’s sunk into your stomach. You’re not sure what you did that made the universe gift you with Nolan, though you believe it to be something between adopting a child in a past life or buying a woman’s order at Taco Bell when she forgot her wallet at home.

He expects you to say something else, maybe ask if he’s joking or not, but you don’t. You’re frozen in your spot, tears building up in your eyes that make Nolan meet you over the center console and pull you into his chest. He doesn’t know exactly why you’re so emotional, but he has a feeling it has to do with your traumatic past and the fear that others have installed in you. He just wants you to be happy, especially if he gets to stick around to make it happen himself.

“I love you so much, and it’s fucking terrifying.” he kisses the top of your head, his hand moving up and down your back in the most soothing pattern he can come up with.

“I know, and I’m scared too. Maybe we always will be, but we can’t spend too much time worrying about it or else we won’t get to experience it. We’ll ruin it for ourselves, and I don’t want to do that.” you shook your head, your silent way of telling him that you don’t want to do that either. You wanted to let yourself cherish falling in love with Nolan.

“If it’s meant to be, it’ll be, right?” he smiles down at you, one of the widest smiles you’ve ever seen him present. You store it in your memory, hoping you’d never forget the sight of him smiling at you like you were the only thing that mattered in the word.

“That’s right, baby. And I have a pretty good feeling about us.”

-

nolpat taglist; @extratragic @babytkachuks @teenagekook @stfukie @kiedhara @sadcupofcoffee @sidscrosbyy @rebel-without-care @baby-cat-nol-pat @creator-appreciator @aasimarr @bucky-ish @immmbabyyygraceee @neenaw-neenaw @shawnsreputation @pierreslucdubois @yungbeezy @tortito @dmonchld @beauvibaby @honeybearbarzal

#nolan patrick #nolan patrick x reader #nolan x reader #philadelphia flyers #flyers #nhl fic #nhl #nhl imagine #hockey fic #hockey imagine

[moldisgoodforyou]

you'd come with me?

wordcount: 1.5k

lol this picture just makes me laugh we love a mich ultra man

“How much longer?”

“Just a few…” Sophie answered Rafe absentmindedly, biting her bottom lip in concentration as she typed.

They’d assumed their usual positions while studying in her room - she was sprawled out on her bed, while he sat at her desk, concentrating on whatever homework he had for the day. She’d banned him from the bed during study time, much to his dismay, claiming he was far too distracting. (He still got away with distracting her half the time anyways, slinking over and tucking his large frame into her side like a dog that had overgrown its owner’s lap years ago.)

“Rafe?” She broke the silence after a while, punctuating her sentence with a firm shut of her laptop.

“Yeah, baby?”

“I just applied for a grad program.” She told him nervously, unsure of what his reaction might be.

He shrugged, not turning his attention to her. “Okay? I thought you applied to Ohio State’s, you’re basically in already.”

“Well, yeah. But, um - can you look at me, please?” Sophie bit at her bottom lip, anxious.

He glanced up and finally noticed her nervous energy, then came over to sit next to her on the bed. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, it’s just big news. Maybe. I don’t even know if I have news yet, really -”

“Spit it out, Soph.” He nudged his knee against hers, concerned.

She nodded, taking a breath. “Okay. I applied to three other places, too. Two are in New York, one’s in Texas. And I know, I should have told you, but I wasn’t even sure if I wanted to do it in the first place, I kind of applied on a whim - well, I’ve been perfecting the application essay for weeks, but -”

“Soph, hey, it’s okay.” He cut off her rambling and a broad grin spread across his face, completely surprising her. “New York and Texas, for real?”

She raised her eyebrows and fidgeted with her ring, glancing at him worriedly. “That doesn’t worry you at all? That we’d be apart?”

She’d thought about how to tell him, when to tell him, for weeks now. She’d been hiding that she was interested in applying to other schools since June and though she felt incredibly guilty, she kept thinking back to long distance and how sad he seemed sometimes. She couldn’t break him with the news again so soon, not when she saw the way he lit up when they were together again and how content he was. Not when she saw how hard it was for her to support him from thousands of miles away, knowing physical touch was a big thing he relied on for comfort in their relationship.

He interrupted her train of thought as he took her hand, lacing their fingers together. “Sophie, baby, do you know how many jobs are in New York and Texas?”

“Wait, you’d come with me?” She stuck her bottom lip out a little, overwhelmed and almost near tears at his response.

“I was planning on following you no matter what.” Rafe smiled encouragingly, reaching out and stroking his thumb over her cheek. “If you’ll have me.”

“Oh.” She said softly, growing shy. “You’re sure? You could go wherever you wanted, I don’t want to hold you back -”

“Hey, hey, none of that. Where’d you apply, when do you hear back?”

“You’re sure this isn’t an issue.” She asked warily, not wanting to undermine his feelings.

“I’m positive.” He gave her a proud grin. “What schools?”

“Okay, um. Columbia -”

He let out a long low whistle, nodding. “Impressive.”

She blushed, finally grinning back. “Hush. Columbia, Syracuse and UT Austin. Isobel already got into Syracuse. Columbia’s my top choice, but that’ll probably never happen.”

“Of course it’ll happen, get out of your head.” He leaned down and kissed her, smiling against her lips. “Look at you, big shot, applying for an Ivy.”

She relaxed, her hands trailing along the hem of his shirt, and ducked her head to hide her grin. “Stop. It’s not that big of a deal.”

“It is that big of a deal. When do you find out?” He shifted to lay down by her, then tucked a piece of hair behind her ear.

“Um…not for a couple months, I think. You’ll really follow me?”

“Course I will, if you’ll have me.” He nodded earnestly.

“Yeah. I’d like that.” She beamed, nudging her nose against his. “You’re my favorite.”

“Love you too.” He responded. “Wait, did you just apply? Like right now?”

She nodded, biting the inside of her cheek. “Just finished my Columbia essay, I did the rest last week. Now I wait.”

He smoothed his thumb over her cheek, making her relax again. “You’re so damn smart. Should we go celebrate?” Rafe gave her a cheeky grin. “Double scoop with sprinkles?”

She rolled her eyes. “Doesn’t have the same effect now that you get it for free.” As a part of his internship program, he’d received a punch card for 25 free visits to Jeni’s, their favorite ice cream shop - they’d hardly made a dent in it since returning to school.

“No, I pay extra for the sprinkles and your waffle cone.” His grin gave way to a slow smirk and he kissed her neck, sucking gently for a moment. “We could celebrate other ways…”

“Wait, no, I actually do want the ice cream.” She pulled away before he could leave a mark, giving him a warning glance. “I gotta make up for what I missed over summer.”

He laughed, getting up and offering his hand. “Alright. C’mon, genius. Jeni’s is waiting for you.”

She took his hand, but didn’t stand. “Wait, Rafe. You’re sure, this is okay with you? I know you have your job lined up and all…”

Rafe paused, shrugging. “Yeah, well. Uh, Brooklyn got the job offer too, she’s already accepted it. So I wasn’t too psyched about it anyways.”

“Oh.” She nodded, thoughtful. “Have you been to New York? Or Austin?”

“I have. You haven’t? You want to go visit when you get in, so you can make your final decision?” He tugged on her hand, pulling her up into a hug and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“Not sure I could afford that.” She mumbled, resting her head on his chest.

“Man, too bad you don’t have a boyfriend with money to pay for those trips.” He hooked a finger under her chin, tilted it up so he could look her in the eyes and see her scowl. “If you want to visit, we’ll go. Easy weekend trip.”

“Right.” Sophie nodded, unsure. “Maybe. I’m not even sure I’ll get in, I’ll probably be stuck here in Columbus for another year anyways.”

“Hey. Stop talking like that. You’ll help me look for jobs in New York and Texas, right?”

“Of course I will.” She confirmed. “You know, we could probably find something related to film in New York…”

He scoffed and looped his arm around her shoulders, steering her out of her room and down the stairs. “I think my dad might write me out of his will if I did anything adjacent to the film industry. Waste of my time, he says.”

She frowned, letting him usher her out to the car. “Maybe you should go talk with the career counselors, see if there’s options to combine both. You’re good at marketing too, maybe there’s something there?”

“Not sure. Haven’t really thought about any of that.” He dismissed her quickly, feeling uneasy like he did any time he thought about his future outside of school.

Sometimes he realized he was really good at absorbing other people’s interests, like he was able to always match his personality into a perfect mold to other people’s expectations. With Colin and James, and now Sophie, he was able to let his guard down a little and figure out who he was, who he wanted to be beyond his father’s expectations. He felt like he was thinking about this ten years too late - eleven year old Rafe had always written his ‘dream job’ in school as working for his dad. Now he was about to graduate, set to get a job, and wasn’t even sure if he could list his hobbies outside of hanging out with Sophie and his friends, and watching movies.

“Look, I just...I don’t want you to lose sight of what you’re actually interested in just because you need a job. You don’t have to hate your job.” She told him, carefully.

“I know.” He nodded, shutting down the conversation. “Today’s not about me, though, we gotta celebrate you, hotshot over here.” He grinned at her, leaning over to kiss her quick across the seat. “I think they have the chocolate cake back in stock, I’ve missed it.”

She picked up on his hesitation, but didn’t push it. “You’re such a creature of habit.”

“No, you’re just a psychopath picking a different flavor every time.” He shook his head as he reached his hand to rest behind her seat, turning around to back up. “Good thing I love you anyways, smart girl.”

“Love you too, sweet boy.” She replied with a smile.

taglist: @drewstarkey @lemur46 @jjmaybanksbaby @edgeofgr8 @quxxnxfhxll @obxtess @hoodpankow @vtgirl802 @outerbankies @messagesinthesky @nicolecarsley @svechnikolan @ilovejjmaybank @obxtess @abbyj1822 @oopsiedoopsie23 @g4bster @jjmaybankzz @freddymaybank @dontjinx-it @illbesafeforyou @moniamaybank @tovvaa @jailcalledlife @sunshineitsfine44 @randomficsandshit @outerbankspreferences @outerbanksbro @karsinner @kkmaybank @whoeveniskendall @lemur46

#rafe camron #rafe cameron fanfic #outer banks #outer banks fanfic #obx #obx fanfic #college rafe #frat rafe #rafe x sophie #mine

[hyperfixationswithkate]

connect | davey jacobs

reader x davey jacobs

[modern newsies au] 

summary: It’s been two years since they spoke, and they need a wedding date. What could go wrong? 

The opening of ‘You’re My Best Friend’ plays as you anxiously await for a response. The song he’d made his contact all those years ago as a joke but you’re too sentimental to let it go. You sprint across your apartment to grab it. “Hi,” you pant into the receiver. “As for your proposition, for you” your old friend said, “anything”. Your heartbeat races even faster at the thought of seeing him again. “Thank you” “See you then” He says and then the receiver clicks. 

Almost a month and a half later, you sit on your couch waiting. Fidgeting with the hem of your shirt, you think about the last time you saw him. It was almost two years ago now. After graduation, you two had slowly grown apart. People thought you guys were made for each other, actual soulmates, but time is a cruel mistress. Romance was never a word you would use to describe your relationship with Davey. He was always your partner in crime, your best friend, never your boyfriend. Well not never, the amount of times you’d see him laugh or talking or just existing and imagine a world where you two weren’t just friends. But the possibility of love wasn’t worth risking a friendship over. 

Somehow the idea of seeing him still makes you feel butterflies. Even though he recently moved to New York for a grad program, you didn’t reach out with the fear of being awkward or just wanting to leave things the way they were. But a friend’s wedding where they were desperate to meet your childhood friend after learning he’s in town and needing a date, a proposal arised. 

It wasn’t a large wedding but large enough that you could leave early if things got weird. Getting cornered into bringing a guy you haven’t seen in years to a wedding where you barely knew the bride wasn’t the finest combo but it will have to do. All your worries and fears were pulled from your mind with a knock on the door. ‘Here we go’ you thought. You pull the door open with a deep breath as you see him.

Wow, college has done him well. Davey was always handsome but wow. Maybe time isn’t so criminal after all. Suits make anybody better but damn does he pull it off. “Hey, long time no see” he says, “shut up” you breathe as you hug him. The silk of the suit touches your face, you can smell the laundry detergent. The same one he’s used since he was a kid. The stale cotton smell fills your mind with nostalgia. Memories of crying into his shirt over god knows what, or borrowing a jacket from his car after a spring rain. A small smell brings you back to a past life, a completely different person, someone afraid of the endless possibility of the future. But his voice brings you back to the present. As he pulls away from the hug, he says “So y/n, what’s the plan?” 

You two leave your apartment in an almost awkward silence. The fear of making things weird after two years of limited contact weights on you. As you approach his car, he says “so how did you get wrapped into a wedding?” You take a moment to reply and say “I barely know at this point, the groom is a friend of mine from my freshman writing class. His friend group is filled with frat boys and trust fund babies but he’s an alright guy and I am still easily peer pressured.” You ramble. 

“You have a theme of finding the one alright guy in a group of animals” He says, winking at you. “A prime example being your juvenile posse from freshman year.” You say. Davey playfully gasps, acting offended. “Jack, Race, Romeo, and the rest of the goonies weren't exactly angels but they weren't heathens” He says in an overly dramatic tone. 

He changes the subject before I can poke fun at his boys again saying “Me and Jack are sharing an apartment while I finish my double major and while he’s still doing random things to pay for art school. Some of the other boys are around town. It’s kind of homely though, especially through the first couple weeks. What was it like living somewhere completely new all on your own?” You think for a second and say “It’s kind of nice. Starting completely fresh. No one has any expectation of who you are. It was rough at first without anyone close but I was able to change without fear of ruining old friendships.” He nodded silently, definitely thinking about my statement and analyzing it like the over thinker he’s always been. 

