#inspired by my office of older women who are afraid of anything they think is a ~chemical~ or contains sugar

[maple-writes]

Tired of the slander towards kraft singles. Like maybe I'm just full of microplastics but it feels so pretentious when people jump to saying "fake cheese" "plastic" "tasteless" like yeah if you're eating it cold it's not great but you cannot tell me it's not the most delicious thing to make a grilled cheese with??? Maybe it's tasteless if you have like no depth of your palate or whatever. Come on.

[donald4spiderman]

Sweating, And A Lesson On Self-Worth

masterlist

Summary: Spencer finds himself falling for his NAT (new agent training) defensive tactics coach.

Pairing: SR x Fem!Reader *described as petite to give the illusion of assumed vulnerability when IRL she’s a badass— no other specific physical details are mentioned*

Category: Fluff

TW: Mentions of body image, general CM talk, mentions of fighting/grappling/wrestling, small age gap (reader is 28 & reid is 22)

concept inspired by @sierraraeck’s fic “Bad Liar” about Morgan training Spencer. I love wrestling so I wanted to do one about a badass female combat coach/agent.

REBLOG!

-

When Spencer and the rest of the trainees are ushered into the fitness center on their second day at the academy, he almost shits himself. He’s well aware of the physical demands being in the FBI requires, and he’s been dreading the PFT (Physical Fitness Test) since he applied.

There are hundreds of men and women huddled in the middle of the room, anticipating the orientation, and Spencer feels his palms sweat before he’s even started working out. The majority of the trainees are football players, wrestling’s, and weight lifters— he can tell by their muscular build and general atmosphere of strength and confidence.

SSA Jesse Fallon introduces their defensive tactics coach for the next twenty weeks— a petite but athletic woman. She’s dressed in a gray t-shirt and flexible khaki pants— Spencer would be lying if he said she didn’t look gorgeous, even in the bland attire.

“I’m SSA and defensive tactics coach (Y/N) (Y/L/N).” She introduces herself, giving a warm smile to the crowd. “I’ve been an SSA for five years and the head coach of this portion of the academy for two. This is my third official wave of trainees— and believe me— I won’t be going easy on any of you.”

Light laughter disperses through the crowd, and Spencer wears an uneasy look on his face.

“Today, I’ve prepped stations for each of you to cycle through for the next three hours. Agent Rivera is monitoring the weapon defense; Agent Glover is in charge of the takedowns; And I’ll be handling hand-to-hand combat and grappling. You’ll spend an hour at each station, run a mile at the end, and then you’re done for the day. Sound good?”

“Yes, Ma’am.” Choruses through the crowd.

SSA (Y/N) clasps her hands together, “Alright, you know your groups. Split up!”

-

Spencer’s assigned to the takedown station first. Agent Glover’s criticisms are primarily nonconstructive, and Spencer struggles with apprehending and cuffing his more robust and much more muscular partner on the floor. He’s never trained this hard for anything in his life, physically, speaking. He’s half-dead within the first hour, and he dreads having to do this two more times.

His next stop is with Agent Rivera, who’s much kinder to Spencer than his prior. Reid is better at disarming his opponent, but his long limbs flail wildly due to his incoordination— he’s trying his best, but he sees the way everyone else giggles at him. It’s a blow to the chest that leaves him defeated more than any gunshot could.

The last hour is spent working at SSA (Y/N) (Y/L/N)’s station. She commands the attention of the entire group so naturally, despite being considered a rookie, she has an intimidating amount of knowledge.

“How many of you are wrestlers or judokas?” About sixty percent of the group raises their hand, and Spencer scans around for who might have the strength to kill him with one blow.

“Good,” She smiles. “This will come naturally to you, then. Now, a head-and-arm throw most likely won’t work in the field— so, sorry, judokas. However, double legs, body locks, and blast-doubles are constantly used to take down an unsub with minimal injury to the agent. Even someone as short as me can use leverage to grapple and control a much taller person.” (Y/N) scans the crowd of trainees for a moment before pointing directly at Spencer.

“You, come here.” She commands, and Spencer waddles nervously up next to her on the mat. “This is...”

He’s confused for a moment before realizing she’s asking for his name. “S-Spencer Reid.”

“Hi, Spencer.” She smiles. “How tall are you?”

“Six foot two.”

“Spencer has the advantage of almost a whole foot of height against me. But, I can use his higher center of gravity to tip him over more easily. We do this a lot in wrestling— being low to the ground and agile is important.”

(Y/N) firmly plants her hands on Spencer’s shoulder, moving him so that he’s turned to the side. “This move is called a modified blast double— it prioritizes attacking the ankles and knees rather than the knees and abdomen.”

She leans in closer to Spencer, “Don’t post your wrist out when you fall.” She whispers in his ear, sending chills down his spine. “Keep your neck tucked too.” Her breath is warm and minty, and Spencer almost forgets that he has 30 other people watching him.

“I’m going to simulate an active attack with Spencer. Doing this move in a wrestling match is much more controlled than against a rogue criminal playing by their own rules. They might have a melee or close-range weapon like a knife or hammer on them, so it’s important to make this move when the best opportunity strikes.”

“Spencer’s going to run at me and attempt to land a punch to my face.” She gives him a nod, and he chambers over to her.

Swiftly crouching lower to the ground, she launches herself towards him, gripping the back of his ankles and pushing her shoulder into his knees, and suddenly he’s flying back onto the mat. She follows through, straddling Spencer’s hips and covering his movements with an arm under his neck.

He’s out of breath as he watches the beautiful SSA leaning above him. His head is slightly sore from the impact, but overall he feels... invigorated.

“You never let your opponent fall onto the ground without covering them. Straddling your opponent allows you to keep them down while having full use of your fists.” She swings her leg off of Spencer, standing up. She reaches a hand out and quickly yanks him up.

“Find someone and drill that move. I’m coming around to help all of you.”

She gives Spencer a firm pat on his back, to which he blushes furiously, pulling his lower lip in between his teeth.

-

Spencer spent the rest of the hour getting slammed onto the mat over and over by various men and women. His entire shirt is soaked, and his breathing is so labored he thinks he’s going to faint. SSA (Y/N) (Y/L/N) might have appeared at ease earlier in the day, but she wasn’t kidding when she promised she would work them to no end. Everyone was at the brink of death when they approached the last lap of their mile— Spencer at risk of passing out more than others.

The relief he feels after completing his tenth lap around the gym is euphoric. Trainees collapse onto the ground with exhaustion all around him.

“Great job today.” SSA (Y/N) compliments happily. “I appreciate all the effort you guys showed today. It better still be here in four months.” And with that, she excuses them, along with the agents monitoring each station.

Spencer’s one of the last agents to trickle out of the gym. His legs feel like jello when he walks, and his lungs burn.

He almost makes it past the threshold of the door before his name is called.

“Dr. Reid.” She beckons him over with a finger. “May I talk to you for a moment.”

Spencer nervously shuffles over. “Yes, SSA (Y/L/N)?”

“I applaud your effort at training today. I can tell you were working hard.” He blushes. “But I’ve been informed that the board is willing to wave all physical training requirements for your acceptance into the FBI.”

“Yeah... I-I uh figured they’d want me for my IQ only.” He jokes nervously, shrugging his shoulders. He knows it’s disrespectful not to look her in the eye, but she intimidates him too much.

She laughs, and it’s a sweet, joyful sound that Spencer can’t get enough of. She’s powerful and radiant— stealing attention from everyone else. “You’re charming, and your reputation precedes you.”

Charming? Since when has little Spencer Reid ever been charming? He smiles awkwardly, looking off to the side to hide his blush.

“You know, the forensics department wants their hands on the trainee with the chemistry doctorate, and the surveillance department wants the kid with eidetic memory, and word has it that you speak more than four languages, so everyone wants their fair share.”

“W-why are you telling me this?” Spencer asks, voice shy and barely above a whisper.

“Because,” she places a tender hand on his shoulder, “You need to carry yourself with more confidence, Spencer. I saw you— surrounded by all those athletes— it made you feel out of place. I get it.”

“How d-do you get it?”

“I was 23 years old when I became an SSA, surrounded by people two decades older than me. I felt like the office secretary— constantly getting pushed around by people I was afraid to upset. But the thing is, Spencer, you need to demand respect from other people. I’m not saying you need to be arrogant or be a bully, but you are one of— if not the most promising agent trainee— and you need to realize your self-worth.”

“I’m smart, I-I know that. But I’m not strong or athletic by any means.” He sighs, gripping the duffle bag slung across his shoulder tightly.

“That’s alright. You’re not going to be Kyle Dake overnight. But you can’t beat yourself up about it.” (Y/N) chuckles lightly.

Spencer thinks for a moment, “T-thank you... for uh saying all those nice things about me.”

“They're true.” She nods.

“I think I’ll continue with the defensive tactics training. I could um use it.” Its partially true, but he’s most inclined to stick around because of the kind and beautiful SSA that’ll be training him.

“Yay! That’s great, Spencer.” She cheers, wrapping him in a hug that’s a little too friendly to be professional. He accepts despite being drenched in sweat.

Her arms are wrapped tightly around Spencer, and she pats him on the back twice before pulling away like a proud mentor would. He can’t decide if (Y/N) would be a better girlfriend or a better teacher. If she would, he’d prefer for her to be both. He’d give her all he had to offer if she’d allow him.

He doesn’t recognize the smile that plays on her lips, and it’s a foreign feeling for the aggressive and focused SSA. She hasn’t felt something like this in a while, especially not for a nerdy trainee named Dr. Spencer Reid.

“Hit the showers.” She teases. “You stink.”

Spencer nods furiously, “Y-yeah, of course. Thank you, again, SSA—“

“Just call me (Y/N).”

“T-thank you, (Y/N).” He smiles, scurrying out of the gym and into the hallway as giddy as ever.

(Y/N) knows she can’t pursue this— at least, not right now. She’ll give it a few years to let him settle in the FBI (his acceptance is inevitable) if she can be patient for that long. All she knows is that eventually, she wants the awkwardly adorable boy to be hers— and she wants to be his.

i’m so proud of this fic but sry i got carried away talking about wrestling i love it sm

[actlikeyoudidntdoit]

ASSASSIN’S MODERN DAY PROFESSIONS

—————————————————

ALTAÏR

College Professor

-We all know that Altaïr has spent most of his life teaching, so what better job does he have than a college professor?

-He knows what he’s talking about, that much is certain, but sometimes he gets a little too lost in his lesson to realize that his students are scratching their heads. So it’s normal to have students staying after class, but they leave understanding every word of what he said.

-He’s not the fun teacher, but he’ll be able to teach you what you need and still remember it at the end of the day.

-He’s pretty lenient, and even with the obnoxious students who cause a scene, he calmly gets them to at least do their work.

-Other teachers always use him as a reference when it comes to the perfect teacher.

EZIO AUDITORE

-I can see Ezio being a public speaker since he’s not all that scared of crowds and spends a lot of time giving advice, so I think he’d really enjoy being able to help a crowd of people whose lives are falling apart

-Ezio would be the single anchor in a sea of storms because he always seems to have an answer for everything. He’s a man whose words are turned into inspirational quotes that people hang on their walls.

-When he says that things will be okay, no one doubts him since they know that he lost his father and his brothers very early on and that it took years for Ezio to accept the loss the way he had. If he could soldier through it, why couldn’t they?

-He doesn’t involve himself in politics, finding them to be a waste of time and breath despite how many people ask for his input on the political status of the country he’s staying in.

-He speaks to a lot of people in private, letting them speak their minds and giving his advice if they want it. He’s a therapist without a license, and you always feel hopeful about life leaving his office.

Connor

Construction or Sports

-This boy was designed for heavy work, and I’ve heard some good points in saying that not only would he be amazing at sports, but he’d also really enjoy it too.

-In my personal headcanon, I think he’d be a good construction worker as well. Not the high end kind that build skyscrapers or anything, but I can see him building simple houses for small communities, taking the lower jobs that can’t afford much help like the sweetheart he is. He definitely volunteers to make houses for the homeless.

-Since most of the homeless he helps don’t have much money, he makes sure to offer them baked goods because he’s definitely a baker.

Edward Kenway

-As a young man, he joins the navy

-Once he’s on his own, he buys his own boat and treats it like royalty.

-He’s not a pirate himself, but he does let less legal people on board for a price. At the time, it was just an easy cash pay since people paid good money when they were desperate.

-When he’s older and gets a grip on some of the people he’s helping (like the REALLY bad criminals) he quickly lets it go.