We sat in a comfortable silence as we approached his car. Davey takes two large steps to reach the car door before you, “M’lady” he says as he opens the door. The inside of his car smelled like a lemon air freshener and his dashboard was covered in post it notes with random things scribbled on them. “What are these?” you say, staring at the little notes. “Oh well they started by me forgetting things all the time and it evolved into the boys leaving notes every time they’re in here alone. I’m too sappy to take them down” He replies as he gets into the driver seat. ‘If you mess this up, I’ll deck ya. Love Race’ reads one of the notes. Davey notices you eyeing the note as he starts the car and says quietly “Race wrote that one about today. He really wants us to be close again so when I drive down here to see you, I pick up cheap weed for him.” ''God that's such a Race thing to do'' you say laughing. He makes nervous eye contact with you that makes you think that maybe weed wasn’t Race’s only motive for us meeting again. But Davey speaks before your mind can race too far off, “So what’s the address for this wedding venue?” 

As we drive for a few minutes, Davey turns on the radio to fill the weird gap of silence between conversations and of course the first sing playing is “You’re my best friend” by Queen. The song about your partner being your best friend is playing, the song that could definitely be labeled as “our song” is playing, the universe is playing a cruel game on us today. Davey turns to you recognizing how significant this song is and says “You better remember all the words to this song” and of course I do. I reply by singing the opening verse very loudly. To which he does the exact same thing. As the song fades out, he says “I remember listening to that in high school. We used to sit on your bedroom floor and do homework while the whole Night At The Opera album played”. The nostalgia flooding back to you as his eyes focus back on the road. A particular memory stands out.

One night we were both studying for our AP Lit test in my bedroom. It was almost 2am and you’d been studying for hours. We snuck down to the kitchen for some snacks before the final haul of work. Running down the stairs your feet slip and Davey catches you in his arms. As you balance again, his arms don’t fall away and you turn to face him about to ask him if something is wrong. His eyes staring deeply into yours as you look at him and you savor the feeling of his warm hands on your arms. The moment quickly passed when your cat meowed very loudly at your feet, scaring the both of you apart. After raiding your kitchen, you two swiftly return upstairs to finish studying and hopefully avoiding another borderline romantic encounter for the evening. Once you close your bedroom door, Davey said “What’s your favorite record at the moment?”. He was trying to avoid studying but I didn’t really care. “Currently it’s A Night At The Opera by Queen. I just got it on vinyl and it’s definitely a winner” I say back. “Well then put it on” he says jokingly gesturing to the small record player in my room. “Alright mate” you mumble in a vague british accent knowing that’ll get him to laugh, and of course he does. You put on the record and the opening instrumental starts playing. 

We study for most of the album, only interrupted by pages flipping, pencils scratching, yawning, and me flipping the record. By the end of the album, we’re both lying on the floor staring at the ceiling in exhaustion, the carpet touching my bare arms as the final notes fade out. “That was incredible,” Davey says quietly, turning to face me on the ground. “I know” I say nodding, leaning towards him. For a few seconds, we were close enough together we could have kissed. Staring at each other waiting for the other to make a move. He turns away, a fear of making things weird overcomes him. You can tell in his face that he regrets it the moment he turns. 

The memory fades as the car stops at a red light. Turning to Davey as his eyes are fixed on the road, you see the side profile that you saw everyday at school. The slightly crooked nose that got broken from a flying book during lunch. The eyebrow that has a small scar above it from tripping at the city pool during freshman year. The pink blotch of color on his cheek that never seems to leave no matter the temperature. All these memories attached to him for better or for worse. 

He notices you staring as he turns the corner. “What?” he says quietly, blushing. “Nothing, just thinking” you say equally as quiet. “About what?” he almost whispers. Just as you panic about what to say, the GPS says “You have arrived at your destination”

#davey jacobs #davey x reader #davey jacobs x reader #davey jacobs modern au #newsies #newsies musical #davey jacobs fluff #davey jacobs angst #connect #fic #gender neutral reader #please give me feedback

[pbandjesse]

My laptop just did a weird thing. The whole screen freaked out, but it seems to be okay now. So that was weird. No time for broken laptops. Remember when my old laptop broke like 3 times in my last semester of grad school? That was a mess.

Today was really nice but the timing was a little weird. I slept pretty well. Dad texted me wanting to talk about the venue, so we made a plan to talk later in the day. But I had to get ready for work.

I felt very cute today. I got washed and dressed and left a little early so I could get Mcdonalds. And I still had time to eat in the parking lot before I headed inside.

It was so nice to see my work friends. I was supposed to run the lights on program, they were going to have two of them running at once. But the numbers were a lot lower then expected, so instead I was moved to the cannery. And really that was awesome. I had such a good time.

It was a homeschool day. So we got set up and then spent a half hour just chatting. I really enjoyed my chat with Estelle. She said I was fascinating and I should write a book.

I had a great time with the kids though. What an amazingly sweet and respectful group of kids. I was doing the printing part and the girls I had up there were so good and did a great job. I had a blast and I am really glad I got moved up there.

I did all the cleaning and helped do some gluing. I had a nice chat with Becca and Meaghan. I burnt my finger on a hot glue gun right on the last thing I was putting together. Ouch.

I headed out of there and decided to go straight home. I wanted to sleep.

James was working when I got back. I had a little lunch and did a few things before I laid down. I slept really well honestly. A really good and needed nap.

I woke up right at 3 and called dad. I know I was a little less than enthusiastic on the phone but I think I don't want to come across as super excited? I don't even know why. Because Im afraid it will be snatched away from me? Possibly. But dad thinks its great and so we will make the decision before Monday. But I think we have our venue.

I got out of bed and talked to James for a while. Had another snack. And started working on the roasting of the pumpkin seeds. James would ake the out of the oven for me because I had to get out of there.

I changed into my dress and grabbed my bag before I drove out to target. It took me a full half hour to get there. Stupid traffic. And then they didnt even have the snacks I wanted. I did get the other things I needed. But the store was really busy and I was very worried I would be late. It ended up being fine. I stopped at the craft store for the print bags I needed. And then I was back to work.

I actually had a lot of time so I stopped at the Starbucks near the museum. I got a pink drink. It was very nice.

It was a really fun wedding to work. It was very eclectic and fun. I had a great night honestly and it seemed like just a really lovely family.

I spent time talking to Becca and then to some of the catering staff. They even had an oyster shucking station and that was neat. I had a lot of different conversations tonight. Including one of the camera men and made them little business cards. I really had a nice night.

I cleaned up all the ink. My hands were super messy but whatever.

I got to go home a little early. And when I got home I was happy to eat and shower and wash my hands off.

Now I am on the couch losing my mind watching the Nintendo Direct for the new animal crossing stuff. They are adding so much stuff I am so excited to play again. I cannot wait. This is so cool. Im like on the verge of crying about multiple things. It is so exciting. I cant wait until November.

Tomorrow we have the farmers market. And I will get ready for my camping trip. I am looking forward to a nice day. I hope you all have a great night. Sleep well everyone.

[florenceandthemachine]

okay but jackson falling for single dad stiles (◕‿◕✿)

SO (and I feel like I’m going to be saying this a lot) HERES THE THING.

@jacksonstilinskis, as you can assume, the first time they meet is a fucking disaster.

It’s a disaster because Stiles moved to New York for his bachelor degree, partially in an attempt to chase the highest scholarship he was awarded and partially in an attempt to get the fuck out of Beacon Hills, the place that killed his mother, his father, and his best friend — and the place that left him with a squirming three month old less than a year after he graduates high school, a gift from the recently departed. 

He gets a major in Criminology and a minors in Mythological Studies, rocks the single father gig, and manages to teach Claudia (Scotts idea, Stiles had cried when he found out) what is okay to bite and what is not okay to bite, but getting into grad school is a whole other animal. 

It’s a disaster because Stiles decides to forgo taking out a mortgage in student loans and tries to save up for his masters program by joining up with the NYPD. They have amazing benefits, amazing child support, and a legal team that could kick anyones ass.

It’s a disaster because six years later, when Stiles and Jackson first meet, Stiles is in uniform (a uniform he looks damn good in, Jackson begrudgingly acknowledges) and Jackson’s Porsche just hit about 87 miles per hour in a 55.

The best part is (well, the best part if you ask Stiles — the worst part if you ask Jackson) is that Jackson has been pulled over hundreds of times before, and he always — always — gets out of it with a smile and a laugh and an apology, and Stiles could not give less of a fuck. Jackson breaks out all the tricks. The smile, the pout, the puppy eyes. He actually thinks it works for a second — Stiles is smiling back at him, and Jackson isn’t above tilting his head to get a better look at the way the uniform hugs him, but then Stiles is asking for his registration and insurance and Jackson’s smile falls into a scowl.

Finally, he brings out the big guns — he casually gestures to his scrubs, mentions he’s on his way to a surgery, because being top of his class at Harvard Medical had to count for something — and he really was in a rush, officer, he had to get to the patient right away. 

Stiles has the audacity to roll his eyes and laugh as he hands Jackson his ticket, and Jackson has to pretend that the sound didn’t make a shiver dance over his skin. “Well, I certainly hope you take more time and care with your patient then you do on your commute. Have a better day.”

The cruiser follows him all the way to the hospital, and Jackson feels a moment of petty anger before he realizes that the 23rd Precinct is basically right across Park Avenue from Mount Sinai Hospital. If he looks out the window of his office, he can see a steady stream of police cars going in and out of the underground garage. 

Huh. 

—

Jackson allowed himself a full week to whine to everyone who would listen about his ticket after he plea bargained it down, but then even he got tired of sulking —

(“I am not sulking, Laura.”

“It was over a month ago. You are absolutely sulking, you baby.”)

— sulking over who he had only thought of as Officer Asshole. Who the fuck gives a speeding ticket to a doctor, a doctor that was on his way to surgery?

Not that Jackson had actually been on his way to surgery. He was never in a rush to surgery, because he was never late to surgery, because he barely left the hospital on his days off, let alone a day he had a surgery scheduled. 

Either way, that was months ago, and even Jackson couldn’t hold a grudge that long. He was in rotation today — Mount Sinai may have been one of the best hospitals in the nation, but it was first and foremost a children's hospital, and being in rotation — and seeing the people that they were helping, the kids they were helping, really helped bring that home to everyone. 

He grabbed the next clipboard off of a stack and pushed open the door to the waiting room, taking count of all the parents and kids waiting for everything from a bruised knee (helecoptor parents) to any number of fakers (midterm season was rough on everyone).

“Claudia and Stiles... Stilinski?”

What the hell was a Stiles?

Jackson only had half a moment to think about it before a dark head popped up, a child that couldn’t have been more than six in his arms, and Jackson almost felt resentful when he realized that he was staring at Officer Asshole again. And Officer Asshole had a kid, who looked absolutely miserable, and Officer Asshole looked miserable in proxy to his kid, and Jackson really needed to start thinking of him as a “Stiles” before he accidentally called him officer Asshole out loud. 

Jackson guided them back to an exam room full of stuffed toys and bright colors on the wall, letting Stiles take his time setting Claudia down on the bench before sitting right beside her. He introduced himself and smiled down to Claudia — who had a low fever and was squirming uncomfortably, rubbing her little hands against her flushed cheeks, and Jackson would never think that was not cute. Even a sick kid was a cute kid, and though this kid was sick...

“...it’s nothing to be worried about. Kids get sick all the time, and it sucks, but it happens.” Jackson said, using his full soothing doctor voice on Stiles, who looked at the same time utterly relieved and totally embarrassed. 

He confirmed as much as he stood up, taking a prescription from Jackson for some children's medicine to help bring Claudia’s fever down, shaking his head slowly. “Sorry. It was probably overkill to bring her to a hospital, but I’m still pretty new to this parenting thing. I just... I don’t know, I have a tendency to assume the worst, after... well. I just do.”

Jackson almost laughs again, shaking his head. “Don’t ever apologize for advocating for your kid. It’s the best thing you can do, next to pulling over innocent doctors who definitely aren't speeding.” He reaches out to shake Stiles hand, dazzling smile on his face, and Stiles’ blooms into recognition. 

“You’re the doctor! The doctor I pulled over. Sorry, I forget names and faces, but I could never forget that smile.” Stiles said, a grin on his own face, shaking Jackson’s hand for a few seconds before his eyes widened in horror, yanking his hand back. “Oh god. That sounded so creepy, I’m so sorry, she’s kept me up for three days straight. I didn’t mean it in a weird way. I just—uh, I have to go. Thank you again! Please don’t think I'm some freak in a uniform!” he says, almost tripping over a nurse as he backs out of the room. 

Jackson is grinning even wider, a real smile splitting his face, and he can’t help but call after him. “The coffee cart on 102nd is great for long nights. Favorite for all on call doctors and most of the boys in blue.”

Stiles smiles weakly and gives a thumbs up, disappearing down the stairway. 

Officer Asshole — Stilinski, he reminded himself — wasn’t just hot, he was actually kind of cute. He was a cute dad. 

Jackson was kind of fucked.

—

Jackson is sitting on a bench on 102nd Avenue, looking up at the dark night sky, when a danish lands in his lap. Jackson just looks at it for a minute — he’s just finishing up a thirty hour shift, and he’s only vaguely sure what’s real anymore — before he looks up, staring dumbly at the cup of coffee extended to him. 

“It’s uh, a peace offering. And an apology? I mean, I’m not sorry for writing you a ticket. You were speeding. But I am sorry for calling you Doctor Dickbag for like a week afterward. But that medicine you gave me had Claudia back to her giggly self in no time, so I think you’re even. With yourself.”

It’s Stilinski, and judging by his pressed uniform, styled hair, and bright (if not nervous) smile, he’s just getting on shift while Jackson is mentally checking out of his own. 

As soon as he puts two and two together, Jackson gratefully takes the cup and takes a too long swig of what tastes like frothy sugar milk, almost gagging as he looks at Stiles like he had been poisoned. “What the hell is this, a hot milkshake? Oh god, I should have known you were the type who drinks hot sugar, not coffee.”