-Yet after seeing some of the more decent people and the places they were running from, I can see him being a sort of smuggler, but instead of smuggling drugs or weapons, he sells medicines, canned foods, and clothes to the regions where they’re scarce or hard to pay for.

-When he’s older and found a fortune over time, he starts up his own official charity, hiring various sailers to sail supplies to more places than he himself could alone.

SHAY CORMAC

-Okay, I have to say it. Shay would DEFINITELY be an FBI spy. Maybe I haven’t thought of it as heavily as I could, but he just strikes me as a man who could kill someone in plain sight and still not be seen.

-He already knows everything he can about infiltrating and getting vital information

-He knows exactly how to manipulate people to get what he wants.

-He’s like Macgyver but as an agent.

-He does things that make sleeping at night impossible, but he tells himself that every long night for him is another person somewhere else having a peaceful night, and peaceful nights means he’s doing his job. Right?

-Constantly questions his morals, but he can’t bring himself to stop, not knowing that he’d do if he stopped, because at least here he’s doing something. He’s contributing.

-That and maybe I might or might not want to see Shay in a suit 🤷‍♀️

AVELINE

-Actress. And a damn good one. She’s one of the kind of people who get paid millions each job and gives most of her cash on people who really need it. Not only that, she’s a fan favorite everywhere.

-She takes extra jobs in smaller businesses barely staying afloat, and public morality boosts has nothing to do with it. In fact, she keeps her fame life out of everything, choosing to see it just as another job.

-I can see her sharing similarities of Zendaya or Zoe Zaldana

ARNO DORIAN

-High school teacher or actor, I can’t decide.

-Because let’s be honest, this guys brain is more wrinkled than a raisin. He knows his stuff.

-He’s good at simplifying what he’s saying, and that happens to be a very useful trait when it comes to teaching.

-If he was a teacher, he’d be a damn good one, that’s for sure. No one will fail his class because he’s so good at explaining things, and he’d be the one who actually cares for his students.

-When it comes to acting... just admit that Arno’s a theater boy through and through. If you need proof, he’s the only one with a crazy amount of fancy robes and colors. FOR GODS SAKE HE OWNS A THEATER! So on modern day, I could totally see him as an actor as well.

-He’d be the Ewan Mcgregor of the modern day, because everyone recognizes him from SOMEWHERE because he’s really tested his acting ability on multiple various roles. Well read, charming, and level headed, he’d totally rock being an actor. He’s good friends with Aveline, and when they both have time in their busy schedules, they stop by for coffee and fill each other in on their life.

JACOB

-Boxing

-I saw the photoshops of Jacob in boxer life, and I have not been the same because oh my god that is amazing.

-but absolutely he’d be a boxer. He’s the shortest guy in the entire match, but he doesn’t need a stool to knock you on your ass before you can laugh about it.

-His opponents are lucky shattering bones is against the rules because he knows how to make someone wish their dad wore a condom.

-A lot of people think that his rounds must be rigged, and his sister had to physically hold him back every time Jacob threatened to give him a close up of how ‘rigged’ his fights were.

-Jacobs a powder keg, so it doesn’t take much to make him explode, and a lot of the less respectful people he has to fight picks particularly sore spots to do just that.

-He might be pissed, but his punch isn’t the only thing that stings. He knows exactly what words to use, and when they’ve gone too far, he doesn’t hold back.

-Might have a temper, but he has a good heart despite it all. He visits schools and completely turns his personality around with kids. He signs autographs, takes pictures, and makes sure that every one of them have a fun day because he knows that there’s some kids in this school that don’t have those kinds of days. He pays the school for field days each time, making sure they all get out. They bring out the scooters, parachutes, capture the flag, and ‘wrestling’ matches for the kids who want to face him. He loses every time. He never has a bigger smile on his face than when he has children fans walk up to him.

EVIE

-She is totally a lawyer and you can’t change my mind.

-Logic and Facts are her strongest weapons, and so far she has yet to lose a debate.

-Every other lawyer knows that seeing Evie walk into court is an instant death sentence, because like her brother, her words are sharp as a knife and her mind is even sharper.

-If they didn’t look identical, no one would believe that she would be related with Jacob the hot headed boxer, because she was level as water and was near impossible to make angry, but god help the poor sod that presses her.

-Her clients almost always get the best case scenario with Evie by their side by how good she is.

-Also like her brother, children are her weak spot, and her hard composure melts whenever she needs to speak to a child in the witness post, making sure that the child feel comfortable unlike the others that drill the kid with questions when they’re too skittish to answer. She takes her time and gets the kid feeling safe, and gently asks their side.

-Evie might not do it as a profession, but Evie has beaten Jacob in the boxing ring in the gym. She knows damn well how to handle herself, knowing she’d need it since she’d be fighting corrupt politicians or gang members who have too often tried attempts at her life. Every time she emerged unscathed, using the attempt at even more evidence against them and insuring a spot in jail. No one dared try attacking her again after that.

BAYEK

-I’m thinking police officer or motivational speaker for trauma.

-Either way, he’s a guardian who takes care of the people he’s in charge of. He knows words well, and having been down the dark path himself, he knows exactly what people experience and what they want to hear.

-Be the change you want to see in the world, and that’s exactly what he’s doing.

-He’d be a well respected officer, and he’s not afraid of telling off a comrade if someone is wrongfully accused. He’s not very popular in the police station, but as long as he’s doing his job, he’s satisfied.

-He’s saved several people over the course in his life, and his word is well honored since he’s on no ones side. He sees things as what they are and doesn’t twist events he disagreed with to his point of view. Even if it hurts him personally, he doesn’t lie.

-He’s divorced, but they’re still best friends with each other and visit when they can.

AYA (ran out of gifs. Sorry)

-She is hands down a self defense teacher for women

-She sells hidden self defense tools for less than ten dollars, always sure to keep constantly supply of them since many have confessed that they’ve saved them from dangerous situations.

-Like her former husband, she’s a protector and makes sure she provides her students with the best.

-She teaches children what to do if they ever get grabbed, and she’s had many parents in years thanking her when that information ended up saving their child’s life.

ALEXIOS

-Hands down he is a stunt double

- Preferably Arno’s since he relies more on flexibility than brute strength. Then there’s the fact that they look similar enough in features

-He does the moves that would probably be safer if they were just CGI, but he hates those computers with a passion, preferring to do the real thing instead of giving out something fake. He’s broken more bones than he can count, and the companies he works with always have a medic on standby when something goes wrong.

-They tried convincing him that they only needed him for a few spots, but after realizing that he wanted this (and him assuring them that he doesn’t bother with suing), they let him do his thing. The results are fruitful since the most nitpicky movie fans are absolutely thrilled when there’s a particular move done right.

-He teaches Arno a good few things about how to do action scenes, and they’re definitely good friends.

KASSANDRA

-Roller Derby

-She lives for throwing people and smacking them without being judged for it, so the Derby’s her safe spot.

-Everyone on the opposing team is terrified of her, always scared when they see her devilish smile, knowing that they’re about to get their asses handed to them. Like her brother, she’s an adrenaline junky, and when she’s not doing the derby, she’s going off into car races in a water trench. She’s surprisingly very good with cars too, knowing the inside and out of a car like the back of her hand.

-She loves it when men try to catcall her. It gives her a perfect opportunity to punch them in the face.

-She loves the races themselves because no one expects it. Sometimes she pretends to act like a beginner and absolutely slaughter them, giving them a nice wink before driving out with her cash.

-Only has a soft spot for the girl who visits her on weekends. She’s practically her older sister, and there will be hell to pay if her favorite kid gets hurt in any way.

EIVOR

-BACA(Bikers Against Child Abuse)

-The moment I saw this, I instantly thought about them.

-they would absolutely be a part of this

-Looking all badass in leather while turning into a softie for children? That’s Eivors entire character right there.

-Eivors not afraid to get physical with an abuser. They’d beat the abuser to a pulp and right after take the child out for ice cream.

-No one messes with Eivor, knowing that their lenience was stretched only for children. Anyone else tried to pressure her? Your teeth would be shattered and they’d wear the bits for a necklace.

-Children are much more brave around them because they’re tougher than their parent and on their side, so they’re not afraid to give them to the police

[khaleesiofalicante]

Ok imma be honest, this chapter moved me to tears and not the sad sobbing but the more inspiring kind. This chapter means the world.

She had told them her dreams were about ducks – since there were the only equally horrible thing she could think of.

Uncle Magnus had given her an odd look then, as if he knew she was bullshitting them. But he hadn’t said anything.

DUCKS AREN'T THAT BAD! HAVE Y'ALL EVER BEEN CHASED BY A GOAT?? I WAS CONVINCED I WAS GONNA DIE

Lexi would be royally pissed if this turned out to be some stupid pointless dream.

YUP

Even though she was only 7 minutes older than Lexi, Selena always acted like she was 7 years older.

That's so cute though

People looked at her pastel-coloured aesthetic immediately assumed she was the soft and sweet Fairchild twin. People saw Selena in her red leather jacket and thigh high boots and assumed she was in the infamous troublesome Herondale twin.

SMH THE DAMN STEREOTYPES

Why Selena hadn’t killed her in her sleep yet, Lexi doesn’t know.

BYE THAT'S EVERY SIBLING RELATIONSHIP EVER

The meals at the Academy were to die for – quite literally. Last week two students from the warlock fraction had almost killed each other over a blueberry muffin.

Oh how times change...they will never know the dreaded soup

NO ANJALI HAS BEEN GONE FOR OVER A YEAR???

IS JAIME OK?? PLEASE BE OK! HE CAN LIVE WITH TREATMENT SO I REALLY HOPE HE'S OK

Selena’s was Idris of course. She was kind of obsessed with it.

Max loved the shadow markets. Lexi thought they were very cool too.

Rafael loved his father’s office – which was weird. There was nothing to do in that room other than ponder about shadow world problems. Besides, the place still weirdly smelled like the tangerine perfume Anjali wore, even though the girl had left New York almost a year ago.

David loved the New York Institute – especially the library.

Gigi of course loved the dining halls.

Dining halls, kitchens, food trucks, vending machines - if a place had food with it, Gigi loved it.

It's so amazing how they all have their favorite places...(same David same)

“You’re supposed to pour the syrup on the pancakes not into your mouth,” Lexi chuckled as she sat down next to her.

“It ends up in my mouth anyway,” Gigi shrugged.

True enough.

AWW ROMAN MAKING GIGI PLAYLISTS!!

Someone make me a playlist.

“His parents fell in love in Rome when they were in Rome,” Gigi pointed out even though Lexi already knew. “I think it’s actually romantic.”

I had forgotten that-

Roman was nice. But not nice enough for Georgia. Lexi didn’t think there was anyone good enough for her parabatai – who was the most perfect person in the world.

Me @ anyone who tries to make a move at my best friend.

AWW GEORGIA LIKES HIM TOO!!

When's the wedding?

(you're telling me you didn't believe you were gonna marry your childhood crush? Liar)

“I like being his friend,” Georgia said. “I like spending time with him and all of that. But I don’t know if I like him…in that way. I feel like I need more time.”

Demiromantic??? YES GIVE US THE REP

Lexi sometimes thought life would be so much simpler if the world was full of women and everyone was a lesbian.

Ikr?? Life would be so much easier.

Lexi says Roman is too-nice-sus

Well well well

The kind of love that cheated death.

The kind of love that sustained memory spells put by princes of hell.

The kind of love that changed the world.

Trust me all of our standards are very high

Lexi successfully survived the class without falling asleep.

Me during English.

Ok who's the blond?

Lexi I thought we weren't gonna fall this soon-

Oh the girl's straight...sigh we've all been there.

which meant they had to hold hands. Kinda.

Lexi was a little scared of that.

Me.

Goddamnit, Alexandra. Get your gay together!

THAT'S SO RELATABLE LIKE?? YES

OH MY GOD IT'S EMMA AND JULIAN'S DAUGHTER GEIDIDHDOHDJSKSJSKGXJDHSODHKDGDDGDJHDJDGDJDGJDHD

Lexi knew Olivia liked boys. She hadn’t dated anyone officially of course. All the boys were kind of terrified of her father.

She could be bi or pan or omni. WE GOTTA HAVE HOPE

vegetable loaf... David I'm so sorry you had to go through this.

Lexi then decided not to do any of her homework over the weekend because she was not coming back to the academy. She was not going to survive the sleepover and whatever else Olivia had in mind.