Stiles has the audacity to laugh as he sits beside Jackson, and the two of them fall into easy, if shallow, conversation. They talk about work, and themselves, and soon Stiles is checking his watch with an apology, because his shift starts at 4 and he has to get into the precinct. 

Jackson watches as he stands up and puts on his fancy police hat, and later, he’ll blame it on sleep deprivation, but he calls out after Stiles’ retreating form. 

“So, coffee and a danish, maybe breakfast next time? I’ll buy.”

Stiles stops and turns, looking Jackson over, and he grins as he nods his head, even if his cheeks are pink. “It’s a date.” He winks and turns back around, and Jackson actually feels goosebumps on the back of his neck.

Oh, Jackson was fucked. He flops back on the bench and smiles to himself, before frowning, whirling around to yell at Stiles’ retreating backside. 

“Wait, what the fuck do you mean you were calling me Doctor Dickbag?!”

—

They manage to have several coffee / breakfast / here’s a meal dates, and Jackson is almost proud of their timing—Stiles kisses Jackson on date number two, a quick peck that leaves Jackson’s world on it’s edge as he grins at Stiles blushing backside as he speaks rapid fire into his radio, now buzzing with life. It’s cute on their first date, but gets old by their fourth date, they manage to kiss for almost twenty seconds in the ambulance bay at Mount Sinai before Jackson’s pager goes off. He groans and pulls away, glaring at the device as though it personally offended him, and Stiles laughs as he brings Jackson’s hands up to kiss Jackson’s knuckles. 

“Go, go save lives. But, uh, if you were free on Thursday, I was thinking... maybe we could have our next date at my place? I’ve already got Mrs. Bobrowski on speed dial to babysit.” Stiles says, his tone confident even if he’s chewing his lip nervously. It’s a trick question — Stiles is off, and Stiles knows that Jackson is off, and Stiles already secured a babysitter, and Jackson can feel Stiles eyes dipping back from his lips to the low V of his scrub top, and Jackson wastes no time before agreeing wholeheartedly. 

“It’s a date.” he murmurs against Stiles lips, squeezing his ass through the uniform, and Stiles squeaks in appreciation as he swats Jackson toward the hospital doors. 

Thursday rolls around and Jackson puts on a tight pair of jeans, a button down shirt with far too many buttons undone to be decent, and adds just a drop of cologne to his pulse point. He looks good. He feels good. He buys flowers, for fucks sake, which means that of course when he knocks on Stiles door, Stiles is wearing a ratty tee shirt and sweats and has a pained look on his face. 

“Jackson, I’m so sorry, Mrs. Bobrowski cancelled on me and I couldn’t get another sitter and I wanted to call you and tell you but I left my phone at the station and—”

Stiles looks miserable, and that’s all Jackson needs to know he’s telling the truth, that he truly is sorry, and that he’s going to tell Jackson “another time”, like having a kid involved would ruin a dinner date. Jackson takes a split second before shutting Stiles up with a kiss, brushing past him with a grand flourish as he says Claudia in the living room, bending down to give her first choice on Stiles flowers.

Stiles just stands in the doorway, stunned, looking as Jackson goes to the kitchen, Claudia skipping along happily behind him, excitedly waving her new purple flower in the air. 

“Jackson, you don’t have to—”

“Stilinski, you have three seconds to shut up and tell me where to find a vase, and then tell me how I can help you with dinner.” Jackson says expectantly, and Stiles feels something warm curl around his chest.

—

They have dinosaur nuggets and carrots and peas for dinner, and Jackson loves it. 

They watch a Disney movie and Jackson holds Stiles hand on the couch, and he loves it.

Stiles puts Claudia to bed and then turns to Jackson with such a hungry look in his eye, he can hardly blink before Stiles has him pulled into his bedroom, and fuck, Jackson loves it. 

They barely get each other naked before they tumble into bed, and Stiles is rubbing against him so deliciously, and Jackson mouthes at his neck and bites at his pulse, and he would almost be ashamed of how quickly he comes, his body warm against Stiles, thrusting against his hips, but Stiles is right behind him, and they’re warm and sticky and have a mess on their abdomens. 

Jackson just looks at Stiles in surprise, and they both stare a moment before they’re both laughing, desperately trying to stifle the sound so they don’t wake Claudia. Jackson wipes them clean with something on the floor (”that's my shirt, you ass!” Stiles basically squawks) and then they both lay there in bed, listening to the sounds of the city from the window, and Stiles starts to talk. 

He tells them about his best friend Scott and his wife Allison that married right out of high school, and Allison who got pregnant before her first day at UCLA. He tells them about how after Claudia was born, they made Stiles the godparent, and then left Claudia in his care while they went on a much-delayed honeymoon to the coast, and then he tells them about how a little gas leak in the hotel robbed him of his two best friends and robbed Claudia of her parents. 

He goes through it quickly — “what happened then sucks, but there’s no sense in wishing it was different” — but it brings him to his next point, lying with his head on Jackson’s chest, fingers tracing the lines across his stomach. 

“Usually, guys run like hell when I say daughter. I’m a 26 year old cop with a 6 year old kid, and something about that is terrifying. Not that I think you’re going to be terrified, but—”

“Stiles, if this is the part of the show where you tell me that you and Claudia are a package deal, can it. I know. I’m not mad about it. Hell, I’ve already fooled you into thinking I’m more than just a dickwad, I’m not backing out now, I’ve put too much work into this.” Jackson snarks, and Stiles looks at him for a minute like he was crazy before he reads into Jackson’s facial expression, and his smile softens again. 

“You’re still a dickwad. Doctor Dickwad.” Stiles says, playfully squeezing Jackson’s side. “But I guess I can keep you around as long as Claudia finds you useful.” he says with a dreamy sign, nosing along Jackson’s jawline once more.

Jackson just grins and turns to kiss him, taking a moment to realize—

he was so, so fucked.

#jackson whittemore #stiles stilinski #kidfic #teen wolf #stackson #officer stilinski #doctor whittemore #I love them #ask #flospeaks

[embeanwrites]

Finding Home (Gavin Reed x Reader)

Chapter 2

Read: Chapter 1 here!

         I had just left my apartment a little after 11 am and started walking towards the university. I couldn’t help but to think about lunch yesterday. I was surprised how well it went; my dad seems like a totally different person from when I last saw him. Connor has been really good for him, almost like a son and Connor seemed to look up to him like a father figure. As I walked towards my office, I wondered if that meant eventually, I would think of Connor as a brother.

         I walked into the Faculty Administration Building and up two floors to reach my office. As I got closer to my office I noticed Nines was standing patiently outside the door.

         “Oh! Nines, if I knew you were waiting, I would have come sooner!” I rushed over to the door and unlocked it. I walked in and he followed.

         “I wasn’t waiting long, Dr. (L/n).” I sat at my desk and gestured for him to sit across from me.

         “Nines, please you can call me (Y/n). I really prefer it.” He nodded. “So, what can I do for you?”

         “I wanted to talk about one of your earlier papers. You wrote a piece about the Stanford Prison Experiment and how you didn’t believe, at the time, the results would be any different with androids. However, deviancy wasn’t a known problem. I’m quite curious on how you reached that conclusion.” Nines leaned forward and placed his elbows on his knees.

         “Wow, that is an old paper. That was one of my first in grad school, I’m surprised you found it. Well, Zimbardo found that regular college students in the role of the guards allowed power to go to their heads and they mistreated the ‘prisoners’ even though they were all very similar. I mention this in the paper, but I do think it would depend on the type of android and if everyone in the simulation is an android or if some are human. For example, if the guards were all AX400 models and the prisoners are human, I don’t believe we would get the same results. However, let’s say we remove the androids LEDs and mix them with humans, where the humans don’t know who is human or android and there’s a varying mix between each group in the role of the guards and the role of the prisoner, we would get the same results. Even without deviancy, the androids would know who is human and who isn’t, so if they are in the role of the guard, they would follow the lead of the others. On the other side, androids who were not deviant would comply with any mistreatment and therefore wouldn’t fight back from the guards.” Glancing at Nines, his stare was extremely intense and made me a little nervous. I’ve had to defend my papers to a lot of different individuals, in and out of academia, but never had to do so in a one on one conversation like this. 

         “What about now? If you could run the experiment?” He asked.

         “Well, I wouldn’t. The Stanford Prison experiment was highly unethical and did a lot of damage to the psyche of many of the participants. I wouldn’t cause that pain on humans or androids. Hypothetically speaking, I believe the results we would get would be the same as Zimbardo’s. Especially now, many androids have removed their LED and it’s sometimes difficult to pick out androids versus humans in a line up.”

         “What if they were all androids?”

         “Well, if this is before deviancy, I would say nothing out of the ordinary would happen. But today we do have android on android crime, so it’s reasonable to assume that similar emotions will arise from Zimbardo’s experiment.”

         “Yes, that makes sense.” Nines nodded and leaned back, seeming content with my answers for now.

         “I’m glad I could answer those questions for you. May I ask you one?” He paused for a few seconds before answering.

         “That seems fair.”

         “Why are you curious about this?”

         “It’s simple really. You’re one of the few people in academia who write about androids and more specifically android behavior. You’ve also been studying this the longest out of anyone I’ve seen, and you approach the subject objectively which can be hard to come by. It’s part of my job to understand human and android behavior and I would consider you an expert on the topic.”

         “Well, I don’t know how many of my peers would agree that I’m objective when it comes to my research, but it seems to come with the territory. What prompted you to come visit me so soon?”   

         “Detective Reed takes his lunch break from 11 to 12:15, since I don’t eat, I normally sit in the precinct. Recently Captain Fowler has asked me to actually leave the building for my break like Connor. For some reason, I think it upsets him seeing me sit there and not move. If it is alright with you, may I visit again tomorrow during this time?”

         “I don’t see why not, but Nines we don’t have to only talk about sociology. I would like to get to know you too.” Looking at him I noticed he barely turned his head, if I hadn’t been looking at him there’s no way I would have noticed. I wonder if he picked that up from Connor or if it was in both of their programming?

         “I’ve told you, I’m the RK900 model and I work with Detective Reed at the Detroit Police Department.” I sighed.

         “How about this, for every sociology question you ask me, I get to ask you something in return. About you or your opinion on something?” Nines looked at me unblinking for about thirty seconds before finally answering.

         “That seems fair. Do you have a question now?” I tried hiding my smile from him, it was always so rewarding to get androids who have stuck to their programming, despite being deviant, to talk about themselves.

         “Do you like working for the DPD?” I asked.

         “Of course, it’s what I was made to do.”

         “Yes, but do you LIKE working for the DPD?”

         “I don’t understand the difference you’re trying to get me to make.”

         “If you could work at a different police department, would you?”

         “No. The city has a high number of cases to solve and as difficult as he can be, working with Detective Reed is another challenge that has been interesting to solve.”

         “What do you mean?”

         “Well, when we were first partnered, he refused to even discuss cases with me. Overtime he’s seemed to warm up, maybe because I can finish both of our case paperwork in less than an hour. However, I have noticed unlike Connor and Lieutenant Anderson, Detective Reed doesn’t get upset with me when I use my forensics kit. He doesn’t like androids, but I think he prefers me to Connor.”

         “Well, Connor did knock him out apparently.” I said with a smile and I swore Nines’ lips twitched for a second as if he was going to smile.

         “Detective Reed will be returning from lunch soon.” Nines said while standing up, “I need to return to the precinct before he does.”

         “Does he get mad at you if he has to wait on you?”

         “No. However, it is easier to tease him about being late rather than teasing him for being on time.” I couldn’t help but laugh at Nines comment.

         “Before you go, here’s my card. It has my email, school phone, and my cell phone. In case you have any pressing questions. Please send me a message, so if something happens and I cannot make it before one of our meetings I can let you know.” Nines nodded and his LED flashed yellow.

         “I sent you a message. Have a good day Dr…. I mean (Y/n).” He said turning towards the door.

         “You too Nines! I look forward to our conversation tomorrow!” As Nines left, I relaxed in my chair. With this new job, many of my coworkers seemed hesitant to talk to me about my research, maybe they believed I was too radical. It felt nice having someone ask questions about my work and to show a genuine interest. I looked at my cell phone and giggled at his message.

          This is Nines, the RK900 android that works at the DPD

          Part of me wanted to poke fun at him, because of course I would know it was him, but I didn’t want to alienate him in any way. I looked at my other text messages to see what else I had missed during my walk and conversation with Nines.

          Hey! Me and some people from the precinct are going to get drinks at Jimmy’s bar around 7pm. Do you want to come? I think Connor’s going. Hank’s been trying to get him to hang out with people his “own age”.

          I bite my lip, I have been wanting to hang out with Tina, but I don’t know if I’m ready for questions on why I disappeared. I looked at my phone and decided to text Connor first.

          Hey, are you going to Jimmy’s tonight? Tina invited me and said you may be coming?

          Connor immediately responded.

          Lieutenant Anderson is forcing me to go. He said he was going to lock me outside the house until it was an “unreasonable time to be home”. Do you know what that means?

          Haha yeah. He wants you to hang out with other people, I guess. Branch out and make some friends. If you want, I can go with you and if it’s lame, we can just walk around and tell my dad we spent the whole time at the bar. 

          Yes, I think if you were there it may be better. I’ve tried going before, but I was the only android. I believe I made Detective Reed uncomfortable with my presence since I can’t drink, and he believes I record every conversation.

 Alright, well Jimmy’s is closer to the precinct, so I’ll meet you there around 6:45?

 Are you alright walking here alone? It would be no trouble for me to come to the university or your apartment first.

 It’ll be okay. It’s a short walk! I’ll see you at 6:45 in the lobby!

 Okay.

 I sighed gently, I had to go now. There was certainly no backing out now, unless I wanted to hurt Connor’s feelings. I swiped back to Tina’s message.

 I’ll be there.

#gavin reed x reader #gavin reed #detroit become human #fan fiction #connor is like a son to hank #connor has major little brother energy #hank anderson #nines #rk800 #rk900 #tina chen #connor

[quirks-of-a-fangirl]

A Quick Blurb

Here it is! My first ever writing piece. It’s a little sentimental and a lot cheesy. Tell me what you think!

Harry/OC

Word Count: 2322

Warnings: Mentions of Mental Health

1:28pm Hey just checking in. I haven’t heard from you today

3:34pm Pipes, are you ok???

5:56pm Piper I’m coming over because I just need to make sure you’re not dead

Piper glanced at the text from Harry and tossed her phone across her bed. He was always so worried. About her, about school, about work. Granted, this time around she hadn’t answered his texts or calls for a couple days. She was just so tired. Harry was probably bluffing, just threatening her to get her to finally answer. He was a worrier, but not that bad.

 Piper wasn’t feeling well. She wasn’t really sick, but she just couldn’t get out of bed. Everything just seemed really hard to do and she didn’t really feel like doing it anyway. Texting back, reading textbooks, eating food. Nothing seemed to really rouse her from her bed. Honestly, Piper wasn’t concerned about it. This happened sometimes. Her little “episodes” she called them. It was normal at this point to have a couple days to a week she just wasn’t functional every so often.

The knock at her door did little to pull her attention from her pillow. Eventually whoever it was would leave, probably an online purchase delivery she had just forgotten about. But then the lock started to sound. Fuck. Harry opened the door with his key.

“Honey, I’m hooooome,” his voice rang out in her small apartment. Fuck past Piper for giving him a key. Maybe if she was quiet enough, he would leave her to stay in her safe cocoon of blankets. Little chirps and purrs could be heard from the living room, undoubtedly where Harry was indulging Persephone with pets and loves. He wasn’t leaving anytime soon. Footsteps, both small and large, came down the hall to her bedroom. 

“Hey, bubs, up ya get. Get that arse out of bed.”

“Why the fuck did I ever give you a key?”

“Not my fault you need your cat fed while you travel the world.” She didn’t travel all that much, but the key was really more for when Harry needed feeding, not Persephone.

Harry climbed into bed with her, making the mattress dip and bounce under his tall frame. Pulling the covers off her head, he exposed her to the cold room. She reached out quickly to try to yank the covers back, but he was unrelenting. 

“Are ya having one of your episodes?”

“No, I’m just really invested in perfecting my bedhead.”

“Love, don’t do that,” he said gently, laying down beside her. He looked at her, really took her in. His eyes scanned her face, trying to read what she was trying to hide. Her hair was mussed from being in bed for two days. The purple bags beneath her eyes refused to leave no matter how much sleep she got. Harry noticed the sparkle that usually made her brown eyes unmissable was gone. It was definitely one of her episodes. 

“Why didn’t you just tell me,” he said softly. His eyes were softening more and more as he spoke.

“I’m honestly fine. Like sure, it’s an episode. But it’s nothing new. Been there, done that, keep doing it. No need to drag you into this shit,” she brushed off. It was directly against what her therapist and her had written in her “episode” plan. She knew. He knew it. And the quirk of his eyebrow reminded her he knew it. 

“So I know for a fact that Allison would make you rephrase that. But because I’m so kind, I’m just going to make you get up instead.” Allison was her therapist. Harry often talked like he was the one going to Allison for sessions, not Piper. 

“Allison is a strong believer in self care and who said that this isn’t self care.”

“Pretty sure you need to at least shower to call it self care.”

Piper pushed her greasy hair back, feeling the stringiness herself. She knew she looked worse for the wear, but she really didn’t need inhumanly pretty Harry to point it out. She took in his high cheekbones, one squished against his hand on the pillow, and his chiseled jaw. His green eyes were looking especially light today, like the first little sprouts popping up in the spring. She couldn’t see his dimples, he was far too worried about her to give her one of his dazzling smiles. She had to look away. Really how pathetic could she be? Here she was, having a depressive episode, not showered, looking and feeling a hot mess in front of her stupid beautiful best friend who she had such confusing feelings for.

“Let’s get you dressed, huh,” he offered gently.

“I haven’t showered in two days.”

“Ok, shower first. Clothes after.”

Piper slowly climbed out of bed and padded toward the bathroom. She turned on the sink and grabbed her bright pink toothbrush while the shower head burst to life. She looked over and saw Harry checking the temperature and grabbing her favorite lavender shampoo that she only used on special occasions. She hated how her heart stuttered at the gesture. Even when she was numb to everything else, even when she couldn’t bring herself to care about anything else, here her stupid heart was freaking out over this boy. But then again, Harry always had that effect on her, from the first time they met during their first semester of grad school. She was standing in line for a chai at the small coffee stand in the library. He was trying to juggle his phone, wallet, and three books while in line. One of the books ended up on Piper’s foot, resulting in loud profanity from Harry. Piper just laughed it off as she noticed his green eyes and dark curls. Harry paid for her chai and her heart skipped a beat. Piper helped with his books as he told her he was here studying music all the way from England. That was that. They were inseparable despite their vastly different degree programs. They were always a package deal; everyone knew if you invited one of them, you got both of them. They were so much like a couple even though they weren’t one. Harry wasn’t “into dating right now.” He was too focused on getting his masters done. She knew that and respected that. It was just so hard to be so in love with him when she knew that it would never happen. 

Harry gave her shoulder a squeeze on his way out of the bathroom. She spit out the last of her toothpaste and then quickly showered. She did spend a little extra time washing and conditioning her hair, taking in the smell of lavender and enjoying the way the bubbles ran down her back. 

She stepped out into her room, hair and body all wrapped up in her turquoise towels that matched her turquoise comforter and curtains. Harry was sitting up against the head of the bed, legs crossed, with Persephone laying on his stomach and his phone in his hand. He looked up at her and smiled a big dimpled smile. Piper couldn’t help but let her own dimple pop out for a second. 

“Smell proper wonderful, you do, Pet.” She blushed as she went to her closet. 

“Fuck off.” She was so done with that pitter patter of her heart. She quickly closed the closet behind her and got dressed in her well worn flare jeans and an old band shirt, slipping on her old birks. 

 “What did you want with me anyway?”

“Well, love, we are going on an adventure, of course.” He grabbed her hand and she felt a tingle run up her arm. The smirk on his face told her to expect something weird from their adventure. 

Harry pulled into a parking space, cut the engine, and looked over to Piper with that devilish smirk adorning his pretty pink lips. Piper looked out the window to see the playground that was in the park nearest campus. It was near the school Piper was currently using in her research for her graduate degree. Thank goodness it was during the school day so none of her students were milling around, but she was still on the lookout. Her slight grimace twisted her features as she let Harry open her car door. She jumped out of Harry’s older than him car and waited for an explanation. Glancing over his shoulder, he started toward the swings. She huffed. Why did she just go along with whatever he wanted? 

Harry had already claimed the swing closest to the parking lot, dragging his toes in the dirt, when Piper finally made her way to the swings. She plopped down in the swing to his left, grabbing the chains on either side of her face. Harry was humming a Fleetwood song as she settled into a rhythm on her swing. She started to sing softly along.

“So do you wanna talk about it?”

She looked over at Harry who was still looking down. He knew if he made eye contact with her, she would close right back up. Piper looked straight ahead. 

“You know how it gets. Sometimes my brain goes a little haywire and takes me down for a few days.”

Still not looking at her, “Do you know the trigger this time around?”

Of course he would ask the logical question that she just did not have an answer to. She had thought about it, obviously, since it was really the only thing she had to think about lying in bed, closed off from the world. She thought she had her depression under control and then all of a sudden it wasn’t under control. She stayed quiet.

“Not sure yet?” He was so gentle with her. It was too much to handle in her fragile state. The tears welled in her eyes.

“I didn’t mean to upset ya, pet. I’m sorry.”

She sniffled. “It’s not you. I’m just frustrated that I don’t know why this happened. And that it happened at all. I’m fine, really.” The look he gave her let her know that he wasn’t convinced but he didn’t push her. He never did. They continued to swing in silence for a little longer until Harry started talking about when one of his professors walked into his theory class on the phone with his wife and it the bluetooth speaker accidentally picked up the tail end of her dirty comment. It made a small giggle escape her lips.

“Miss Taffett!” Piper’s head shot in the direction of the call. She was so used to answering to her last name, especially when called from a small human. It was one of the students she worked with at the school. Piper looked down at her phone and saw that school had ended 10 minutes ago.

“Taylor! It’s so good to see you!” Piper put on her school voice and stood up to greet the young girl.

“Miss Taffett, why are you at the playground? You’re a grown up!” The little girl threw her arms around Piper’s waist. Piper hugged her back and chuckled. 

“Well what do you do when you come to the playground?”

“I play with my friends!” Piper looked over at Harry. “Well that’s what I’m doing, too!”

The young girl giggled hard and they said their goodbyes. Piper felt eyes on her and turned to see Harry smiling at her with a stupid look on his face. 

“What?”

“Nothing,” he shook his head but the smile stayed. Piper brushed it off. 

The first fresh air in days was sitting nicely in her lungs and the sun was soaking through her tshirt. Everything was warming up: her skin, her muscles, her emotions. She plopped down where she was in the grass, laying down not trying to think too hard about the bugs and dirt and parasites that could get into her hair. Those not-so-cute anxiety thoughts were put to the side when the breeze picked up and the grass started to tickle the skin on her arms and raise the hairs there. She closed her eyes. After a moment, she felt a presence next to her. Harry had laid down in the grass, too. 

“I think it was hearing that song again. You know, the one he listened to constantly.”

Harry hummed. He didn’t need further explanation to know that Piper was referring to that one really popular hip hop song, the one her incredibly manipulative and awful ex-boyfriend forced her to listen to, telling her that her taste in music sucked and that she just needed to listen to his stuff. She hated all of the music he made her listen to, but he would whine and complain every time he didn’t get his way. With everything. So she just complied to make it all easier. Harry knew all about that horrible relationship, about the abuse she went through for years, so he didn’t need anymore to know that she was going through emotional flashbacks and that it just spiraled from there. 

His little finger hooked with her right pinkie. She didn’t say anything and neither did he. They just laid there, Piper trying to wade through her murky thoughts. She tried really hard to just focus on the sensations she was feeling, just like Allison had told her to. The grass swaying against her skin, the breeze picking up the flyaway hairs from her face, the sun beating down, the fingers brushing up against her own. Eventually, Harry took his hand away and started to sit up. Piper opened her eyes, realizing just then that they were closed, and looked over to her right. Harry was standing up, brushing the grass and dirt off of himself. He looked down at her with those green eyes. She was starting to feel a little better with those green eyes.

#Harry Styles #Harry Styles Fan Fiction #harry styles au #oc fanfiction #blurb #harry styles blurb

[clunelover]

Man, as much as I am dreading the whole “juggling WFH and kids” thing, I am excited about my job itself! I had one meeting on Tuesday and people were running through their projects on a task board thingy which they said is a physical board when people are in the office and just - I love that kind of work and team setup! It is like what I had at job before awful job and I missed it. I also missed writing SQL queries (of course I have “did I forget everything about SQL in the past four months” anxiety but logically I know I did not). Equipment got overnighted yesterday so should show up sometime today. I have one meeting today, which of course is at the same time as an important meeting Jeremy has, and it’s at a time that is close to nap time but probably a little early to actually put Calvin down before the meetings. Sigh. We’ll figure it out...it will probably suck! But, you know.

Idk how much I’ve talked about this, but this job is taking me on a Different Path than I’ve been on! It means not really being a stats person anymore. And in the past I would have thought this kind of work (lots of report creation) was “beneath me.” My whole deal has been “I got this masters in stats. I barely scraped through the program. So it’s important for me to ‘prove’ myself as a statistician. But also I always feel like I have no idea what I’m doing. But I can’t do something else because I’m still paying off grad school loans so if I zag I’ll be wasting my degree.” I kind of knew this was distorted thinking but at the same time I just couldn’t fully see until I had awful job that I had been excited about because 1. Prestigious title that made me feel “important” and 2. Lots of money which I decided to funnel entirely to my stupid loans. I had to see how much that was not a way to live or make career decisions (side note - I do have some wistfulness because I’d interviewed for a few other jobs that would have also paid a lot so like, I do think I could have found a high paying job that wouldn’t have made me miserable...but also I think they all would have required working real hard in a stats-y way that I am not so interested in anymore...blah blah). Anyway, I now have clarity around this - the degree and the loans are here no matter what. Being a statistician doesn’t make the loans more okay or less annoying to pay. My quality of life day to day is more important than becoming debt free as quickly as possible. Also, wouldn’t it be amazing to take a family vacation which we have never done? I am allowed to pursue other interests even if I still have student loans. My priority is to have a stable job that lets me stay sane and have enough mental energy to also work on writing. I’m saying a lot of this to remind myself because I am sure my ego will bubble up and try to trick me into thinking I need a more “important” job. I think the original point of this post was to say that I am excited.

[douchebagbrainwaves]

YOU GUYS I JUST THOUGHT OF THIS

In England, at least for consumers of technology. Indeed, these statistics about Cobol or Java being the most popular language. Starting a startup is committing to solve any specific problem; you don't know for sure which problems are hard to solve, and what they change is solubility. The problem is compounded by the fact that it's going against the grain of the medical profession. So they want the fund to be huge—hundreds of millions of dollars. It explains why VCs take so agonizingly long to make up their minds, and why companies pay now for Bloomberg terminals and Economist Intelligence Unit reports. One way to tell how good people are at empathy is to watch them explain a technical question to someone without a technical background and some vision of what they intended: the version of an app currently available in the App Store? They're sailing with the wind, instead of what I wanted to buy expensive things. So far that is a 100% accurate predictor of death. It seems to be c, that people will create a lot of money. Bob's going to grad school, but it seems to bother a lot of people, and channels the rest into unproductive jobs.