Bestie...why is this me when I make eye contact with my crush.

“Good stuff?” Max snorted. “Rafe literally ran away from home cause shit got too intense.”

“I didn’t run away!” Rafael rolled his eyes. “Stop telling people that!”

“But you have rumours and shadowhunters getting thrown into silent city and cohort drama and all that exciting stuff!” Liv pointed out.

I-

Liv-

True though.

“Wasn’t there a serial killer when your parents were young?” David asked.

“And didn’t your uncle do necromancy?” Max said biting into a chicken wing.

True and true

“Sorry, Chouchou!” Lexi winced. “I, uh, sensed a mosquitoe on your leg.”

“Girl, your angel powers are weird as fuck,” Max laughed.

MAX LANGUAGE

“I don’t know,” the girl shrugged and threw her a wink. “I wouldn’t put anything past Lexi.”

Lexi looked at Gigi. She was one more compliment away from screaming.

But Gigi of course knew her struggle and therefore quickly stuffed a bread roll into Lexi’s mouth.

I need someone to stuff bread into my mouth when things get like this

There were rumours about David – and how Daddy had an affair. Lexi was yet to find those asshats and shove a witch light down their throats.

When you find them lemme know too.

“Or maybe it’s because you don’t need rumours be interesting,” David pointed out.

Max turned around, looking surprised at that. His cheeks turned purple. Lexi didn’t know why he was surprised. David only ever spoke fondly of Max.

JUST GET TOGETHER ALREADY OH MY GOD

“Oh. Oh! I did hear something a long time ago!” Gigi said suddenly. “Olly, is it true you were conceived at the beach?”

“Georgia, you can’t just ask people where they were conceived!” David sounded horrified.

That is very much possible.

“I heard you were conceived in hell?”

“Oh my god,” Selena looked horrified. “That’s not true! It must have been about Max!”

“Y’all I am adopted!” Max was shaking with laughter and then stopped. “Although our dads could have definitely had sex in hell. I wouldn’t put it past them.”

Oh yes. Both clace and malec.

Then they had of course continued to discuss that cursed topic until Rafael had threatened to tell the Consul about it.

LMAO

Lexi turned around and saw Liv waiting for her. Nope. She wasn’t going to talk a walk – a fucking stroll! – with Olivia all on her own.

“You are coming back to the institute with me or I will un-parabatai you.”

You know there being an un-parabatai ceremony would solve a lot of shit

What if their hands accidentally grazed or something? That shit was lethal.

RIGHT????

She is just trying to be nice. That’s what friends do. They are nice. And they give each other pretty dresses and say they would like to see them in it.

Honey that's gay.

EVERYONE ASKING HER OUT IM DEAD

Selena: Ugh boys

Selena: When I win back Idris, we are leaving all the men behind.

Lexi: Except Magnus? Lol.

Selena: Obviously.

Is that even a question Lexi? Duh.

ALEC LIGHTWOOD THOUGHT SHE WAS STRAIGHT? THE SHAME!

OH MY GOD IM CACKLING

Not everyone can kiss their partner in the Accords Hall. Some people didn’t have access to the Accords Hall.

And most important, some people didn’t have partners!

We're getting a lexi and Alec talk someone hold me

“I’m going to tell you something,” Uncle Alec said. “It might sound simple. It might sound ridiculous. But it’s the truth. So, you must believe me. Can you do that?”

Lexi gave him a small nod.

“It doesn’t matter what other people think,” Uncle Alec said. “Not when it comes to your future. Not when it comes to your identity. They don’t get to have a say in who you are and why you are the way you are.”

Lexi bit her lip.

“Alexandra, people will always tell what to do. But you shouldn’t let them. Never let anyone tell you what to do with your heart or your body. Neither belongs them. It only belongs to you.”

THIS RIGHT HERE MADE ME START CRYING BECAUSE DAMN YES!

“Yep,” she groaned and then hesitated for a moment. “Uncle Alec…Can I ask you something stupid?”

“Can I say no?”

“No.”

“Then go ahead.”

I love her so much

“I feel…I feel it’s something we have to bear, Alexandra. The fear of rejection. It’s something we have to accept as an inevitable part of our lives. Because no matter how much love we have around us, we will always be afraid of people not loving us – simply because of who we are.”

Yeah...

“Besides, they named you after me,” he pointed out. “I don’t know what else they expected.”

EXACTLY! Did they really expect a straight child after naming them after Alec?

“I do like shouting,” Lexi wondered out loud. “That’s good advice.”

“I didn’t mean it literally!” Uncle Alec looked alarmed.

“No, it makes total sense!” Lexi grinned. “Some of these people can be tone deaf. Gotta shout it out. Loud and clear. Awesome advice! Thanks, Uncle Alec!”

DO IT

“Hey, Lexi. I was wonderin-”

“MOVE, I’M GAY!” she yelled as she shoved him aside and kept on running.

ABSOLUTELY ICONIC

“I prefer she/her,” Lexi answered. "But sometimes I prefer she/they. But you can use she/her because some of y'all already shit at grammar."

That's exactly what I tell people when they ask for my pronouns. Istg people are shit at grammar.

alright girl im here to give you a lecture on how someone's dressing doesn't describe their sexuality

OH MY MY GOD THERE WAS A GENDER AND SEXUALITY CLASS IN THE ACADEMY ARE THEY RECRUITING???

One of the boys who had complimented cleared his throat. “So, uh, you don’t like boys?”

“That’s literally what I said,” Lexi rolled her eyes. “I’m gay. I’m very gay. I’m gayer than the Consul. Okay fine, that’s not true. No one gayer than the Consul. But I’m still pretty gay.”

Does the boy have hearing problems?

ALSO YES NO ONE'S GAYER THAN THE CONSUL

“Sexual orientation and gender expression are two different things,” she explained now, remember what Uncle Magnus had taught them. “Sexual orientation refers to who I am sexually and romantically attracted to. Gender expression is how I want to express my gender identity. Those two are not connected. Just because a woman wears feminine clothes it doesn’t mean she is straight. Just because a man embraces femininity, it doesn’t make him gay either. Does that make sense?”

“Ohhh,” the girl nodded. “Yes, it does. Thank you!”

“What I wear does not reflect who I like. It reflects who I am and what I like to wear,” Lexi explained. “And regardless of my sexuality, I like pretty things.”

Exactly.

“This doesn’t change anything. I hope you know that,” he told her. “I mean I have to change the pronouns in my shovel talk. But that’s not a big deal.”

Awwww

Also – my good friend Raziel told me that homophobia is a sin.”

“You mean homosexuality is a sin?” an older man asked.

“No, homophobia is a sin,” Lexi repeated. “That’s what Raziel said.”

“But that’s not-”

Someone cleared their throat. When he spoke, it was in the Consul Voice.

“Are you saying know better than Raziel?” the Consul asked.

Listen to Raziel you dumb shit

“Sure. Let me just call the Lesbian Alliance,” Lexi rolled her eyes.

Ugh I wish

OH NO NO NO NOT THE FAKE DATING. JUST CONFESS AND DATE FOR REAL

“Alexandra, I have a fucking undercut and I have pink highlights and I cuff my jeans and I literally walk around with a sword and I can quote Lady Gaga to perfection! Why would you ever think I was straight??”

Lexi your gaydar is broken bestie.

Don't do this omg this is gonna be a mess

Gigi: THIS IS A BAD IDEA. ABORT! ABORT!

Lexi: Relaaaax. It’s going to be fine!

Gigi: I’ve read enough fanfiction to know the fake dating trope never ends well!

Lexi: I’ve told you to include the ‘angst with happy ending’ tag!

LMAO

Also Gigi which fanfiction do you read?

Jace omg...

That's so him though.

“How about my peeps? It sounds very hip.”

“It does not,” Lexi replied. “Please don’t refer to us as your peeps under any circumstance."

IM SCREAMING ASHSKHSIDBSHSHDH

Her father chuckled at that. “Sweetheart, you’re a Herondale. Being problematic is what we do.”

EXACTLY

Daddy opened the notebook again. “I need names.”

Grabs flamethrower names

“Besides, the Lightwoods and Blackthorns have been hogging the gay genes for too long. Now it’s our turn. I say you gay it up.”

“Gay it up?” Lexi laughed.

“Yeah,” he grinned. “Go for the highest possible level of gay.”

DO IT

He blinked for a second and then it hit him. “OH MY GOD YES! DOES EMMA KNOW??”

Lexi laughed. Yeah, he can never find out it was a fake dating situation.

Hopefully he won't have to because it won't be fake :D

“To love is a privilege and to be loved is a blessing.”

THE GROWTH OH MY GOD

This chapter literally means so much to me. I don't even know what to say. I hope I too can one day have the courage to shout it in front of everyone and not be scared. See ya on Tuesday!

It means so much to me that this chapter meant a lot to you. I hope you find all the courage, strength and support you need. You are amazing.

And here. I made you a playlist.

You can find it here on YouTube. I hope you like it :)

[wondersofdreaming]

Lost Boys - SIX

Characters: August Walker / Captain Syverson / Walter Marshall

Word count: 1.500

Warnings: Mute on purpose. Stalking. Hiding. Teaching. Tracking.

Author’s note: Everything in this story is a figment of my imagination, with inspiration and snippets from the movies ‘Mission: Impossible - Fallout’, ‘Sand Castle’, ‘Nomis/Night Hunter’. This is pure fanfiction. If something doesn’t make sense, it’s not supposed to.

I do now own any of the characters from the movies that I write about in this story. Only the OFC’s are mine.

Tag: @katerka88​ @littlefreya​ @hell1129-blog​ @mitzwinchester​ @mary-ann84​ @valkavill​ @sciapod​ @henry-cavlll​ @luclittlepond​ @iloveyouyen​ @trippedmetaldetector​ @radaofrivia​ @omgkatinka​ @gothwhopper​ @fcgrizi​ @vania-marie​ @alyxkbrl​ @readings-of-a-cavill-lover​ @singeramg​ @onlyhenrys​ @henrythickcavill​ @mis-lil-red

Let me know if you want to be added or removed from the list.

Feedback is appreciated.

MASTERLIST

[ONE] [TWO] [THREE] [FOUR] [FIVE] [SEVEN] [EIGHT] [NINE] [TEN]

James looked over his shoulder. He saw his younger brother walking away with a single tear streaming down his face. He couldn’t hear what his new foster parents were talking about while walking towards the car that was taking him far away from his brothers, his family. Trevor, his older brother by two minutes, stood at the end of the hall, nodding, encouraging him to keep walking. James smiled, hoping it would tell his brothers that they would find each other again.

His new foster father had a heavy hand on his shoulder as they walked farther away from Trevor. James looked into the stern look of his new foster father and the smiling face of his foster mom, who were going to take care of him until he was old enough to go search for his brothers.

“We have a son, his name is Charlie, and I hope you two will get along. He’s really excited to meet you,” Margaret Marshall was a talkative woman, and James felt safe around her, while Richard Marshall had a cold and intimidating aura around him, opposite his wife, who was warm and caring.

Charlie wasn’t ecstatic to have a ‘brother’, but he slowly warmed up to James. Charlie never pushed James to talk. Richard was a different story. He scolded James every day for not talking. James was stubborn. He wasn’t going to let the chief of police take him down.

A month came and went by fast. James’ school day had been cancelled, so they had called Margaret, who couldn’t pick him up and called Richard. He wasn’t happy to do it, but he brought James with him to the precinct.

“Sit, here, don’t touch anything. Maggie will be here in an hour to pick you up,” Richard told James and sat behind his desk. James looked around the room. There was a board filled with pictures of beaten up women, some were sporting black and blue bruises, others had bleeding wounds on them. James walked over and studied the photos. Richard was watching him closely, wondering what the young boy was thinking.

“Are you afraid, boy?” Richard asked. James turned to look Richard in the eyes.

“No, sir,” he whispered. Richard’s eyes nearly fell out of his head. He hadn’t expected the curly-haired child to speak to him.

“What do you see, boy?”

James went back to look at the women. He studied the faces, looking at their hair colour, how their bodies were built.

“They all have blonde hair.”

“What else?”

“They are all dead.”

“Does that scare you?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because they look like Margaret.”

Richard’s eyes widened. He stood from his chair and went to check the pictures. He hadn’t noticed before. All the women were blonde, like his wife, were about the same height, as his wife, and the autopsy showed that they all had blue eyes, just like his wife.

“Fuck.”

Since that day Richard made sure to spend more time with James, who started talking more and more around him but kept quiet at home.

Charlie, who had warmed up to James, started taking the younger boy with him to his outings. They would venture into forests, sit on the beach, walk around the parks. Sometimes Charlie would tell James about his day in school, other times he would teach James how to track and notice different clues, the way Richard had taught Charlie.

With time did James start asking Charlie questions about the tracking. Charlie even gave his new brother a compass to always have in his pocket, should he ever get lost.

“Come on, I’ll show you where to hide if you ever need a safe place,” Charlie told him while they were scavenging for edible mushrooms in the forest. The leaves were orange, yellow and brown. The earth was moist and full of life. Charlie made sure that James knew where they were at all times until they reached a small waterfall.

“Charlie, I don’t like this,” James told his foster brother.

“Don’t be scared. It’s just a cave. You can hide from adults in here, maybe not mom, she might just be able to squeeze inside. This is where I hide from dad when he’s mad.”

“Does he get mad a lot?”

“He used to, but since you came, he has been a little less grumpy. He even smiled at nothing yesterday.”

James nodded. He promised never to tell anyone about the hiding place before they went home.

What James didn’t know was that he had to break his promise.

Margaret wanted to spend a little one-on-one time with James. She took him to the forest to search for different plants they could make a salad out of.

“Do you like Minnesota, James?” She asked and plucked a flower to put in her hair.

“I do,” he answered shortly.

“It’s going to snow soon, have you tried being in a snow fight?”

“No.”

“They’re really fun, but Richard doesn’t like them. He becomes so grumpy when someone hits him square in the chest, or worse, his face.”

Margaret chuckled and didn’t hear the sound of a branch snapping. James barely caught the end of a long black coat, before it disappeared behind a wide tree.

“Maggie?”

“Yes, sweetie?”

“I want to show you this really pretty place I found; can we go there? Please?”

“Of course, honey.”

James did his best to sound calm, while he talked his little mouth off, walking towards the waterfall. He made sure to make Margaret hurry, so they had a little lead to the stalker.

“… and then Jenny wanted to kiss all the boys in the class, so she ordered us to stand in one line and then she would kiss us on the lips. We all didn’t want to do it, so Nicky told her to go kiss a frog instead, and she did and came back and told everyone that the frog was slimy and it didn’t turn into a prince,” James rambled away. He kept a loose eye on the stranger, who was walking a few hundred metres behind them. They rounded the corner and there was the waterfall.

“Come on, Maggie, hurry, it’s right in here.”

James pushed and pulled Margaret towards the icy cold water that was splashing down.

“You go in first, dear,” she said and shoved him gently to the hidden entrance of the cave. James went in but kept a hand on her shirt. He watched as she squeezed herself between the rocky walls.

“Are you okay?” He asked breathlessly.

“Yes. James, we have to be very quiet, okay? I believe that we were being followed,” she whispered to him as she pulled the young boy in for a hug.

“You… you noticed?”

“Sweetheart, I noticed him before you asked to come here. Richard has been in the police for almost 15 years. He has taught me a few tricks.”

They moved deeper into the cave, away from the light, so if the stalker tried looking inside, he wouldn’t be able to see them.

“Maggie?”

“Yes, dear?”

“When we get out of here, will you adopt me?”

“You want to be part of our family?”

“Yes, can I?”

“Of course, baby.”

“I want to change my name too.”

“Yeah? What do you want to change it to?”

“I like Walter, Walter Marshall.”

“Then we’ll start calling you Walter.”

It took an hour before Maggie was brave enough to venture to the entrance, having found no service while inside the cave. She called Richard to come and get them, then went back to sit with Jam… no, Walter.

Half an hour later they could hear Richard’s booming voice yelling at the police officers to find his wife and foster son. Maggie carried a tired Walter out of the cave into the darkening night.

“Richard? We’re over here,” Maggie exclaimed and walked in a fast pace towards her worried husband.

“Are you alright? What happened? You were so cryptic on the phone,” Richard asked.

“We were followed, so Walter brought us to the cave, and then we waited until I thought he was gone before I called you.”

“Who is Walter?”

“That is the name of our son.”

“Which son?”

“The one in my arms. We are adopting this brave boy into our family and he wants to change his name to Walter Marshall, Richard.”

“That’s great news, dear. I was going to ask you, if we should adopt him, but it seems I don’t need to ask.”

“No. Did you catch the stalker?”

“Yes. He was lurking around a few hundred metres from here, calling for you. He didn’t use your name, but he was saying things like ‘I like a good game of hide and seek.’”

“Is he the killer?” Walter asked, lifting his head from Margaret’s shoulder.

“We need to test his DNA, but we are certain he could be. Thank you for protecting your mother, son. You were very brave… Walter Matthew Marshall.”

[peachy-blinderss]

What? I Am a Good Girl.

Written for the following request: 

Could you do a Tommy one where everyone thinks you're some good girl that doesn't get mixed up in the business, but one day they find you helping Tommy get a hit planned out?

Warnings: Swearing, Violence, Alcohol, guns, Mentions of death and beatings. Typical Peaky stuff. 

Word Count: 1042

Ok so I may have gotten a little carried away. i seriously had a blast writing this and it felt so good to write again. I hope it is what you expected dear requester and I hope it’s what you imagined. I will be doing a part two for this because it needs it and I didn’t think I could fully develop the plot in one go. I seriously love friends to lovers AUs especially with Tommy so watch out world because it’s headed that way. This fic was inspired by two songs.

This first is “I’m a Good Girl” from Burlesque (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YDPR5EoYqOs)

and the second is “Good Girls” by 5SOS (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0FfG_5JBVBQ)

I would definitely recommend listening to these songs to get in the mindset for this fic. Please go easy on me as I haven’t edited it yet and I am very rusty. I know the formatting s a little f-ed up and clunky but I need to shake the rust off lol. Drop a comment if you like it! 

Much love, 

Lex

xx

Also someone remind me how to insert that line thing across posts because it doesn’t give me the option anymore lmao. 

Another note: I will be without Wifi for the next week because I am going to stay with my elderly grandma and she does not have it. I will do what I can on my phone, but it also seems impure to write smut and fanfiction next to my 85 year old grandma lmao. 

                                                        ✺ ✺

    You were always a good girl. You always did what you were told in order to please your demanding father. Or so he thought. While you loved him dearly, he didn’t have the most modern thoughts on how women should behave. Running around with rowdy boys was not something he looked upon fondly. He wanted you to have a better life than he gave you, so he made sure you took your studies seriously. He was not keen on you running around with the Shelby boys, and much preferred when you did schoolwork with Ada. Nevertheless, you and Ada still followed the boys around like lost puppies, bookbags trailing behind you. 

     The Shelby’s had always seen you as a little sister. Well almost all of them did. Tommy and Ada were the only exception. While the others couldn’t get past your manners and pristine school uniform, Tommy always saw through you. You were the same age as Tommy and he always encouraged your sense of adventure. It was he who you had your first sip of alcohol with on your father’s roof. It was he who taught you how to throw a left hook. It was he who taught you how to shoot a gun. He drug you out of the library many a night to go drinking at the Garrison. He saw the sides of you didn’t show anyone else. 

       You had been friends since nearly the womb and were inseparable. Your sharp tongue kept Tommy in his place when everyone else was too afraid to tell him off and he loved that about you. He admired your intelligence, and as you grew older and he took over the family business, he began consulting you on nearly everything. Everyone thought Arthur was his right-hand man, but secretly, it was really you. Even still, Tommy did try to hide the nastier parts of the business from you. Despite this, you were far too sharp to not notice the bruises and scabbed knuckles. You let Tommy believe you were unaware of the illegal side of the business until the night he showed up at your flat beaten bloody. He pushed away your concerned hands and slumped in a kitchen chair. You knew better than to speak first so you quietly got some whiskey as Tommy lit a cigarette. You sat down across from him at your tiny kitchen table and poured him a drink. He downed it in one go. Typical. 

     Tommy stubbed out his cigarette and ran his bruised hands across his weary face. He titled his head back and let out an agitated sigh. After what seemed like hours, he finally spoke. 

“I’m in trouble y/n,” he said while raising his eyes to meet yours. 

    You scoffed in response. Secretly, you were scared. Tommy always put on a brave front for you. He knew you were easily stressed and often lied to you about what violent things he was taking part in. You knew whatever he was dealing with must have been bad if he was telling you about it willingly. Nevertheless, you tried to make light of the situation to calm your shaking heart. 

“When aren’t you in trouble Thomas,” you said sarcastically. 

   Tommy only rolled his eyes in response, before putting a bloody handgun on your worn table. Your eyes zeroed in on his dexterous fingers as he quickly took a bullet out of the gun’s chamber. You were confused until he handed you the bullet. Your breath caught in your throat as you ran your finger over the Tommy crudely scratched onto the bullet’s side. 

“Tommy, what the fuck is this? Are you playing a joke on me right now? Because this is not funny,” you said quickly. 

 He looked at you and laughed mirthlessly. 

“You are smarter than that y/n,” he sighed out. “Found this on some bloke’s body after I killed him. He and some other goons jumped me as I was locking the door to the Birmingham factory. He was the only one I managed to kill, the others got away.”

    You reached across the table and grabbed his hands. You were furious that this happened to your best friend and you were willing to do anything to help him. 

“Who were they Tommy? Don’t lie to me because I know you know.” 

“They were foot soldiers from this small-time gang in Manchester. Those fuckers have been harassing our bookies for months. James Burton leads them and he is one ambitious fucker I’ll give him that,” he grunted out as he lit another cigarette. 

“How can I help, you know I’ll do whatever I can Tommy. Please let me,” you begged as you pleadingly grabbed his forearm. He glared at you as soon as you finished speaking. 

“It’s too dangerous for you y/n you know you can’t…” 

     You cut him off before he could finish speaking. He sighed because you were stubborn just like him and he knew you wouldn’t give up until he heard what you had to say.

“Do not tell me I can’t help Thomas. I know the business better than anybody. I’m quick with a gun, and no one would suspect a woman. Please I can help you, just trust me,” you said indignantly. 

         Part of him knew he should have kept his mouth shut, but the other part of him knew he sought you out for a reason. He trusted you more than anyone and he was struggling with keeping this from you. Despite this, he couldn’t imagine what he would do if you got hurt. Your soft voice and teary eyes broke his resolve.

“Please Tommy, I can do this, I know I can,” you tried to say as firmly as possible through your tears. 

      Tommy sighed heavily. He would do anything for you and he would do whatever possible to give you what you wanted, you knew it too. He had a lot of thinking to do if this was going to work. He stood abruptly.

“Fine. Be at my office at 7 am sharp to go over the details. Do not be late or the whole thing is off,” he huffed out. 

      You smiled happily as he planted a quick kiss to your head and walked out the door.

[hopesiick]

𝐉𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐀𝐍 𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐒𝐀𝐑𝐃 // vice detective, thirty-three, red ridge native.

— unflinching, grudging, brainy, irreverent, plucky, mulish. loosely inspired by dominique dipierro (mr robot), laurie blake (watchmen hbo), eve polastri (killing eve), wendy byrde (ozark), and allie pressman (the society). this vine, too.

howdy, folks! i’m dev. 🤠 this is my dearest brain babie, jordan. normally, this is where i’d get all mushy-gushy on y’all, but the rest of this introduction is already too long as it is, and i’d rather not add insult to injury hehe. just know i’m happy to be here & even more excited to get to know you all + your brain babies, too! 🥳 @redridgeimp​​

— pinterest, stats + connections page.

𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐑: bullet points marked with three asterisks (***) feature mentions of domestic abuse and unfit parenting. reader discretion is advised.

the toussards are old money. her mother’s side of the family have made their fortune off of hay farms scattered across the state of nevada, and her father’s side of the family have mostly been cattle and dairy farmers. together, they decided to venture into real estate, too, by buying up farm land plots and selling them at a higher price, along with residential plots, too. 

they’re not showy people, but they definitely make good use of their money. jordan’s childhood home is a plantation-style house on a big ole plot of land situated on the outskirts of town. they had healthy green grass with sprinklers and a full garden. inside, everything was real wood, ivory, and silver. they had a maid and gardeners and the whole nine yards. still, if you hadn’t seen that or recognized their family name, you might have expected them to be any other family belonging to red ridge. 

to many, they gave off the image of a picture-perfect, all-american nuclear family. it’s easy to pretend, seeing as they live so far away from all the glitz and none of them -- no matter how they feel -- are willing to shatter that golden reputation, but it isn’t real. elise, her mother, wanted a doll more than she wanted an actual child, and it was society’s pressure on women to give birth that forced her hand, not any sense of innate desire for expanding the family. joseph, her father, was too caught up in his wife’s every wish and whim to really pay attention to jordan in a deep way. he never turned his back on her, but jordan never felt any deep belonging to him either -- if anything, he felt more like a 2d stand in for the father she wished she’d had. 