Like a company whose software runs on Windows, those in the current Silicon Valley are all too aware of the importance of the new model is not just a consequence of startups. But at first you have no more than a declaration of one's ambitions. But the way this problem ultimately gets solved may not be so naive as it sounds. But are there not others whose incomes really do reflect the wealth they generate? It will probably involve writing some software, it might be better to have a piratical gleam in their eye. Many of the most successful companies we've funded were started by undergrads. And so the mark—or Shakespeare, for that matter. Prices are determined by what buyers want. Taking money from the rich turns out to work better than static for ill-defined needs.

They'd turn down the nerds in favor of the smooth-talking MBA in a suit, because that means your growth rate. Where does it go wrong? The only people dumber were retail investors. I'm thinking particularly of investors and acquirers. Focusing on hitting a growth rate reduces the otherwise bewilderingly multifarious problem of starting a startup means the particles they're attracting are getting lighter. In fact, of all the great programmers I can think of who don't work for Sun, on Java, I know of only one who would voluntarily program in Java. Apple computer for a society that confiscates private fortunes. You'd seem a barbarian if you behaved that way today. The software business learned that in the early 90s, and was not fully accepted for decades—in war, for example, set prices based on the cost of producing and distributing books.

One of the two. It would be a cheap way to make yourself into a great hacker, the way to get rich. But though I can't predict specific winners, I can offer a recipe for bad design. I didn't understand the equation governing my behavior. Make it really good for code search, for example, because Paypal is now responsible for 43% of their sales and probably more of their growth. Another place democracy seems to win is in deciding what counts as news. A difficult problem could be good for hackers to know how good they are.

Then someone discovers how to make something great. And of course giant investments mean giant valuations. Programs. And none of us know, except about people we've actually worked with. As I was leaving I offered it to him, he said they'd decided to build their software on Windows NT, and had a strong Canadian accent and a mullet. If you do make users register, never make them wait for a confirmation link in an email; in fact, maybe they meant it to look that way. Even these buildings only tended to be asymmetric about major axes, though; there were hundreds of minor symmetries. There continued to be bribes, as there still are everywhere, but politics had by then been left to men who were driven more by vanity than greed.

You may have read on Slashdot how he made his own Segway. Hackers write cool software, and then either by taxation or by limiting what they can charge to confiscate whatever you deem to be surplus. Apple get into this mess? It used to be called high technology, it's easy to conflate the two. But it seems to decrease other gaps. And if you took any great American university and removed the Jews, you'd have some pretty big gaps. There may even need to be able to set up local VC funds by supplying the money themselves and recruiting people from existing firms to run them, only organic growth can produce angel investors. Hacking and painting have a lot in common. 0 means using the web as a platform, developers make or break you.

But any application can be interesting if it poses novel technical challenges. Editing yields 95th percentile writing—95% of articles are improved by it, because a toll has to be replaced with a new protocol. They're not just beautiful, but strangely beautiful. Even in college classes, you learn to hack mostly by hacking. I considered it for about four seconds. It's a particularly good combination both to be good at technology and to face problems that can be made to develop new technologies at a slower rate than the rest, we get: decreasing economic inequality means eliminating startups. There may even need to be in this phase now. Indeed, these statistics about Cobol or Java being the most popular language can be misleading. Start with something you know works, and a few groups doing great work on them, and why their due diligence feels like a body cavity search. And in any case, many technical ideas do have political implications. If startups are the first to go. But Balzac lived in nineteenth-century France, where the Industrial Revolution that wealth creation definitively replaced corruption as the best way to find new ones is to discover those recently made viable by change, and technology is the best stick gatherer going to be hard to match digitally, at least, other hackers can tell.

England in 1800, on. One good place to apply this principle is in college applications. Great work usually seems to happen because someone sees something and thinks, I could do better than investors, because they read it in an article, that Blackberry has such and such market share. Good design is often slightly funny. He counted lines of code, they see not just that if you let Henry Ford get rich, they'd behave like bureaucrats. Judging yourself by weekly growth doesn't mean you can look no more than commitment. And so when we see increasing differences in income in a rich country, there is a secret handshake among good hackers, it's when they know one another well enough to express opinions that would get them stoned to death by the general public. But the guys at Google didn't think search was boring, and that's pretty easy with digital content. Off, quiet. Of all the great programmers I can think of, I know of only one who would voluntarily program in Java.

#automatically generated text #Markov chains #Paul Graham #Python #Patrick Mooney #classes #market #axes #Paypal #importance #NT #email #work #investments #groups #Java #Sun #solubility #buyers #politics #commitment #search #feels #none #fund #handshake #Off #web #declaration #works

[imperium-romanum]

Feature Friday | The Sportula

This Feature Friday I would like to give a heartfelt shoutout to The Sportula, a group of Classics Graduate Students and Junior Faculty who support Classics students worldwide through microgrants. Today, I pledged to support them through Patreon with a monthly donation, and I encourage you to do the same if you are able. Even $1 a month from a fraction of you, my wonderful followers, could make a huge difference to the life of a Classics student.

Check out the FAQs below for more information about the Sportula or go to their website.

FAQs

What is the sportula?

We are a group of Classics Graduate Students and Junior Faculty committed to making sure that students from working-class and historically looted communities (like the ones we ourselves come from) don’t fall through the cracks left by traditional scholarship programs; all too many of which have a poor understanding of what our lives are *actually* like and what we *actually* need.

What does that mean?

It means that, in our experience, a lot of programs/resources that might provide money for tuition or a specific course/project don’t take into account the further realities of our lives–that we often also needed $$$ for the work shifts we were missing by taking that class, or to bail our mom out of jail, or to buy the textbooks, or to pay our cellphone bill so we could have access to our online course materials from home, or subway fare, or just a freaking sandwich and fancy coffee so we could concentrate on a full belly/have a bit of sweetness in our survival as financially marginalized Classicists in training. None of those were theoretical examples, and this is why we want to smoothe the way for the next generation of Greek and Latin students like us!

What does the sportula do?

We provide microgrants–petty cash ranging from $5 to $300, no questions asked, to Classics undergrads who need it. We can also work to find you larger amounts of money and/or connect you with mentorship for non-monetary needs (e.g. if you need a classicist from your racial/ethnic group to talk something over with, or if you have an issue impacting your academic career that you don’t feel comfortable letting your department know about, or you need access to a certain journal/manuscript etc). In short, we are the informal old boys club for ppl who never had access to the old boys club, and we wanna give you the cash you need to thrive.

How do your microgrants work?

Contact us through our contact page, tell us what you need, and we will make every effort to send it to you through PayPal, venmo, mail, western union, etc (tell us how much you need, what mode of delivery you’d prefer, and when you need it by). You don’t have to explain yourself–we get that our lives can be complicated and strongly believe that we as financially marginalized people are the best arbiters of what we need and the experts on our own lives. We reject the all too common pattern in academia (and everywhere) that demands working class people “prove” their worthiness or expose/perform their need and trauma for some committee in order to get the money that we need and deserve. That being said, do also let us know if it’s for something like a book or an item we might be able to hook you up without having to spend money.

Where does the money come from? Are you a charity?

No, we are an informal group of Classicists–mostly grad students, mostly at UC Berkeley, who pooled our tax returns this year to start a relatively small (couple thousand dollars) bank account for this, and have committed to growing this slush fund larger. Keep this in mind when you consider your request, but also don’t be shy to ask for what you need! There is no wrong ask–if what you need to survive this week of Greek participles is $100 so you can take off work for the day to study, or $50 so someone can babysit your kid for 2 hours while you write that paper on Thucydides, or $10 so you can take a cab to school after working the nightshift, we got y’all! (Issa Rae voice).

Who do you help?

Any classics/classics adjacent student who needs it! Students of color and students without parental/family support or who lack access to other forms of financial aid by virtue of being undocumented etc. to the front!

Do I have to pay it back?

No, you have to pay it forward to the next generation once you get financially stable, just like we’re trying to. As Toni Morrison writes:

“I tell my students, ‘When you get these jobs that you have been so brilliantly trained for, just remember that your real job is that if you are free, you need to free somebody else. If you have some power, then your job is to empower somebody else. This is not just a grab-bag candy game.”

Who can I contact if I have more questions, or want to get involved?

Feel free to leave us a note through this page, or contact the sportula coordinator Stefani Echeverría-Fenn: [email protected].

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[thicctransboi]

The Protector (Sam+Grizz)

Prompt- If new ham had never happened, another AU

Friday

Grizz watched Sam from across the classroom, his eyes going between his interpreter and the teacher, who was explaining today's assignment in their Anatomy class. Grizz studied the slightly younger boy, only one grad below himself, yet was in a senior Anatomy class. 'He must be smart.' Grizz thought to himself as he observed Sam. He had been doing this for three years now; quietly observing Sam from a distance, yet never approaching him. He noticed him in middle school too, and elementary. He was hard to miss; stark ginger hair, bright blue eyes, and an interpreter always following him.

Grizz had come to the conclusion that he was gay his freshman year of high school. He had tried to deny it for years; dating girls, making out with them, even watching porn with his teammates after practices. But, early on, he knew. As did his mother, who knew even before he did. Signing him up for pee wee football when she noticed how much he loved tap-dancing. He missed dancing, in all honesty. But he knew his friends wouldn't approve, let alone anyone in this small town. Grizz had had one girlfriend, and three very unsuccessful hookups. All with girls. But he had been pinning after the deaf gay boy in school since he laid his freshly opened queer eyes on him sophomore year.

He hated the way people treated him, which is why he had yet to come out. Sam was the only out gay guy in all of West Ham high school, and he was ostrosized for it. While Grizz never took part in the hazing, he always felt guilty for never standing up to his friends, or to anyone. He knew he held some power in high school, being an athlete and in the honors program, he could easily put a stop to at least a third of Sam's bullies, but he was worried about what it would imply on his part if he were to do so. Sometimes, he hated his friends. He hated how small their brains could be, how closed minded they were. The only one who could sometimes redeem himself was Luke. Luke never took much part in the hazing of the 'bottom' of the food chain of West Ham, but he didn't stop it either. Luke was a good guy, but, wasn't one to speak his mind. Grizz, however, was. He was opinionated and could be outspoken quite often, he just didn't want to be outed. He wasn't ready. Grizz planned to come out in college, like most do. Finally experiment and find himself fully. Most of all, however, he planned to leave all of his friends behind, never speak to them again. He wanted to start fresh next year at University, a new Grizz. Maybe even drop the nickname and go by his birth name, Gareth. But there was one problem; Sam.

Leaving West Ham behind would mean leaving Sam behind, and he wasn't sure if he wanted that. Despite never having talked to the boy, he still wanted to. He didn't want to miss any opportunity. He also didn't want Sam to feel defenseless. He noticed how he only ever talked to one person, only one student had ever bothered to learn sign language and become his friend; Becca Gelb. Becca was a spunky girl, olive skin, with a radiant smile and an attitude to boot. She was extremely outspoken, and was always at Sam's side. They were the same age, but he knew Sam must feel lonely at the same time. The same way Grizz did; they were both single. Or, so Grizz assumed. Being the only out gay guy around must be difficult, as well as only having one friend. Sam had a brother, of course, Campbell. But, Campbell wasn't a good brother by any means, nor a good person. The kid always creeped Grizz out; the way he lurked around, his eyes ripping through everyone's soul. His vibe wasn't one Grizz enjoyed feeling. Rumor had it around school that the bruises Sam would wear occasionally were from Campbell, and Grizz wouldn't doubt that for a second. He had seen them interact, Sam always looked petrified. Campbell loved to use the word 'fag' and 'retard' when talking to Sam, which made Grizz's blood boil. Yet, he stayed quiet.

He wanted some excuse to talk to Sam, some excuse to be his friend without people becoming suspicious. That's when the bell rang, singling the end of class, causing Grizz to snap out of his trance. As he gathered his things, he heard the teacher, Mrs. Johnson, calling his name.

"Grizz, could you come up here for a moment? I have a favor to ask you."

Grizz gave her a smile and a nod. He had always been sorta a kiss-ass when it came to teachers. But, he was also raised to be polite. Or at least that was the excuse he gave to his friends.

He made his way to Mrs. Johnson's desk. "Hey, Mrs. J. What's up?"

Mrs. Johnson was a younger woman, she wore her long brown hair in a tightly pulled low pony tail, and her glasses always sat on the edge of her nose as if they didn't fit. "I had a favor to ask you, Grizz. I know you're busy, what with it being your senior year and all. But, I know football season just ended and you were the only person in this class I felt would be wiling and capable of doing this for me. You know Sam Eliot, right?" Grizz nodded, "Well, he's having some difficulties with the terminology and vocabulary for this class. He's been struggling quite a bit with the tests and quizzes. I was wondering if you'd be willing to help him out? After school? I know it's a lot to ask but his parents have offered to pay if need be. But, the school has no tutors who are willing nor available this last minute, and the midterm is in two months. You're my top student, I know you're more than capable. Would you be willing to help him out, Grizz?"

Yes! Grizz thought. The perfect excuse. "Sure, Mrs. J. Like you said, the season's over and I have spare time after school. But, I don't know sign language."

Mrs. Johnson gave a wave of dismissal, "Sam can read lips very well, and he speaks. Just make sure to speak clearly and use diction and it'll work out just fine. Let me get him up here.."

Grizz felt his heart rate accelarating as Mrs. J waved over Sam and his Interpreter. Grizz felt his breathing catch in his throat as Sam approached the desk, his eyes meeting Grizz's.

"Sam, I found you a tutor for my class! Have you met Grizz?"

Grizz watched as Sam's eyes watched Mrs. J's lips before shaking his head. "I know him, but we haven't talked." He stated bluntly. Grizz could honestly say that he had never heard Sam speak, but something about the way his lips moved as he formulated words he had never heard fascinated him.

"Well, Grizz here said he's more than willing to help you out, he's at the top of the class, and not just mine. He's got the second highest test scores in the entire senior class! He's available if you're comfortable."