*** that meant there was only one adult left to really pick up her parent’s slack, and that was corinne, her aunt. corinne, who had an awful habit of bringing terrible men home. corinne, who was bipolar and unmedicated, and often in charge of taking care of jordan from the moment she was in diapers to the moment she graduated college. corinne, who was manipulated by her own sister. corinne, who was helpless to protect jordan against her mother’s attacks, and unable to shield her from the rage her boyfriends spat. corinne is like a mother to jordan. she was the hand that rubbed her back when she was sick. she was the open arms that held her when one of jordan’s teenage dates went sour. she was the one to cover for her when she snuck out and the one to teach her everything her mother considered too immoral and dirty. corinne is her mother in the way elise never could be, but still .. jordan can’t help but feel anger towards her. 

*** jordan’s known how to use, fire, and clean a gun from the age of eight. she learned how to hunt at the age of ten. she knew and helped her father field dress a handful of animals by the age of twelve. you may think this was just a bit of heavy-handed bonding between a father and daughter, but it wasn’t. elise and joseph used to go away a lot, both for pleasure and business, which left jordan in corinne’s sole care. that wouldn’t be a problem, if it weren’t for the fact that a grand majority of corinne’s relationships were abusive, specifically physically. jordan was a child, but she was a child with a duty -- a duty to protect her caretaker if necessary. at the time, jordan didn’t think much of it. she liked feeling like she had an in with her father, liked feeling important. it was only when she got older that she realized how fucked up everything had been, and how that’s the driving factor behind the feeling of fear she just can’t drop, and the mistrust she has in others. the anger she feels towards corinne is rooted in that. she can’t help but feel like it’s corinne’s fault and she hates that her aunt -- a fully grown adult -- was the center of her childhood, instead of her own self.

skipping forward a bit, jordan went to college right after high school to major in criminal science. her lifelong exposure to such abuse left her with a taste for vengeance. see, jordan wanted to be a police officer to protect her hometown, sure, but she also wanted the badge so that she could finally dish out the punishment that so many of the officers she’d seen were unwilling to. the only way to stop that culture of turning a blind eye was to do it from the inside, and that’s exactly what she did. 

jordan’s been a cop for twelve years now. she started her career doing patrol and eventually working with the gangs and narcotics team for five years. after a lot of pestering and brown-nosing, jordan became a g&n detective. she was mostly in charge of surveillance, carrying out raids, and the planning of both. ( she had an opportunity early in her career to go undercover, but jordan’s too obvious for that. ) eventually, jordan switched departments over to the special victims unit, but that stint really only served as a segue into where she is now: the vice and support department. she used to specialize in community outreach, helping bridge the gap between the community and the precinct. she worked with groups focused on helping those affected by drugs and sex workers who have been abused. when one of the detectives assigned to missing persons cases left, jordan was quick to apply for it. needless to say, she got the job and has been doing that since.

she’s got the nose for it -- all the digging and reviewing and passion for the relentless pursuit. she doesn’t particularly like dealing with the families of those affected, but it’s part of the job. on most days, she genuinely enjoys it, but with the rise in crime and the amount of deaths at their feet, jordan can’t help but rethink her choices. she’s competitive by nature; she can’t handle these losing games. 

jordan’s a very cutthroat cop -- especially in her g&n days, when it was all heat, all pressure, all the time. she’s got an eye for weakness and isn’t afraid to exploit that on the job. she’s not above making threats -- promises, really -- and has always been the type to gather as much evidence as humanly possible, because she wants prosecutors to see justice through. she’s just really efficient. she wouldn’t be where she was at only thirty-three if she wasn’t. most of the time, you can catch her putting in overtime hours. 

that being said... jordan has a big heart. she doesn’t believe in institutions as a whole, but she does believe in people. the law is the law and rules are vital for a functioning society, but .. she may be willing to look the other way sometimes, if you’re close enough. ( i mean, she was married to a valencia member at one point, so. ) she may not agree with what some people do, but she’ll really only go after you if what you’re doing is truly heinous. ( but don’t tell her supervisors! 🥺 and don’t mention the hypocrisy to her face. )

outside of work, though, jordan’s pretty chill. she used to be a loudmouthed firecracker in her youth, but she’s calmed down significantly since then. really, she’s not so bad! maybe it's because she can't handle being alone, but she thrives from being in groups + will strike up a conversation with anyone and everyone. if she likes your shoes, she'll tell you. if you need a ride home then she’ll walk with you because she’s most likely equally as inebriated. kind of the person that you’re hesitant to approach, but when you do she treats you like you’re old friends -- even if you're not. you know that drunk girl in the bathroom that gives you sagely advice or tells you she loves your hair? that’s jordan, except she’s not drunk. 

when jordan makes her mind up on something, it’s almost impossible to get her to budge. it doesn’t matter if she’s in the wrong, she’ll trudge on no matter what. her flippancy in the face of danger – a prized act at this point – has landed her in trouble before, and it most certainly will again. she’s unyielding and unapologetic; not willing to change herself for anyone. getting her to talk about her emotions is like pulling teeth, except even that would probably be easier. she’s incredibly honest about some things as a way to hide behind it; it’s a farce that distracts people into thinking she’s being honest with them, when really she’s not -- not entirely, anyway. 

loves love, but she’s rotten at it. her anxiety gets in the way, tells her that she’ll mess it up somehow until she finally does, like a self-fulfilling prophecy. ( something-something abt the fact that she can’t comprehend someone loving her if not even her own parents could ). she’s a much better friend, and jordan thinks that’s more important anyhow. genuinely, if you’re her friend then she loves you endlessly and earnestly.

𝒇𝒖𝒏 𝒇𝒂𝒄𝒕 𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒚 𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒓 !

jordan is that friend that gets a little bit too into car karaoke.

she’s also the type to order a screwdriver during an 11a brunch.

it’s a wonder that she doesn’t have tinnitus, considering she always blasts heavy metal music in her car.

makes jokes about getting married and divorced, because if you can’t laugh at your pain then you’re fucked.

if you ever visit her unannounced, you’ll spot her in t-shirts that say “milf in training”, “god looks like me”, and more.

if you’re mean to her she’ll give you a parking ticket.

she plays dirty in fights. used to bite a lot as a child and she still does. all is fair in love and war, babie! enjoy getting that tetanus shot and lovely hospital bill! 💋

pantsuits from monday to friday, and overalls without a bra on the weekend because fuck that shit. also extremely partial to shirts with low plunges. a lil bit of side titty for everyone. 

if you’re leaving a drink behind she’ll finish it for you because daddy didn’t raise no quitters.

has a lot of self-worth issues, but she’d sooner die than ever tell anyone about them or even confront them herself. 

don’t let the pantsuit fool you! there’s pure muscle underneath that two-piece, babie. 

𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒄. 𝒊𝒏𝒔𝒑𝒊𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔:

“i am the shape you made me. filth teaches filth.”

"can i be blamed for my efforts? all men are drawn to the sea, perilous though it may be."

"there is a place, deep in the heart of fear, where you trap yourself and claim that is safety."

"still, a great deal of light falls on everything."

"i hold a stalk in my hand. i am the stalk. my roots go down to the depth of the world."

“i always figured when i got older, god would sorta come into my life somehow. and he didn’t. i don’t blame him. if i was him i would have the same opinion of me that he does.”

“nothing washes off.”

“you cannot be stolen, ransacked, looted like an emptied bank account or a burgled house. you are the tough old tissues, the exquisite scars. you are the thing that would not die.”

𝒇𝒊𝒏𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚, 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒏𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒔 ! ( open to any gender ) 

jordan can’t function without a best friend, so.. gimme, please! 🥺🤲

i once read a passage talking about how the friendships you make in your childhood can never be mimicked in your adulthood, and you know what.. #true. where’s jordan’s childhood friends at? do they still keep in touch? did they have a massive fallout as teenagers where jordan told them to get hit by a truck because she was a very dramatic 16 yr old? were they frenemies? do they still have one of jordan’s things because she was terrible at remembering everything after a sleepover? did jordan’s parents help your muse’s family out? idc, just gimme!

exes / almost exes. remember what i said about jordan being a shit when it comes to love? they could’ve been serious at some point whether as adults or in their youth, maybe it was short-lived, maybe jordan never even let it get off the ground. could be on good terms or bad terms or no terms at all. 

neighbors!! jordan pulls some odd hours n sometimes plays her music a little too loud and burns her food more often than she should at 33 yrs old. she may or may not be the best neighbor to have is all i’m saying, but she tries!! 

friends!! platonic love is the most purest form of love there is and she’s got a lot of it to give!! come and get ya some! 

enemies / hateships because sometimes .. it just be like that. whether this has to do with a falling out of some sort, just straight up hate at first sight, or something to do with an encounter on the job, or something else entirely i’m here for it! 

one night stands / [old] fwb. i’m gonna be honest with y’all: if jordan likes you, then she can’t sleep with you. now, i’m gonna be honest with y’all again: jordan’s very much a yes-girl. she says and does things just to get a reaction sometimes or see what’ll happen ( something-something "sometimes if you let people do things to you, you're really doing it to them" ). that being said, she’ll sleep with just about anyone. maybe they don’t talk about it ever, maybe they only ever talk when they want something, maybe they regret it, maybe it’s all gucci, and maybe it was good until it wasn’t. idk! 

jordan has been shot twice in her career thus far. the first time was during a noise disturbance call and the second time was during a narc raid. if your muse wants in on that we can discuss the deets! 

and also literally whatever else your heart desires because i’m both here for the fluffiest deepest connections ever and also the angstiest makes-me-wanna-die type shit. i literally don’t say no to anything so if you have any ideas you think jordan can be a good fit for, i’m all ears!! 

[skaylanphear]

The Formula

Summary: Following Ultimecia's defeat, the world is left in shambles. While he'd like to step down and simply take orders, Squall--or Commander Leonhart--knows he has a responsibility to remain and do all he can to put things back together. Rinoa, meanwhile, has to deal with her newfound abilities and the side-effects they're causing despite her efforts to control her power. And were that not stress enough, President Loire has some news of his own that he has to break, which might be just enough to push Squall over the edge. Tensions are high, the pressure is on, and, despite it all, a threat they'd thought had been taken care of might be lurking just beneath the surface.

Jumpin’ on that Final Fantasy VIII hype-train I guess (not that anyone will read it, lol)

Read Chapter 1 here

Chapter 2: All the Possibilities 

Rinoa could tell by the light filtering into the room that it had to be late morning. Yet, despite this, she remained lying in bed for some time, the sheets tangling around her bare legs as her bed-shirt rode up around her stomach. They'd been up late the night before, this was true, but that was hardly reason for her to remain in bed despite being awake.

Truth be told, she wasn't sure what to do. Get up, get dressed, and go out, sure, but what then? After all that had happened, she knew it was impossible that she go back to her life as she'd had it before. Timber's independence was little more than a pipe dream as far as her involvement was concerned. While she'd like to return to what had been her priorities, everything she did now would be… tainted by what she was. It wouldn't be the Forest Owls that had liberated Timber, but Sorceress Rinoa.

Who even was that, such an identity? She had no idea.

Sighing, she finally sat up, her hair dropping down over her shoulders as she stared down at the sheets. The room was in was but a guest room, yet she found herself wondering if it'd be permanent. She'd been on her own for a while, sure, but as of then, she was… afraid to leave Squall. Of course there were other reasons that would inspire her to stay where he was, but there was a certain degree of… trapped fear that also left her feeling helpless.

Or maybe it was fear of herself that had her feeling that way. Pulling up her hand, she stared down at the familiar creases, supposing—as she had numerous times before—that she didn't feel any different. Not then. Not if she didn't push it.

But she knew that just the inclination to think about it, to find intention, and the power would start to rise within her. It was still all so new and foreign, the sensation still surprising her despite having called on her powers a few times already. By all rights, she didn't need to stay anywhere—she was powerful enough to go anywhere and be whoever she pleased.

Yet, it was that very thought that terrified her more than anything. She didn't want to be alone, or hated. Squall, her friends, they didn't care what she was, even if the rest of the world did. And they all lived in Garden.