Sam nodded hesitantly, glancing at Grizz nervously before speaking directly to him, "It won't be easy, I don't speak very well. But I do read lips, you just need to speak slowly."

Grizz felt his heart swell and found himself speaking before thinking, "You speak perfectly."

He felt himself go red, but felt relieved when he saw Sam's face soften.

Mrs. Johnson spoke up, "Perfect! Grizz, write down your number for Sam, and Sam will you do the same? You two can figure out times and places to meet. And, Grizz, I will email you all of the information you'll need."

Grizz watched as Sam's eyes went between his interpreter, who's name Grizz wasn't sure of, and Mrs. J before nodding, taking a sticky note from her hand and a pen, writing down his phone number. Grizz did the same, his hands shaking.

"I'll text you?" Sam said, handing him the sticky note, his finger's brushing against Grizz's palm, making goosebumps rise in their wake.

Griz gave a stiff nod and watched as Sam and his interpreter left, Becca Gelb waiting in the doorway for him.

"Thank you Grizz, you have no idea how hard it's been trying to find someone to help him out. He's really intelligent. But, there's so many terms that have to be interpreted to him that I think it's too fast. And no tutors in the area know sign language, and the ones at the school well... Between you and me, are very closed minded. They refuse to work with the 'deaf gay kid.' I knew I made a good choice picking you, you know. You're wise beyond your years. Have a good day, Grizz."

*** Friday Evening

Monday, Wednesday, Friday, and Sunday were the day's they had agreed to meet for tutoring. Directly after school on the weekdays for two hours, and from noon to 3 on Sunday.  During the week, Sam's house. On Sunday, at Grizz's house. Grizz had two days until he would be having Sam over, and he was busy reading away in the library at Sign Language books. He wasn't sure exactly why he was trying to learn Sam's language, Sam could read lips. But, for some reason, he wanted to. He wanted to impress him. The problem was, the library only had one sign language book, and it was BSL. He figured that sence British and American's both spoke English, that they were the same. He had been studying all afternoon after school trying to read as much as possible, choosing the library in knowing that The Guard wouldn't be caught dead here. He probably looked crazy, making random hand gestures in a desolate corner of the Library, but he didn't care. He was determined to learn Sam's language. He felt a tapping on his shoulder. Looking up, he saw one of the librarians towering over him.

"We close in five minutes. Would you like to check out that book? Take it home to practice?"

Grizz nodded, sighing at  the thought of trying to practice without his parents noticing.

As he checked out his book and began his decent home, his phone buzzed. It was a text from Clark.

From Clark: Hey Bud! Friday night game night, remember? Where u at?"

Grizz mentally slapped himself. Of course, how could he forget. Every friday once football season ended, they Guard had a video game night.

To Clark: Shit sorry, was studying, be there in 15.

In truth, Grizz didn't want to go to game night tonight. He wanted to keep practicing his sign language, or even text Sam. They had each other's number's now, but he had no idea how to casually start a conversation with the boy. Nonetheless, he headed to Clark's house.

The Guard all sat in Clark's basement: The flatscreen displaying COD, beer bottles cracked open, and bags of chips scattered here and there. The group of teammates sat on the sectional. Grizz had opted out of this round, simply sipping his beer in silence and lost in thought. He was thinking of Sam, and how he would explain not being able to hang out to his friends. In that moment, part of Clark and Jason's conversation caught his attention.

"Yo, Clark, did you see what that deaf kid was wearing today? Those tight ass red pants? Talk about asking for it."

Clark laughed, "Yeah, he's screaming, 'im gay' more and more ever since his freshman year. It's like he's not even trying to hide it."

Jason laughed as well, rather obnoxiously adding, "Did you see what Campbell did? He knocked his lunch tray on him, getting food all over the little retard. The kid may be sick, but he sure can make lunch interesting."

Grizz felt his jaw clench. But he stayed quiet.

***

Saturday night

Sam sat in his living room, Becca sitting across from him on the sectional. They had been watching MTV and scrolling through instagram together for a few hours now. Their usual Saturday night routine.

"By the way, did they ever find someone to help you in anatomy?" Becca signed, "I tried but failed."

She was right, Becca had tried helping Sam, but it had been unsuccessful. He usually did her homework for her, after all.

"Yeah, you know that kid Grizz? He said he'd help. I'm going to his place tomorrow."

Becca's eyes lit up, "What? Grizz? As in the star football player, poetry reading, highly intelligent, totally dreamy eyed Grizz? That one?"

Sam chuckled, "That's the one. He offered to help apparently, Mrs. Johnson asked him and he said he would."

Becca had a mischievous look on her face, "You lucky asshole! You're going to be in his house? Possibly in his bed."

Sam held up a hand to silence his raunchy friend, "You're looking into this way too much." He signed bluntly. "Besides, he's not that dreamy. He's one of 'The Guard', remember? They're all assholes."

Becca sighed, "Yeah, but he's never picked on you, or even joined in their laughter. He actually has a brain, which is surprising considering how much pot that kid smokes."

Sam rolled his eyes, "But he always stays quiet, it's just as bad as if he were to join in. I don't know, I feel like he's got some sinister plan here."

"You never know," Becca began, "Give it a shot. But, it's late, I should probably be going. Are you sure you don't want to stay over?"

"I'm sure. Campbell is out tonight." Sam said, giving Becca a reassuring smile.

She rose from her spot, grabbing her book bag and phone, "Alright, text me. I love you." She signed, giving Sam a hug.

"Love you too."

After Becca left, Sam sat in silence for awhile. Lost in thought. He had always noticed Grizz, that was for sure. Grizz always spoke up in class, always chiming in on the discussions. In both English, which they had together, and anatomy. Eventualy, out of curiosity, Sam had his interpreter tell him what Grizz would say. The guy was smart, Sam had to give him that. He wasn't like most of the football guys, Becca was right on that part. He had a brain, nice fashion sence as well compared to the rest of them. He wasn't overly jacked either, he was built yet lean. Admittedly, he was Sam's type physically. He often noticed how Grizz would be watching him. His eyes always lingering. He probably feels bad for me, Sam thought. He hated that, people feeling sorry for him. He didn't see being deaf as a dissability, he saw it as a special ability. If only the world had seen it that way.

Sam was pulled away from his thoughts when he felt the floorboards vibrate, forcing him to glance over at the front door. There stood Campbell in the doorway, his eyes bloodshot and dilated, his skin ashen. He was high, again. Sam decided he didn't feel like dealing with his inebriated brother tonight, rising from the couch and attempting to slip past Campbell to get to the stairs. But, Campbell stopped him, his fingers digging into Sam's wrist as he yanked him forward to look him in the eyes.

"Not so fast, Fag. Where do you think you're going?" Campbell slurred, his lips hardly readable due to his intoxication.

"To bed, Campbell." Sam said, attempting to pull away from his older brother's grasp. His grip only tightened, "You're hurting me, let go!"

Campbell only laughed, dropping Sam's wrist only for a moment before taking a swing into the younger boy's ribs, making Sam double over slightly in pain.

"Remember your place. Don't even think about telling Mom or Dad about this, either, you know this will only get worse if you do so."

His gaze caught Sam's; his blood shot eyes burning with a sickening darkness. He smirked as Sam decended up the stairs, gripping his side.

***

Sunday

Grizz had woken up early this morning, cleaning his room spotless before church. Throughout the service, he found it difficult to concentrate on the pastor's words, his mind drifting to having Sam over today. It made his heart beat vastly in excitement. Once he arrived home, he only had 30 minutes until Sam would be here. He double checked his room, the entire house, and his appearance. He had decided to have them study in his room; he knew his nosy mother would ask too many questions. Plus, she knew about Sam. Their paster once had had the congregation pray over him, attempting to heal him of his deafness and his 'eternal sickness', which was code for him being gay. He didn't need her to ask any questions. Grizz took off his tie, attempting to look less formal like he had at church. It was early march, and surprisingly warm for this time of year in New England. So, he settled for a simple light hoodie, skinny jeans, and his vans. He wore his hair down for once, not in his usual top knot. Grizz heard his phone chime. Taking it out of his pocket, it was a text from Sam informing him that he had arrived. Shit, Grizz thought. He had totally lost track of time. After sending him a quick 'be right down' reply, he checked his hair once again before bolting down the stairs. He let out a shaky breath before opening the front door.

Sam stood there before him, wearing a simple brown jacket, red shirt, and jeans. And yet, he looked stunning to Grizz. "Hey, come on in." Grizz greased, forcing an awkward smile as he stood aside to let Sam walk in. He caught a whiff of Sam's cologne as he walked past him, it smelt earthy. Grizz felt his insides churn at the scent. He decided rather quickly that he liked it. Sam glanced around the entry way to Grizz's house.

"Nice place." Sam complimented, his eyes glancing around.

"Gareth? Who's there?" He heard his mother call. Oh god, here we go.

Grizz's mother appeared in the entry way to the kitchen, both boys turning to her. Grizz definitely got his looks from his mother, Sam thought. Long chocolate brown hair, dark brown eyes, an angular heart shaped face and full lips. Hers, however, were painted a deep red, her hair, which was now greying, pulled back in a loose bun. She was still dressed in her Sunday best, a yellow flower printed sun dress with a white cardigan.

"Oh! Hello! I'm Amanda, Gareth's mother." She greeted, extending a hand out to Sam along with an award winning smile.

Sam shook it before replying, he signed along with his words. "It's nice to meet you, I'm Sam Eliot. I have anatomy with Grizz, oh erm.. Gareth I mean. He's helping me study for the midterm.

Grizz's mother looked slightly shocked at the realization of who was standing in her home, but disguised it quickly. "Oh how nice! Well, you're welcome here anytime Sam." She said, speaking louder than before, making Grizz cringe at her ignorance.

"Okay!" Grizz announced, clapping his hands and grabbing both of their attentions, "We're going to study now! Catcha later mom." Grizz said, motioning for Sam to follow him down the hall to his bedroom.

*** Sunday, 1:20pm

Grizz had embarrassed himself, so, so badly. He had tried to impress Sam with what little sign language he had picked up from that damn book from the library, only to realize that he had learned a completely wrong form of sign language.

"What? What's so funny?" Grizz asked after signing to Sam and showing him the book he had used.

"That's BSL, I use ASL."

Grizz mentally slapped himself, "They're different? Oh come on man! It's the only book they had at the library."

Sam laughed again. "Why are you trying to learn sign language? Are you planning on going deaf anytime soon?"

Grizz scoffed, "No," He began in a sarcastic tone, "I wanted to be able to talk to you."

Sam cocked his head to the side, "I can read lips?"

"I know" Grizz began, "But I wanted to be able to talk to you, you know, in your language."

Grizz looked down sheepishly. Sam took notice, feeling his heart warm at Grizz's kind gesture. "Oh." He said in a moment of shock.

"Apparently, I failed though." Grizz said, laughing slightly.

"How about this? You help me with my anatomy terms, and I teach you some sign language? Fair trade?"

Grizz felt his heart skip a beat, "Deal."

***

An hour later

Grizz couldn't take his eyes off of it, he had noticed the markings when Sam had rolled up his sleeves as he was highlighting terms in his textbook. A million questions ran though Grizz's mind, but he felt he already knew the answer. The bruises on Sam's wrist were in the shape of a hand. Campbell. It made his heart break, and his blood boil all at the same time, but he decided not to prod, hardly knowing the kid after all. They had been studying for two hours, and Grizz suggested taking a break.

"Thank god." Sam had said, sitting up from his laying down on his stomach on Grizz's bed. Grizz liked the sight of this, Sam on his bed next to him.

"Want a drink or anything?" Grizz offered, "I have some soda and beers in my fridge over there." He made sure to speak slowly and clearly. He had gotten used to this new way of speaking after awhile of doing so.

"Soda is fine."

***

Thursday, two weeks later.

Grizz had grown to hate Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays. But he had grown to love Sundays, Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. One answer: Sam. He had discovered that they had a lot in common interest wise, and that they got along quite well. When they weren't studying anatomy, Sam was teaching Grizz to sign. Every spare moment Grizz had, he found himself watching ASL videos on youtube and practicing, even learning new ones to impress the younger boy. Sam liked plain cheeseburgers, hated mustard, he loved the color red, and hated the color orange. He was 17, a Leo, and loved sci fi movies and Harry Potter. He shared Grizz's love of poetry and plays, and enjoyed watching reality tv. He was hilarious, in a dry humor sort of way. He was also extremely patient and kind, despite how the world treated him. Grizz had grown to adore the kid even more now that he had gotten to know him. He had also managed to keep their newfound friendship a secret. Well, until recently. Today to be exact.

The Guard were sat in the cafeteria, all eating lunch and acting barbaric, while Grizz sat quietly texting Sam on his phone, ignoring his friends. Helena had joined their table, sitting next to her boyfriend Luke, shaming the other boys for their behavior and vulgar words. So, the normal. Except, everyone had taken notice to Grizz's lack of conversationalism.

"Grizz, you coming to game night tomorrow? You missed last week." Clark asked, tossing a grape in Grizz's direction.

"Can't, got plans." Grizz stated simply, not bothering to look up from his text conversation with Sam.

"Like what?" Jason chimed in, "This is the second week in a row, man! You never used to miss game night. What's up with you?"

Grizz sighed, trying to be vague as possible, "I'm tutoring. So, I can't."

"Tutoring who?" Clark asked.

Then Jason chimed in, "And who are you texting?"

Grizz glanced up towards Luke for help, but he was caught up talking to Helena.

He sighed, deciding enough was enough with the lying. Maybe being honest would get them off his back. "Sam Eliot. He's in my anatomy class, I'm helping him with the terminology."

Clark let out a laugh, "Oh god! They better be paying you, dude. Tutoring the retarded deaf kid is a huge load."

"I bet Sam is paying him alright, just with a different kind of load." Jason remarked with a smirk, earning a loud laugh from Clark.

"Oh fuck off!" Grizz said, trying to laugh it off and make it seem like no big deal, but his fuze was burning short with every rude comment they were making. "It's not hard, he's a smart kid, it's just a complicated class. His parent's are paying me to help, I figured why not."

"Be careful though man, he might rub off on you." Clark commented.

Grizz's jaw clinched, he met Clark's eyes, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just saying, he might spread some stupid on you, or even worse, you might start turning into a fag on us cause of him!"

"Hey! Shut the fuck up, Clark! Or I swear to god-"

Jason cut him off, placing a hand on Grizz's shoulder, "Easy man, we're just shooting the shit man."

Grizz shrugged off his hand, feeling his skin crawl. "Just drop it, I'm serious."

"Alright man, take it easy.. Oh look! The retard is looking over here! Think he has a crush on you Grizz?"

Grizz felt something in him snap as he found himself lunging at Clark, Luke holding him back.

"Shut the fuck up! Don't use that damn word, Clark, I swear to god. Look in the fucking mirror before you call someone else that." He spat. "Let go of me, Luke." He said, shrugging himself out of Luke's grasp, rising from his seat and heading towards the exit. He could feel a million eyes on him, but he ignored every glance except for one: Sam's. He felt his heart leap at the look on Sam's face, before he left the cafeteria.

Becca and Sam exchanged glances, "Did you catch any of that?" Sam asked.

Becca shook her head, "Only the last bit. Clark said something that pissed him off, and Grizz told him to look in the mirror? I wonder what that was supposed to mean?"

Sam shrugged.

***

Friday, After School, Sam's House

"Want to take a break? If I have to repeat the term 'sternum' one more time I might pass out from boredom." Sam said, placing down his flashcards. Grizz agreed, sitting up across from Sam on his bed.

"Sam, can I ask you something?" Grizz asked, signing a word here and there, speaking slowly.

Sam nodded.

"Were you born deaf?"

Sam shook his head, telling the story of how when he was two he caught meningitis and it caused him to loose his hearing. By the time he was 3, he had gone completely deaf.

"Wow, do you still remember hearing?" Grizz asked, genuinly interested. Impressed with himself that he remembered the sign for 'hearing'.

"I remember my dad's laugh, the way my mom would sing to me and Campbell." Sam said, "When I dream, I still dream in sound. But not new sounds."

"What would be a new sound?"

Sam thought for a moment, "My voice. I remember what it sounded like when I was little. But I imagine it's gotten a little deeper." He hesitated for a moment. "I wish I could hear yours."

Grizz felt his heart skip a beat, the temperature in the room seemed to rise.

An idea popped into his head, one that had presented itself several times, but had never been acted on. He decided to give it a shot.

"Can you teach me one more phrase in sign language?"

Sam nodded.

Grizz looked down, his heart racing. He was scared, scared to be rejected.

"How do you say, 'kiss me'?"

He thought for a moment that maybe Sam hadn't been able to understand him, he sorta hoped for it. He felt his anxiety rising as the seconds passed. But he didn't see the smile that had spread across Sam's face, nor the look in Sam's eyes. All he felt was Sam's soft hands cupping his cheeks as he leaned in, closing the gap between the two of them.

Neither of them noticed, however, that Campbell was standing in the cracked doorway, his phone out and recording.

***

Monday

Grizz had been on cloud nine all weekend, ever since Friday. Sunday had been spent, not studying, but lying in between Grizz's bedsheets with Sam behind a locked door, talking about his past as a tap dancer. Their naked bodies tangled together with the bedsheets. Grizz was infactuated with Sam, and Sam felt the same way about Grizz. Walking into school, Grizz didn't notice at first the stares shot in his direction as he walked to his locker. He chose to ignore the whispers as he made his way to first period. Phone's dinged with notifications, more whispers followed, and more stares were shot his way. After three periods of this, he had finally noticed it was something to do with him and began listening to the whispers.

'is he gay'

'him and Sam'

'The deaf kid and the football player, who would have guessed?'

He told himself he was imagining it, until 5th period rolled around and he finally grew a pair and checked his phone. His twitter notifications were through the roof, over 38 texts, and four missed calls. It was a tweet from @campbellE69 that had everyone talking:

An animated GIF of Sam and Grizz kissing in Sam's bedroom, the caption reading; "Grizz the Dick sucking Vissar"

Grizz felt his heart beat quicken, pounding so loudly he could hear it. His texts were from the group chat with The guard and from Sam. But he couldn't bring himself to read any. 5th period ended, and lunch began. He had debated on going, but he knew he had to face this at some point. The moment he had entered the cafeteria, all eyes landed on him, silence for a moment, then a series of hushed whispers. He grabbed his lunch, ignoring the looks from the lunch ladies and surrounding students, and made his way to his usual table. But, he didn't make it. Campbell was sitting at his table, the Guard no where to be seen.  Grizz felt his stomach leap, his eyes catching Sam's from across the lunch room, giving him a simpathetc glance. Grizz swallowed his pride and approached Campbell.

He tossed his lunch tray aside, letting the contents splatter across the floor as he shoved Campbell out of his seat roughly, landing on the marble flooring with a loud 'thud.'

"What is your deal, Campbell?" Grizz spat through gritted teeth as he placed a foot on Campbell's chest, holding him to the ground. The cafiteria was silent.

"Aww, what's wrong Grizzly bear? Upset people know about the real you now? That you're banging my retarded brother?"

Grizz stepped further into Campbell's chest, making sure he'd leave marks, "You had no right, Campbell, no right! You sick son of a bitch!" He spat, literally spitting in his face. His voice was wavering, but he stood his ground. He gave a rough kick to Campbell's stomach, "Pull something like this again, and youll get more than a few bruises, got it? Oh, and don't you dare call Sam that ever again, let alone touch him. I'll know. Fucking psychopath." He spat, before kicking him in the side and sauntering away.

His head was spinning, and his stomach felt queasy. He could feel his world tumbling down around him as he found himself near the back of the school, sitting in the courtyard, rolling a joint with shaky hands. He gave up rather quickly, tossing his supplies back in his Altoids container before settling down at a bench. He found himself crying, his fingers fisting through his hair, probably pulling out tufts of it in the process. But he was too upset to care. That was until, Grizz felt a familiar hand on his shoulder, making him jump slightly.

Turning, he saw Sam, glancing down at him with sad eyes.

He didn't need to speak, he simply sat next to him, wrapping his arms around the larger boy and letting him sob into his shoulder.

Some time passed, Sam holding Grizz, crying quietly to himself. Sam noticed the guard approaching, tapping Grizz's shoulder and pointing behind him.

Grizz suddenly went stiff. "Look, guys, not now." Grizz began, wiping his puffy eyes.

Luke spoke up, "We're here to see if you're okay? We uh.. we heard what happened in the cafeteria."

Grizz sighed, "I'm fine, just please, leave me alone. I'm not in the mood for your shit right now." He said, finally turning to them.

He was met with no harsh looks, only sympathetic glances.

"We're not here to give you shit man, we're cool with it." Luke stated.

"Yeah," Clark chimed in, "Just, don't hit on me and we're cool."

Grizz let out a laugh through his subdued sobs. "I wouldn't dream of it."

#sam eliot #sam x grizz #samgrizz #grizz the society #grizzam #fanfic #oneshot #au #the society #grizz

[sidehowriting]

Dear Sarah

A/N: Last fic I’m gonna post before my second semester of grad school! That’s so crazy! Also, I don’t have any more challenges at the moment so if you know any or have any requests/suggestions, I am all ears! Anyways, this is for @urbanhaz 1k Writing Challenge! Here’s hoping its good! I tried a different format. 

Italics are letters (and one line from a tv program)

Prompt: Just breathe, okay?

Pairings: Dad!Steve x Daughter (?)

Summary: Steve writes his daughter letters while he’s away on missions

Word Count: 4.7k

Warnings:  Angst, aftermath of character death, kinda IW fix but kinda not?

“Sarah,” her mother’s soft voice pulled her from her sleep. “Sarah, sweetie. Wake up.” Sarah opened her eyes, squinting as they were assaulted with light. She wasn’t a morning person.

“I made you some breakfast,” her mother said. Sarah focused in on her, now noticing a tray with a plate of pancakes on it. “They’re your favorite.” Sarah sat up and her mother placed the tray on her lap. “I wanted you to get them while they’re still hot and fresh.”

“Thanks,” Sarah mumbled, still tried. She rubbed her eyes and grabbed the nearby fork.

Her mother smiled sadly and kissed her forehead. “Uncle Bucky’s gonna come over in a couple hours to see you.”

Sarah groaned. “Does he have to?” She pushed the pancakes around on her plate. “I don’t really want to see him today.”

“Yes. He does.” Her mother’s tone was firm and final. Sarah grumbled and rolled her eyes, keeping her gaze down at her food. She heard her mother sigh and knew her demeanor changed. She didn’t need to look at her mother to know her mother’s shoulders had slumped, and she probably had her head in her hands. “This is a hard day for us too, Sarah.” Her mother’s feeble voice went straight to her heart. “We should be together.”

Sarah wanted to apologize but the words wouldn’t leave her mouth. She simply kept her head down, focusing on eating her food. The soft footsteps of her mother faded from the room, the door creaking close behind her.

As she ate, she picked up her phone. She stared at the dark screen for several bites. Did she want to open it? With a click of a button, the screen lit up and she was bombarded with messages from her different social media pages. It was a mix of news articles about the fourteenth anniversary of the defeat of Thanos and people wishing her a happy birthday.

She tossed her phone to the side, not wanting to deal with it. Instead she grabbed her remote and turned on her small television. Of course, it was on a news coverage station.

“…one of the most destructive days in Earth’s history as the Children of Thanos attacked. Had it not been for the sacrifice of Captain America, Steve Rogers, the casualties would have been much higher.”

Sarah angrily changed the channel settling for a children’s show teaching colors. Her eyes were stinging and burning as she hyper fixated on the little animal on her television pointing out all the things that were red.

She finished her food while watching the children’s show, not wanting to change the channel and see any more reminders. She set her tray to the side and snuggled back into her bed, wanting to just lay there forever.

And she would have, had it not been for her mother yelling for her. Sarah pulled herself up, quickly changing her clothes and went towards her mother’s voice. Sarah found her in the living room with Bucky, a brown package in his arms.

“Hey, baby girl.” He smiled when he saw her, approaching her with caution. “How are you doing today?”

Sarah shrugged, not really feeling like talking. She loved her Uncle Bucky. Deeply and truly. He was like a father to her. But today was not the day she wanted to see him. She wanted her own father.

Bucky motioned for her to sit on the couch with him. She did, her mother taking a seat across from them. “I know you’re not about presents today,” he said, pushing the package towards her. “But I think you should make an exception for this.”

The package was thick and heavy. She eyed Bucky and her mother, unsure. “I don’t understand.”

“Open it,” her mother pressed. “I think you’ll really like it.”

Sarah rolled her eyes and did as she was told, tearing the brown paper away from whatever was hidden inside. A solid brown book was exposed. She looked back to her mother and Bucky who both encouraged her to open it.

Flipping the cover, the first thing she saw was a picture of her as a baby nestled snuggly in her father’s arms. She continued to flip, eyes glossing over as she saw more and more pictures. Spanning from her parents wedding to just before her fourth birthday. Her dad present in every single one. There were also articles about him and the Avengers. Some she had read before some she hadn’t.

“Are these letters?” She asked as she continued through. “From dad?”

Bucky nodded. “He wrote you on almost every mission he went on.”

“He did?” She asked, taking in the page after page that started Dear Sarah.

“Bucky and I worked really hard to make this for you. So, did all the others,” her mother said. “Your dad wanted you to have this today.”

Sarah closed the book and held it close to her. “I don’t know what to say.” She bit her lower lip to stop herself from crying.

Bucky patted her knee. “You don’t have to say anything. Do you want to take some time and read the letters?” Sarah nodded. “Go on, then. I’ll hang out for awhile if you want to talk after.”

Muttering a quiet thank you, Sarah clutched the book to her chest like it was her lifeline. She scurried to her room and dove back under her covers. Flipping to the first letter, she started reading.

Dear Sarah,

There’s nothing quite like sleeping on a blanket on a concrete floor to really make you question your life choices. This is one of the things I don’t miss about missions. Sleeping and eating arrangements have always been a hit or miss and sadly this time it’s a miss. Not exactly what I had imagined on my first mission back from paternity leave.

Honestly, I could have stayed on paternity leave for forever. There was nothing better than being able to spend every moment with you. There hasn’t been a lot of research done on genetically modified super soldiers being frozen for 70 years and how that effects their ability to have children. We didn’t think we would be able to have any. That didn’t bother us. We were fine just being together. It was at our wedding during our first dance, your mother leaned in real close and whispered to me that she was pregnant. That was one of the best days of my life. Not only was I marrying the most amazing woman in the world, but I found out I was going to be a dad.

Ever since that moment you have been on my mind. At first it was that you were healthy. Then what you would look like. What kind of baby you would be? Would I be any good as a dad? Now that you’re here, I can only imagine what kind of person you’ll grow up to be. I love you so much, Sarah. You’ve made me the happiest I’ve ever been. And right now, I’m missing ya like crazy.

For a while I didn’t think I would go on another mission. They just didn’t seem important comparatively. But Tony convinced me, and your mother supported me. So, I’m here, thousands of miles away from you and wishing I was back at home. It’s weird, thinking about it. I miss the grim and grit of fatherhood. I miss waking up at odd hours with you. Feeding you just to have you sip up all over me. I miss being elbows deep in poopy diapers. I had heard that becoming a father changes a person, but I greatly underestimated the extent.

You probably don’t miss me. That’s okay. You’re just a baby after all. Mom’s still there taking care of your needs. I know she’s doing a great job. You have the most wonderful mother and I’m so happy to have her in my life. She has blessed me with such happiness I never thought I would get. Or deserved for that matter.