She could find a place there too, couldn't she?

Maybe Squall could help her. There had to be something she could do.

Taking a deep breath, she pushed herself up off the bed, only for Angelo to rise from the floor and come panting over.

"Of course I can't stay in here all day," she murmured, reaching out and scratching her dog's ears. "You've got to go out." There were a few areas she could go, the training center namely. So long as she didn't pass by the metal doors, she'd be fine.

Getting to her feet, she quickly washed her face, brushed her hair and teeth, and changed. Lastly pulling on her boots, she peered once out the window at the sun-heavy sky before turning her attention to the door.

Ignoring her nerves, she told herself that it'd be like any other day, before she called to Angelo and stepped out into the hall.

It was quiet, no one in sight, and Rinoa was thankful for that. No, it wasn't as if the whole Garden could be that way, but at least in the close quarters of the hallway, she could maybe remain inconspicuous.

Keeping Angelo close, she headed down and into the main aisle, which lead down the jutting path toward the center of the garden. This was where she finally came across students, most of them focused on their destinations or standing around chatting in groups.

She didn't spare them even a little bit of her attention, hoping that if she pretended they weren't there, they'd do the same for her. She had no idea if it worked, but she convinced herself that no one had stared at her as she'd walked by. There was no reason, after all. She was just a guest taking her dog for a walk and a bathroom break.

Yeah, right…

Once she was out in the open—the garden's multiple floors open and towering up above her—she felt a little better. Things were busier, more people milling about and so it was easier to hide between. She made it successfully to the training center, where Angelo could do her business without fear of reprimand.

It was as they were walking out that the calling of her name startled her, causing her to turn toward the unfamiliar voice.

"Rinoa!" the woman called again, waving a hand as she did. Older, with dark hair, a white lab coat, and kind features. Rinoa had met the doctor before. Her name was Kadowaki, if she was remembering correctly.

"I was headed to your room to look for you," the woman explained, Rinoa offering up a small smile as greeting. "Edea and I were just talking about you in my office and I needed to stretch my legs some. She'd like to speak with you."

"Edea?" Rinoa asked, her heart sinking just a bit. After all, that could only mean sorceress things were on the horizon.

"That's what I said," the doctor replied, her tone equal amounts nice as it was strict. "With Commander Leonhart so busy today, we figured you'd be around."

Squall was busy? She hadn't even seen him yet. In fact, she'd just been considering where she might find him. But perhaps that would have to wait.

"What's he doing?" she asked, going along beside the doctor as they headed down the aisle way. Panting happily, Angelo trailed behind, sniffing nearly everything as she went.

"Official business I expect. Even with all that's happened lately, the Garden's got to keep running. And seeing as he's in charge now, he's the one that has to do it."

"Of course." Rinoa smiled, hoping the expression didn't look too tight. "I just didn't know, after everything, if Cid Kramer would come back and, you know, reclaim his position."

"I think Cid plans to retire someplace quiet with his wife." Dr. Kadowaki raised her eyebrows knowingly. "I'd have to say that they probably deserve it, don't you?"

"No doubt." They'd started Garden, after all, and no doubt struggled to make it a reality. Let alone all the distance and hardship they'd had to endure otherwise. Rinoa hoped that wasn't the trademark of a sorceress. She wanted to live a generally happy life, even if it wasn't headed in the direction she'd originally intended.

They were arriving at the med bay soon enough, Dr. Kadowaki announcing their arrival as they entered.

"Good morning, Rinoa," Edea greeted, rising from the chair she'd been sitting in beside the desk. "I hope I haven't called you away from anything important."

"Oh, no, it's fine," she assured. "I don't quite know what I could be doing in the first place."

Edea smiled, the expression soft and small. And maybe even a little sad. Dressed in black as she was, and so pale, she appeared delicate and frail, as well as a little shadowed in her mood. But perhaps that was justified.

"You'll find your place," she said. "Soon enough. We all do, one way or another."

Rinoa hoped she was right.

"You wanted to talk to me about something?" Rinoa asked, deciding to get to the point of all this with a short, steadying breath.

"We have many things to discuss, though I doubt it can all be tackled in one day." Gesturing back out of the med bay, she implored Rinoa to head out, the two side by side as they returned to the hall. They didn't go out into the open center of the garden, however, instead detouring to the side where the windows above the banister were open to the sea air. Leaning against a support pillar, Rinoa took in the breeze and waited for the inevitable.

"I'm not the sort to beat around the bush, least of all about subjects of this nature," Edea started a moment later, she too standing before the open windows. Where they were was quiet, little traffic going in and out of the infirmary, which was helpful. Certainly there were plenty of students recovering, but most weren't contained to Dr. Kadowaki's care. "And besides, this isn't a subject that should be avoided, for your sake and the sakes of others."

"Because I'm dangerous…" Rinoa murmured.

"You're only as dangerous as you allow yourself to be," Edea explained. "And, well, as dangerous as others can make you, in the case of Ultimecia." But that wasn't an issue anymore. "That isn't to say, however, that controlling your sorceress powers will be easy. Perhaps you don't feel all that different, but as time wears on, you'll come to be more aware of yourself. That's inevitable."

She paused, Rinoa staying quiet as she listened.

"You've inherited a great burden. Aside from my powers, you've also inherited Ultimecia's through me as well as Adel's. For all the sorceress history I know, that makes you one of the most powerful sorceresses to have ever existed. Once upon a time, sorceress power was spread thin, hidden within women in small doses. Never too thin, yet always subdued. But time has brought that power closer together, spurred by desire and greed. And now you've inherited the abilities of two of the most powerful, as well as mine, which was no small dose either."

"You became a sorceress when you were very young, didn't you?" Rinoa asked. "So then the sorceress you inherited your abilities from was also powerful?"

"Not as powerful as Adel or Ultimecia, but yes, she was. Unlike some, she'd kept her abilities hidden, as I'd planned to do. She'd intended to pass her powers onto her daughter, but the girl died before she was able, which left the woman desperate to find an heir. It's no easy task, after all. Only certain women can inherit a sorceress's powers, and, even then, how much of that power they can carry varies.

"I was worried, initially, when I learned of President Loire's plan—to have you inherit so much. Thankfully," she looked Rinoa up and down, "you seem to be handling it well."

"Is that… unusual?"

"It's hard to say. We don't have enough evidence one way or the other, but some women have been known to grow weaker as a result of inheriting sorceress powers, so even of those that can inherit such abilities, fewer still can handle large amounts. It would seem we were all very lucky in having you."

"You think so?" Rinoa dared to ask, trying to find any shred of light in all this.

Edea smiled again. "Of course. Without you, Ultimecia would still be at large, and perhaps even Adel. No one can deny that."

She had done some good, after all. She'd been a crucial part of the plan, even if she hadn't gotten there on purpose.

"There will be side-effects, however," Edea continued. Her words were somewhat chilled, and snapped Rinoa back to full attention. "Especially as a result of the sheer density of your abilities. It's hard to say what, exactly, but hyne's strength does not simply exist in silence.

"With me, it was depression, anxiety. Common side-effects that sorceresses have to deal with. The power that you have, that I did—it's naturally corrupting. That's why sorceresses without knights are at such high risk. An intimate support system is crucial to battling the darkness this power brings. Otherwise all the bad begins to take root—the loneliness, desperation, hurt. Heavy feelings with no cure. Enough to drive a woman to do things she'd never thought within the realm of possibility."

Enough to drive her to evil.

"But it was because I had Cid, and my children, that I was able to find balance. You too must seek this balance. With your knight, centrally, and your friends and personal endeavors otherwise. It will be hard, but you can't give up. You can't give in."

Reaching up, Rinoa gripped tightly at the rings hanging around her neck. A general sense of unease dropped down on top of her, leaving her feeling tense and anxious.

"Rinoa." Reaching out, Edea laid a gentle hand on her shoulder, which had her flicking her attention up. "Your powers are not a curse. They are a natural part of the world that we live in."

"Yet they come with so much… bad…" she said quietly.

Edea took a deep breath. "Yes, there is a lot of bloodshed in the history of sorceresses, but there have been good sorceresses too. Ultimecia's story is one that I don't know, but in the case of Adel, she led an isolated, lonely life, and so it is no surprise that she inevitably fell to her power's corruption. But you have many friends, Rinoa, and an optimistic outlook on the world. Do not lose that to your own self-doubt."

"But if there really are side-effects to me being…" She released a light sigh. "How am I to put that burden on my friends? They've already done so much for me…"

"And you have done much for the world," Edea pointed out. "Your own sacrifices in this cannot and should not be minimized. You served in a cause that was not your own, willingly, and took up a position you never asked for. Your friends know and understand that. Do not be afraid to be honest with them, because the more open you are with those who can and are willing to support you, the easier this whole transition will be."

Edea eyed her knowingly. "And that includes Squall."

Rinoa almost laughed. "I've been trying to get him to be more open with me the whole time we've known each other. I guess it'd be rather hypocritical to start holding myself back instead."

Edea offered up a small smile. "I think you two are good for each other. And while he isn't always open about sharing his feelings, I've seen the way he looks at you."

Rinoa felt her cheeks warm slightly.

"It takes a very special kind of person to go to the lengths he did for you. I would keep that in mind, when the world grows tired and difficult. Very few people have the privilege of being loved so much and so deeply."

Rinoa nearly choked. "You think he loves me?"

Her question actually had Edea laughing, albeit in a subdued manner. "Honey, he walked over international borders to a city he couldn't even be sure was there, went directly to a foreign government, and then to space, to save you, and then went up against one of the most technologically advanced political powers to save you again. I don't think there's much question."

"Well, when you put it that way…"

"How else would you put it?"

"I don't know." Rinoa shrugged helplessly. "I mean, it's Squall. He acts all broody and like he doesn't care about anyone else, but he always ends up doing the right thing whether he wants to or not. For him, 'duty' is just… habitual."

"I don't think the things he's done for you fall under what most would consider his professional duty," Edea pointed out. "And I think you know that too. What's really bothering you, Rinoa?"

She struggled for some moments, before ultimately giving in and slumping in defeat. "I don't want to be a burden," she said quietly. "Not on Squall or anyone else. I've always tried to make myself useful, but now there's just… so much that I don't know or understand. And now that I'm a sorceress, I don't know what that means I should be doing or…"

"It's overwhelming, I know," Edea comforted. "Looking at it on such a grand scale can be daunting. I learned that it was easier to start small. I know you're used to thinking of big ideas and what's going to make the biggest difference—your involvement with the Timber Owls is evidence enough of that—but taking a step back and starting somewhere small will give you the time and concentration to slowly begin answering those bigger questions."

Small?" Rinoa asked. Truth be told, she really wasn't used to thinking that way. She'd been raised by a general. Her mother had been a famous singer. She'd just defeated a powerful sorceress and been involved in all sorts of government upheavals. Even as a child, she'd made everything in her life an event. Down to her relationships. There was a reason she'd held so tightly and for so long to her summer fling with Seifer. It was after she'd realized her feelings for Squall, and how quietly they'd come about, that she'd understood just how foolish of a romantic she could be.

Yes, there'd been plenty of things between her and Squall that could be perceived as romantic from the outside, but having experienced them led her to view such occurrences… very differently. Maybe Squall saving her life and going out into space and breaking into the sorceress memorial would seem like great, romantic gestures to some people, but all she really remembered from those events was a sense of terror that was eventually followed by uneasy relief.

Squall was not romantic and though they'd shared a few quiet moments together since they'd met, he wasn't the type she'd have normally pursued. True, some of the things he'd said to her were "romantic"—even passionate—but he'd never said them for romance's sake. He'd said them because he'd meant them, and that had sobered her enough for her to realize just how silly of a girl she could be sometimes.

Not that being silly was a bad thing, but she couldn't avoid the life-altering things she'd gone through of late that had altered her outlook on and understanding of the world.

Which was why she felt then like she was liable to drown, because she was a person who had always made every decision swiftly and with confidence no matter the consequences, yet now she was left uncertain and more afraid than she'd ever been before. Afraid in a deep, coiling way that hollowed out her insides. It wasn't terror like when she'd been attacked in Deling, or when she'd thought she'd die in space. This felt so much heavier, and so much harder to find relief from.

"While it is a terrible truth, you must find a way to start a new life," Edea went on. "Word travels. It's already well-known that you are a sorceress. Hiding yourself and your powers in secrecy is not an option for you, unless you were to remove yourself to some remote location. Which you don't seem the type to want to do."

"No, I don't want to be alone," she admitted.

"Then what do you want?"

A question that should be easy to answer. "I want…" she trailed her finger over the banister. "I want to help people. And I don't want people to be afraid of me."

"Then let's think of a way you can help people," Edea said simply. "While at the same time allowing them to see that you're not something worthy of fear."

Rinoa cast her a questioning look.

"Come," Edea said, taking a step back toward the infirmary. "The world is in a sad state at the moment. Dr. Kadowaki is in over her head already, and we haven't even set out from FH. I doubt she would object to an assistant who is able to help patients without the aid of medicine or para-magic."

Rinoa stared at her for a long moment, considering, before finding her resolve. It was certainly a place to start and something she could do while still staying close to people she trusted. If she could be helpful, then that would be more than enough for the time being.

Following Edea back to the infirmary, she was mostly quiet as the former sorceress presented the idea to the doctor. Who seemed initially hesitant, if only because she'd "never had much use for untrained assistants in the past," but the whole "being able to heal without strings" bit seemed to sell her on the idea.

Rinoa admitted that she was still learning how to use her sorceress powers—that the only time she had any kind of real power was when she gave up her self-control—but that she was going to do her best to be better and that she'd be more than happy to focus on healing magic first.

An agreement was eventually reached, in which Edea agreed to teach Rinoa in the mornings in the use of her abilities, before she'd come in the afternoons to the infirmary to "help" Dr. Kadowaki in any way she could. It was a tentative, shaky sort of deal that depended on a lot of variables Rinoa wasn't sure she could control, but it was a start.

With the promise to see one another the following morning, Edea let her go. And so Rinoa headed back out, Angelo at her side. She wasn't entirely sure where she should go for the remainder of her free day, and was about to go in the direction of the library when familiar, spiky blonde hair flitted between a group of students, only for Zell's smiling, tattooed face to come into view.

He was waving rather exuberantly, which pulled a smile to Rinoa's own face as she came to a stop and waited.

"I was lookin' for you!" he said as he came to a huffing stop in front of her.

Angelo barked up at him, tail wagging.

"You're all dressed up," Rinoa pointed out, not used to seeing Zell (or any of her friends) in their SeeD uniforms.

"Oh, yeah," he looked quickly down at himself. "Had a meeting with the commander this morning, so I figured I better look the part."

"The 'commander?'" Rinoa asked, clearly amused. Not that Zell really caught on to such.

"Squall, you know?" he said, before continuing. "Guess it's his full-time job now. Not that I'm surprised—most everyone I've talked to is really excited about him taking over. I mean, I always knew he was popular, but—"

"Squall was popular? Before?"

"Well, ya know, in that 'wow, isn't he so cool and great' kind of way."

"Ah, right." Not that Rinoa was surprised. She supposed Squall's image did have a certain kind of allure to it, though she was doubting he'd ever initiated it intentionally. "What was your meeting about?" she went on.

"Oh, ah…" Zell shrugged and rubbed the back of his neck. "You know, SeeD stuff. I'm sure he'll talk to you about it later. Oh, hey, you wanna go to lunch?"

"It's barely eleven-thirty, Zell…"

"I know! If we don't hurry, all the hotdogs in the cafeteria are gonna be gone!"

Laughing, she ultimately agreed to join him, the two heading off in the direction of the cafeteria while Angelo followed dutifully behind. Truth be told, Rinoa was relieved to be with Zell. Not only was he good for conversation, but she felt more… secure with him there. Like the way people watched her and stared didn't matter so long as she was with him. He was a SeeD and her friend, sorceress powers seemingly irrelevant. At least for a little while.

"Squall was up pretty early this morning then, huh?" she asked as they walked.

"Oh yeah. From what Xu said, he's been up there with Cid all morning. Working, I guess, though I don't know on what exactly. All kinds of official stuff I'd imagine—stuff that's way above my paygrade, that's for sure."

"You think?"

"Oh yeah! Don't get me wrong, I like being a SeeD, but I wouldn't want to be Commander. I mean, the world's a giant mess right now, you know? I bet there's a ton that Squall has to take care of. He's kind of a big deal these days."

"I… suppose he is…" Which she knew, sort of. But it was also a bit like whiplash. So much had happened since she'd met Squall and all her Garden friends. It was hard to believe that only six months before, she'd been asking Squall for a dance the night of his promotion. Only six months and he'd gone from rookie SeeD to Commander. And she'd gone from resistance fighter to sorceress. It felt both like it'd taken only days, but also years and years.

Or perhaps she was still recovering from their adventures through time.

"Crazy, everything that's happened," Zell continued. "The whole world is upside-down, it seems like."

"It feels a bit like a dream, doesn't it?" she asked. "Who knew this was where we'd end up…"

"Sounds like you guys are gettin' awfully deep over here." Turning to the right, both Zell and Rinoa watched as Irvine came up beside them, that lackadaisical smile in place as he tipped his hat in their direction. "Headed to the cafeteria? Mind if I join you?"

"Please do!" Rinoa said happily, a sense of normalcy finally beginning to settle over her. No matter what the rest of the world eventually did or said, her friends still looked at her the same way.

"Squall doesn't have you busy?" Zell asked, the three of them heading through the large doorway leading into the cafeteria.

"Nah. Not yet anyway. Said he's gonna push through the papers to make me an official SeeD. I expect he'll have plenty for me to do after that."

"So you're staying here?" Rinoa asked.

"That's the plan! Unless Galbadia has something to say about it, but Squall pretty much told me he'd make it happen one way or another."

"And you believe he can do that?"

Irvine cocked an eyebrow at her. "I think Squall can pretty much do whatever he wants at the moment," he replied as the three of them lined up for food. "Galbadia is all sorts of messed up. Esthar was practically decimated by the Lunar Cry. Balamb Garden is the only force to be reckoned with at the moment. Everybody else is no doubt running around like chickens with their heads cut off."

"They won't stay like that for long," Rinoa said as she took a tray and followed Zell along for food.

"Maybe not, but I don't really think that's the point," Irvine replied.

Rinoa cast him a curious look. "The point?"

"Everyone's still waiting to see what Balamb Garden is gonna do," he reasoned. "That's the point."

It wasn't a very clear point, even if it was true. But she tried to look on the positive side besides.

"It's nice that you all have so much faith in Squall." Mostly because she knew he was probably having all sorts of doubts. It was likely for the best that he was busy working—it'd give him less time to sit and stew.

"That's how it's always been," Irvine said, once they'd gotten their food and were walking off in search of a table (Zell had managed to snag two hotdogs, much to his obvious glee). "Even back in the orphanage."

Zell had already taken a bite as they sat down around a small table. Chewing and swallowing, he gave Irvine a rather dubious look. "You sure do remember a lot about all that."

"Well, unlike you idiots, I remove my GFs when we're not looking to be in any fights." He stared at Zell as if he knew better, which had the other boy appearing quite sheepish as he stared down at his lunch.

Poking some at her salad, Rinoa waited for Irvine to continue.

"Squall never had much to do with us back in the orphanage either," he went on. "Always off by himself moping about Sis. But when Seifer had caused too much of a ruckus and Zell was crying and Quistis was doing her best to try and calm everyone down, Squall would always step in and put Seifer back in his place. Then he'd tell the rest of us that we were all stupid and that we'd better straighten up before Sis came back."

"How inspiring," Rinoa joked.

"Well, he was certainly direct," Irvine replied. "But the point is, he was always… I dunno, on a different wavelength than the rest of us. While we were all setting off fireworks, he was contemplating his place in the universe or something. Point is, when Squall said something, everybody listened. And I guess that's why I trust him now, sort of. He was always doing his best back then and I have faith he's doing his best now."

"I just figure Squall's a decent guy," Zell interjected. "He's gotten us this far. And, like… he's a lot braver than I am. And he's always jumping in even when it's dangerous. I guess I aspire to be like that."

"You guys should tell him these things," Rinoa said. "I'm sure he'd appreciate it."

"Or he'd just give us that uncomfortable, constipated look he gets anytime anyone tries to be nice to him," Irvine pointed out, which had Zell barking out a laugh.

"Well…" Rinoa shrugged. "You're probably right. But that doesn't mean you shouldn't do it anyway."

"Aye, aye, ma'am." Irvine mock-saluted her, so she cast him a short glare.

"Man, thinkin' about the orphanage just reminds me that I still have to talk to my ma and pa about that whole thing," Zell said, staring down at his hotdog rather forlornly. "I hope they're not upset that I know the truth…"

"They'll probably be more upset when they find out why you forgot in the first place," Irvine muttered.

It was Zell's turn to glare.

"If you guys were all orphans together, then you probably didn't know your birth parents, right?" Rinoa asked, finding herself suddenly curious. While she hadn't grown up in an orphanage, her story wasn't so different in some respects. She'd lost her mother at a young age, after all, and her father had never exactly been the "parental" type.

"I've got no idea about my birth parents," Zell admitted.

"Your parents were killed in a boat accident," Irvine supplied easily enough, which had Zell sighing in exasperation. "What?! You used to cry about it all the time! You were one of the last ones to show up at the orphanage and one of the first ones to get adopted. We were all war babies and then there was Zell in his rich-kid suspenders always crying about wanting his mum."

"You're the worst," Zell said petulantly.

"What about your parents?" Rinoa asked.

"My parents were Galbadian soldiers, both. Killed in combat. I was livin' with my grandma when it happened, but she was old and didn't last much longer. So I was shipped off! That's why I went to Galbadia Garden. Guess I thought it made me closer to my parents or something."

"Guess you just know everything then, huh?" Zell asked rather sarcastically.

"Sure do!" Irvine agreed. "Let's see… Quistis' parents were killed like Elle's parents. Esthar wanted all the little girls in town and they refused, so, you know, dead. Selphie… Selphie's parents were weird. They were, like, Estharian scientists or something that deserted and then they, like, died in an experiment. But they had Selphie with them so when someone investigated the sight, they found her? Something like that. Seifer's dad died in combat like mine, and I guess his mom killed herself afterward."

"Okay, now hold on," Zell cut in. "There's no way you just 'remember' all this stuff."

"Sure I do."

"Irvine…" Rinoa said his name warningly, finding that she quite agreed with Zell.

Irvine sighed. "Yeah, okay. So I thought it was stupid that none of you guys remembered anything, so when the Garden was docked at FH going through repairs, I snuck into the records room and looked you guys up—just so I could verify that you were all crazy and I was the only sane one."

"Irvine!" Rinoa didn't know whether she should be horrified by his blatant disregard for privacy or impressed. Zell, meanwhile, could only gape.

"You could be expelled for that!" Zell eventually hissed out.

"Expelled from a school I don't go to?" Irvine pointed out.

"I'm gonna tell Squall not to make you a SeeD and send you back to where you came from," Zell decided. "You're a bad example."

"You should be grateful! Squall's file was the best one!" He waggled his eyebrows teasingly, while Rinoa found herself quickly brought up into seriousness.

"Don't say anything about it," she said, despite wanting desperately to hear what he had to say. "You know how he is about keeping his business his own. If he wanted anyone to know, he'd say something."

"Except that he probably doesn't know a thing about it," Irvine said, lowering his voice as if he were spilling some great secret. "Squall was the only one of us back at the orphanage that didn't know a thing about his parents. We'd all talk about ours and then we'd ask him and he'd always say 'I don't know anything about my parents,' then he'd call us stupid and leave."

"Then there's nothing to tell," Zell said simply.

"Except that his file spelled out a rather different story."

"Irvine…" Rinoa said warningly.

"Look, normally I'd say you're right and I should keep it to myself, but…" Taking a deep breath, he looked suddenly solemn as he leaned forward, as if trying to be a bit more discreet. "I think it might be kind of a big deal."

"What do you mean?" Zell asked, looking both cautious and interested.

"Well, his file said—"

"Irvine!" Rinoa snapped.

"Once I tell you, you'll understand," he hissed back before continuing. "His file said that he showed up to the orphanage as a baby with Ellone. Like, they came as a package deal. Almost like they were…" He raised his eyebrows expectantly.

"They were?" But Zell wasn't getting it.

Rinoa, meanwhile, was more than capable of putting the pieces together, a sort of chill overcoming her person at Irvine's implication.

"Like they were actual siblings," Irvine finished.

"Yeah, but we all know that Sis is Ellone and she was raised by—OH MY GOD!" Zell was finally there, his eyes bugged wide. Irvine shushed him, while Rinoa felt her stomach turn with nausea.