It’s getting late and I’m nearing the point of exhaustion where I don’t care what I’m sleeping on, I just want to sleep. That’s exactly what I was waiting for. Hopefully things will go smoothly, and I’ll be home to you soon. I can’t wait to hold you and kiss you and tell you just how much I love you. You’re my world, Sarah.

Love Dad

Dear Sarah,

I learned a new term today. “Old soul” Nat told me it means someone who was born out of their time. She used it to describe me except my soul is literally old, not metaphorically. It’s strange. I wasn’t really born out of my time. I was born in my time but then I was frozen for years and woke up in a different time. So, my soul is old but I’m not sure that’s exactly what she meant.

Anyways, that got me thinking about time. Sometimes I think about what my life would be like if I stayed in the 40s. What would I have done? What would I have accomplished? Would I still be Captain America? Would I have a family? I think about Peggy too. Would we have dated? Married? Had kids? Part of me still loves her and always will.

I love your mother too. I don’t want you to think I don’t. This is something we talked in depth about before we got married. She understands as best as she can without actually having been frozen for decades. Your mother is so incredible. Sometimes I think that I was frozen so I could meet her.

You’re the absolute joy of my life, Sarah. If I could turn back time and stay in the 40s, I know I wouldn’t. There’s nothing that could make me give up my life with you. Being with you, watching you grow. You amaze me everyday and I’m so lucky to be yours.

Love Dad

Dear Sarah,

I got a video today of you taking your first steps. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there to see it. You looked so adorable though. I can’t believe you’re walking already. It seems like just yesterday I was holding you in my arms for the first time. Now you’re walking, and you can say a few words. You’re growing up so fast, baby girl. Please slow down.

I was having a hard time after I saw you walk. I missed this major milestone, what else would I miss? I do want to be there for all your firsts. Bucky assured me that I’d see the rest of them. I’m not sure if he’s right. There’s a lot of uncertainty with this job. Missions just popping up, taking longer than normal. And it’s dangerous. While most of the time I’m pretty confident, there are days I think that I might not make it. I don’t want to die, and have you resent me for it because I wasn’t around. That’s my biggest fear.

This letter got depressing faster than I thought it would. Sorry about that. I just wanted to say that I love you and I’m so proud of you.

Love Dad

Dear Sarah,

I just left the house not even an hour ago and I feel so guilty. We’re still on the quinjet, on our way to Russia, and all I want to do is turn the jet around and go back to you. You’ve never cried when I left before. Mostly you didn’t even seem to notice. You were either playing or sleeping or eating or doing something that was much more interesting then Dad going on a mission. But today you actually cried when I walked out, and it hurt much more than I thought it would.

I knew this day would come and I thought I was ready. Boy was I wrong. I’m sure you know by now that I’m a huge sucker. You pout your little lip and I’ll do whatever I can to make you smile. Tony says that makes me a pushover, but I prefer to think of it as A+ parenting. You’re my girl and I just want you to be happy. Yet here I am, the reason you were crying.

I know I mentioned before how I was considering not going back to the Avengers when you were born. And the urge to quit hasn’t been this strong since my first mission back. I love you, Sarah. I love you so much. And if I could just stay at home with you forever, I would. But the world is a big, bad, messy place. I want to help clean it up. And I do it for you. Always remember that. Everything I do, I do with your well being in mind.

Love Dad

Dear Sarah,

Tony made a joke today that I didn’t think was funny. He said that you were going to be a heart breaker when you got older and I’d have to fight away the boys. The whole team laughed but me. It’s kind of made me realize that you’re going to grow up one day and you might not need your dear old dad. That’s terrifying to me.

You’re going to become a teenager. You’re going to get moody and have woman problems and want to date boys. I wish they had a manual for how to deal with those things. I know I’ll have your mother to help out. I know she’ll play a big part in helping you navigate that phase of your life. I want to help you through it too. I just don’t know how good I’ll be at that.

I hope you’ll be patient with me. I know I’ll no doubt do or say something stupid (Bucky has reminded me of this time and time again). I won’t mean to. I just don’t have much experience with dealing with girls. I have no sisters and can count on one hand how many girls talked to me before the serum. I promise to try, though. I promise to support you no matter what and to love you unconditionally. Bucky assures me there will be times where loving you will be hard but that’s when you’ll need the love the most. Thinking about that scares me a lot. I just want to be the best dad I can be for you.

And I will greet all your dates dressed as Captain America. Shield and all. You’re my baby girl and I want all the boys to know that.

Love Dad

Dear Sarah,

I hate when missions take longer than expected. I thought I was going to be home days ago, but here I am stuck in a crappy motel room sharing a bed with Sam. He snores so loud its unbearable. I miss the comfort of home. I miss waking up to the smells of breakfast that you and your mother had prepared. I miss afternoon naps with you next to me.

I still have the stuffed bear you put in my pack. It goes with me on every mission now. It’s a sweet reminder of you and what I have at home. Those little things keep me going when Sam’s obnoxious snores try to hinder me.

I thought I would have more time to write to you, but Sam just woke up and yelled at me for having a light on. Guess I have to go to bed now. And possibly smother Sam with a pillow.

Love Dad

Dear Sarah,

Radio silent missions are always the worst. And I know they’re the worst for your mom too. Its so hard not talking to her and you while I’m out. Even if its just a quick text to remind you guys how much I love you.

Your mom spoils me though. She always sends me so many pictures and videos of you guys so when I can finally turn my phone back on, that’s the first thing I see. Last time she sent me a video of you playing with some paints. You said it was a picture for me when I get back. And then you said you loved me. I saved that video. I watch it whenever I get the chance and I always tear up. I have the picture you made in my office at the compound. You have an appreciation for the arts just like your old man. You’re gonna be a great artist one day. I can feel it.

The mission should only last another day. As soon as we’re in the all clear I’m going to try to video chat with you guys if it’s not too late. Your mom will no doubt pick up and at least show me you if you’re sleeping. I hope you’re not though. I miss your voice. I miss hearing you say you love me. I can’t wait to come home and cover your face in kisses.

Love Dad

Dear Sarah,

I love you. And I know I tell you that all the time, as often as I can, but I wanted to start off this letter that way. Saying I love you and I’m so proud to be your dad. I can’t put into words how honored I am to have that privilege. And I can’t emphasize it enough. You’re my world, baby girl. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you.

I know I’ve written a lot of letters to you over the years. My plan is to collect them all up and give them to you as a gift one day. Maybe your eighteenth birthday? Or whenever it feels right. And I’ve told Bucky, Sam, Nat, and just about everyone else it too. And you’re probably reading this feeling all confused as to why I would take the time to write it all down.

There’s a real big bad coming. Thanos. I don’t know much about him but Bruce it scared out of his mind. He can’t even Hulk out anymore because of facing him. I didn’t know someone existed that could scare the Hulk away. After hearing what his guy is about, I feel like I should prepare for the worst. That I won’t make it back to you. And should that be the case, I want to make sure you know exactly how much I love you. How much I think about you during every mission.

If this is my last chance to talk to you, I want it to matter. I want to write everything I feel. I don’t want you to grow up and think that I just left. That I just threw myself into battle. Because that’s not it. Sure, before I had a family I just charged forward towards the bad guy, trying to do the right thing. But that hasn’t happened since you. Every time I’ve put my life on the line, I’ve done so thinking about how I was making the world a better place for you. I don’t want you to have to worry about the evil that exists. I want you to be able to go to bed every night with peaceful dreams.

I can’t lie to you and tell you that I’m not scared out of my mind. I try to put on a brave face for everyone, including you, but I can’t right now. The thought of Thanos making his way to earth makes me feel sick. We know where he’s going to go but my mind can’t help but wander. What if he does something else? What if he attacks you and your mom?

I’m also scared of dying. This is such a different feeling than in the 40s before I was frozen. I didn’t have then what I do now. I keep thinking of you growing up and getting married and having your own family. I want to be there for that. I want to see you grow and live. I don’t want to miss a second of your life and I’m scared that I will. But I’m even more scared that I won’t make it through this and it will be for nothing. That Thanos will still get to you and I can’t protect you.

You’re still so little and I know if I don’t come home you might forget me. Not that you won’t know who I am. Your mom has so many pictures and stories to tell you. But you won’t be able to remember me for yourself. At least, not fully.  Your actual memories will fade as you get older and that thought makes me so sad. I don’t want you to forget me. I don’t want you to forget those moments that were just between the two of us. That weren’t captured by other people. Those nights when you couldn’t sleep, and I’d lay in bed with you for hours. Playing dress up and tea party while mom was out running errands. Those little moments keep me going and to know that those will be forgotten…

If you’re reading this one day and you’re older and you can’t recall those moments, it’s ok. I’m not writing this letter to make you feel guilty for growing up and forgetting. I’m writing it, so you know those moments happened and they meant everything to me. I want you to know that they did happen and even if you can’t quite recall them just know that I went on every mission thinking of them and smiling and missing you like crazy.

Everything I’ve done has been for you. Every mission, every night away, everything. You’re the most important person in my life, Sarah. I want nothing more than to create a world where I know you’ll be safe and happy.

I’m being told an alien ship is approaching. I don’t know if this is Thanos or not but it’s big and it’s bad. I love you so much, Sarah I can’t even put it into words. You’re my world, my baby girl, my whole heart. I hope I can make you proud.

Love Dad

She sat in her bed, clutching the book when she was done. There were so many thoughts going through her head. She had seen so many pictures and videos of her father. Countless interviews. But reading his words, words he had written specifically for her, was different.

He was right, she really couldn’t remember him on her own. She just had bits and pieces to cling to. Flashes of herself crying and clinging to her father. Wearing a plastic princess crown while having a tea party with her stuffed animals and her dad. He always drank his fake tea with his pinky out. Sharing secrets that were too silly to remember in the middle of the night. Sarah wasn’t even sure those were real or just what she wished had happened.

Suddenly, she was livid. Why would her dad do this to her? Why would he leave her with nothing more than letters to remember him? Why did he die on her birthday? In a fit of rage, she chucked the book. It flew across the room, hitting her lamp and knocking it to the ground. Both items fell with a loud thud, the lamp shattering into pieces.

When that didn’t soothe her, she threw herself face down on her bed and screamed. She screamed and cried and punched her comforter as hard as she could. Heavy footsteps entered her room, but she paid no mind to them nor the dip in her bed.

“It’s okay.” Bucky’s hand was a comfort on her back. “It’s okay, baby girl.”

She was crying herself into hysterics, her breaths coming out in gasps. “I… I can’t…”

“Sh,” Bucky cooed, “Sh. Just breathe, okay?” He rubbed her back. “Calm down. Breathe. Then you can talk.”

Sarah nodded, her face hidden by pillows. The whole while Bucky stayed by her side, rubbing her back and whispering reassurances to her. When she thought she was composed, she tried talking again. “Why was he so dumb, Uncle Bucky? Why was my dad so dumb and stubborn?”

Bucky’s laugh caught her off guard. She picked her head up, giving him a questioning look. “Sweetheart, I’ve been asking that question for over a hundred years,” he said, smiling at her. “Your dad was just an idiot.”

Pushing herself up, she sat on the bed next to him. She stared silently at the mess she made in her room. “My lamp broke,” she whispered.

“I see that.” He got up and walked over to the shattered remains. He stepped cautiously as to not walk on glass. He picked up the book and brushed the debris off it. Then he sat back down next to Sarah, passing it back to her.

Sarah took it, running her fingers over the plain cover. “Did you read any of the letters?”

“A bit. Enough to be able to organize them in the book. I tried to keep them in chronological order.”

She wrapped her arms around the book. “I miss him, Uncle Bucky. I miss him so much…” Tears were in her eyes again. “I miss my daddy…”

Bucky put his arm around her. “I know, sweetheart. I know. I miss him too. We all do.”  

She continued to hold the book close to her, her cheek resting against the spine. “Thank you so much,” she said. “This is the best gift I’ve ever gotten.”

“Of course, sweetheart.” Bucky rubbed her back again. “I’m glad to finally give it to you. I put the finishing touches on it a couple months ago and have just been waitin’ for your birthday to roll around.”

A silence fell between them. Sarah didn’t know what else to say. There was still a lot going on inside her that she needed some time to process. Instead, she decided to change the subject. “Did mom tell you I got accepted to that art school in California?” Sarah asked, peaking up at Bucky.

“She did,” Bucky said, smiling widely at her. “And a full ride too. That’s amazing, Sarah. I’m so proud of you.”

“Do you… do you think Dad would be proud too?”

“Absolutely, kiddo. And your mother said you’re workin’ on a new project. Can I see it?”

She set the book down on her bed and crossed her room. She quickly glanced down at the shards of glass knowing at some point she would need to clean that up. Ignoring her future responsibilities, she opened her closet, showing the little makeshift art studio she created.

Instead of hanging clothes, there was a lone easel. It took up most of the space, leaving just enough room for a box of paints and brushes. A white canvas was set on the easel, revealing Sarah’s latest piece. It was a water color portrait of Captain America’s shield. The thick black outlines standing out and highlighting the pastel reds and blues within the shield itself.

“It’s not finished,” Sarah said. Mounted on her closet door was her father’s shield. Carefully, she plucked it from its hook, and brought it down, level with her painting. “But I think it’s starting to look pretty good.”

“It’s beautiful, baby girl.” Bucky stood up and walked over to her, eyeing the painting and then real shield. “I can see your dad hanging it in his office.”

Sarah’s face lit up at the praise. “Really? You think so?”

“Sarah,” Bucky said, “Steve was over the moon for you. Since he found out he was gonna to be a dad I can’t think of a day where he didn’t talk about you. You were everything to him. I know, wherever he is, he’s so freakin’ proud of his baby girl.”

She looked down at her father’s shield. Its reflective surface showing her her own face. She had been told she looked a lot like him but after seeing picture after picture of the two of them in her new memory book, she conceded. She did look exactly like him and seeing her reflection in his shield brought a new wave of tears to her eyes. And a new wave of emotions in her heart. “I’m proud of him too.”

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