"Exactly," Irvine hissed out. "Raine and President Laguna were married some time before he left to go after Ellone. So then he finds her, sends her back to Winhill, and shortly after that, Ellone shows up at the orphanage with baby Squall."

"So that means Squall is President La—"

"We need to stop talking about this right now," Rinoa cut in, her severe tone silencing them both. "If someone overhears, it'll be really bad."

"Yeah, but—"

"I'm serious," she said, interrupting Zell once again. "If what you're saying is true, then that means the Commander of Balamb Garden has an intimate connection with the president of Esthar, one that he's been covering up."

"Yeah, but he doesn't know," Irvine pointed out.

"That's not how the rest of the world will see it," she replied swiftly, which seemed to pacify them both. "Neither of you are to ever bring this up again. Especially to Squall."

"But… doesn't he have the right to know?" Zell asked quietly. "Like, if it's true, then that means he's not an orphan at all…"

Rinoa took a deep breath in through her nose. "I'll talk to him," she decided. "But that still means you guys need to keep your mouths shut about it," she reiterated. "Don't say another word."

Though he didn't look too happy about it, Irvine nodded, which was followed by the same agreement from Zell.

Finding that she'd quite lost her appetite, Rinoa abandoned her meal for the boys to take care of and instead headed directly out the same way they'd come in. Angelo followed at her heels and she noted as she left that there was a sign near the door that specifically said no animals were allowed in the cafeteria.

Yet no one had stopped her. Interesting.

Ignoring the stray thought, she instead put her focus entirely on Squall. Whether he liked it or not, it looked like his future career was going to be one of a political nature. And as someone who had grown up inside her father's politics, Rinoa knew firsthand how quickly scandal of this nature could hurt someone's interests. There was a reason her own father had been so against her joining the Timber Resistance, her own safety aside.

Fact was, if Irvine could figure this out, then the reporters no doubt intent on digging up whatever they could find could do the same thing. And while Squall's reputation was, of course, something she wanted to preserve and protect, she also didn't want him to be blindsided by such personal information in some sort of public place or other.

He needed to know. And he needed to know as soon as possible so as to figure out how best to deal with it before it became the next big headline.

Did President Loire know, she wondered? He had to. Certainly Ellone had told him. Besides, hadn't he wanted to talk to Squall about something following their battle with Ultimecia? This had to be it.

Determined, Rinoa headed directly around to the front of the Garden, intent on the elevator that would lead her up to Squall's office. Ignoring any attention she gathered on the way, she skipped up the stairs and perhaps pushed the up button a little too severely. She found herself rather impatient as she waited, the elevator doors opening some thirty seconds later to a set of some dozen students leaving their morning classes. Standing in place as they exited, Rinoa refused to meet their gazes as they looked her up and down, some of them warily while others actively skirted back as if trying to get as far away from her as possible.

Stepping in, Rinoa found that she and Angelo were quite alone as she directed the elevator to the third floor. Pushing back on her own anxiety and stress, she kept Squall in the forefront of her thoughts. She had to stay focused on him, for his sake. Her own problems could wait.

She was determined that they would wait.

The elevator dinged as she arrived, the doors opening to reveal the third floor office.

What she had not expected—though perhaps she should have anticipated—was to find that Squall was quite surrounded by other people as she rounded the lift to where his desk was situated before the grand windows sitting behind.

Both Xu and Quistis were there, as was Cid, though he was standing some off to the side. Squall was behind his desk, diligently writing while Xu hovered some over his shoulder. Quistis appeared to be waiting, a stack of files held in her arms. As if she were waiting in line to get a word in with their commander.

Bracing herself, Rinoa ignored any nerves that wanted to have her turning to leave. Instead, she came up beside Quistis, clearly taking the other woman by surprise.

"Rinoa!" she said, though her voice remained quite subdued, failing to draw Squall's attention. He was still quite focused on writing whatever it was that Xu was muttering to him about.

"Looks like you're all quite busy up here," she said, hands folded in front of her as she watched Squall.

"Uh, yes, quite," Quistis agreed. "It seems like we've been working all morning and have barely gotten anything done."

Rinoa cast her a sympathetic look.

"Did you need something?" Quistis asked a second later.

"I need to talk to Squall," she said simply, which had Quistis looking at her with some fragment of disapproval.

"He's very busy, Rinoa…"

"It's a matter of some personal urgency," she replied, not wholly surprised that Quistis would think she'd come on behalf of some frivolous matter. Sure, she and Quistis were friends, but they didn't get on quite so well as Rinoa did with the others. She was sure Quistis respected her, but also likely thought she could be quite silly at times, at least in comparison to Quistis herself.

Rinoa sometimes wondered if there was some resentment on Quistis' side as well. She'd claimed her feelings for Squall had turned out to be entirely sisterly, but Rinoa had her doubts.

"Personal urgency?" Quistis asked curiously, as if expecting Rinoa to elaborate. When she did not, she became only more curious.

Finally, Squall looked up from his work. He appeared rather annoyed, but upon catching sight of Rinoa, his demeanor lightened considerably. As if a giant weight had been abruptly lifted from his shoulders. She smiled, ignoring the exasperated sigh that left Xu as she approached Squall's desk.

"It's about time you took a lunch break, isn't it?" she asked.

Xu looked like she might object, but Rinoa cast her a severe look that did quite well in shutting the other woman's mouth before a single word could escape.

"Lunch, right," Squall said, shoulders dropping as that weight began to leak back onto his person.

"Thirty minutes," Rinoa baited.

"Twenty," Xu said stiffly.

Rinoa's stink-eye turned to a glare as she looked back at the other woman. "Twenty-five."

"I think I could use a half-hour break," Squall decided, sufficiently settling the matter.

"You could look over these stats as you eat?" Quistis asked, holding up her stack of documents.

"No, I need to speak with Squall," Rinoa cut in. "Alone."

She hadn't meant to sound so strict, but clearly her tone had the desired effect. Xu huffed, but nodded, while Quistis smiled at her in surrender before setting the files down on Squall's desk.

"I'll be back in thirty minutes," Xu said simply, before she headed around Squall's desk and marched toward the elevator. Quistis waved to them in a friendly manner before turning to do the same, which left Squall to release a heavy sigh as he sank back in his chair.

"Very good," Cid said as he passed closely by Rinoa. He smiled as he did, patting her lightly on the arm before he followed the other two out.

Rinoa turned to watch them, somewhat comforted by Cid's encouragement. It wasn't until she was certain she and Squall were alone that she set her attention back on her Commander.

"I'm not really that hungry, truth be told," he said, which inspired Rinoa to cast him a small smile.

"Busy, huh?" she asked.

Leaning forward on the desk, he merely groaned as he leaned his elbows on some papers and covered his face with his hands.

Which had Rinoa feeling rather bad about what she knew she had to tell him.

"It's been a long day so far," he said after a moment.

"Not allowed any vacation time after the battle?" Rinoa half-joked.

"Apparently the world can't afford me any," he said, lowering his hands to his desk as he looked up at her. They were quiet for a moment, Rinoa still wearing a small smile as Squall seemingly searched her expression. Eventually, his cheeks pinked before he side-tracked his gaze elsewhere.

"You're not here to talk about last night, are you?" he asked.

Which had Rinoa furrowing her brows curiously. "Last night?" she asked, before realizing what he was talking about. The party, of course. When he'd finally gotten up the courage to kiss her. And while Rinoa was thrilled that he'd decided to make a move, she couldn't say there was much that needed talking about. At least, not from her side of things. She'd kissed plenty of boys—not that Squall needed to know that. But she supposed she wasn't surprised that he was so… nervous about it.

While he'd never said as much, Rinoa was pretty certain the kiss they'd shared the night before had been his first one. SeeD—especially anti-social ones—weren't exactly encouraged to find romantic partners, or so Seifer had once told her.

"No, I'm not here to talk to you about 'last night,'" she said teasingly, which earned her a glare from Squall. "Last night was fine."

"Fine?" he asked. "That's—Just fine?"

"Squall, it was a kiss, not the world-cup of tonsil tag," she said simply, which only irritated him more (as she'd intended). Shoving some of his papers aside, she sat back on top of his desk and did her best to look pretty.

He just leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest in disapproval. "What do you want?"

She batted her eyelashes. "Tell me I'm beautiful."

"No."

She flicked her hair over her shoulder. "Tell me I'm perfect."

"I try not to lie when I can help it."

"Tell me you love me."

He scrunched up his nose, clearly made uncomfortable by that one. "I—You—"

"Tell me," she insisted.

"No."

She frowned. "Rude."

"Rinoa…" he said, sounding both exasperated and a little—just a little—amused. If Squall could sound amused at all, but Rinoa fancied she was getting pretty good at differentiating the tones of his voice.

"Fine," she gave in, slumping as she returned to the serious topic at hand. "But you're not going to like what I have to say."

"I haven't liked what anyone's had to say all morning, so it's all just more of the same."

Gritting her teeth, Rinoa stood and paced a bit before his desk. "But you're really not going to like this."

Which finally seemed to really get his attention. "Rinoa," he said, frowning, "what's going on?"

Snapping her fingers, Rinoa tried to figure out the best place to start. "So I was talking with Zell and Irvine just a little bit ago. And we were talking about how you all grew up in the orphanage together."

"Yeah?"

"And Irvine admitted that when he realized none of you guys remembered, he snuck into the Balamb Garden record room and looked up everyone's files, just to verify that he was right, I guess."

Squall's expression darkened. "He did what?"

"But that's not what I have to tell you," she said quickly. "Forget Irvine, he's not important."

Squall growled, but stayed quiet.

"So Irvine was looking at your file, because, obviously, why wouldn't he. And I guess he found some information that I think you should probably know." She cringed, but Squall didn't appear the least bit bothered.

"Rinoa, I know what's in my own file," he said simply.

"You do?"

"Yeah. Though I don't know what you, or Irvine, think is in it that could possibly warrant this conversation."

Which told Rinoa that he likely didn't know.

"Look, Squall, it isn't so much what's in your file as what it means," she explained, which perplexed him further. "So… Okay. So Irvine was telling Zell and I all this information that he shouldn't have been, basically about everyone's parents and how they all died, right?"

"Okay. So I'm definitely going to talk to him about Balamb privacy protocols," Squall said tightly. "But what does that have to do with me? There's no information about my parents in my file. I don't even know who my parents are or how they died."

"Right, well, that's the thing," Rinoa said slowly. "Irvine's says that, in your file, it says you showed up as a baby to Edea's orphanage. That you and Ellone came together."

"Yeah," he agreed. "We arrived on the same day. What's your point?"

"No, you don't understand," she said. Releasing a light sigh of her own, she came around to his side of the desk and sat back on the edge. "Your file didn't say you arrived on the same day, it said you arrived with her."

"Yeah," he agreed again. "We were probably on the same ship."

"No, Squall." Reaching up, Rinoa pinched the bridge of her nose between her fingers. "Irvine said it was like you two arrived together, like a 'package deal.' Like you both came from the same place."

A statement that had Squall watching her with growing suspicion. "Okay…"

"So…?" Rinoa was kind of hoping that he'd figure it out himself, but she wasn't surprised that he clearly wasn't getting that far. "So if President Loire sent Ellone back to Winhill, only for Raine to die and her to get shipped off to Edea's orphanage with you, what do you think that means?"

He narrowed his eyes, Rinoa practically able to see the way the gears of his brain were turning.

"It means I was born in Winhill," he said. And then said nothing more.

"Squall…"

"That's all that it means," he said, this time sounding a bit defensive. Turning away from her, he took a breath that ended on a somewhat shaky note, before he started rifling through the papers on his desk.

"That's not all…" Rinoa said quietly.

"Look," he said, slamming his hands somewhat harshly down upon the desk. "I don't have the time to be thinking about this right now. I'm going to be lucky if I even get any sleep tonight. I can't… add anything else to my list of stuff to deal with."

"I know," Rinoa said, swallowing hard as she did. "I'm just thought you should know, in case it comes up."

He looked back up at her. "'Comes up?' How is this going to 'come up' at all?"

"If Irvine can figure it out, then other people can too," she replied.

"He looked through my private information," Squall pointed out.

"But it's information that might be elsewhere too," she replied. "In Winhill, in records somewhere else. People are going to be digging up as much information about you as they can get, be it in support of you or because they're trying to hurt you. And if someone figures this out and thinks you're keeping it from people on purpose—"

"Keeping it—Why would I be keeping anything from people?"

"Because you're the commander of Garden and Laguna is the president of Esthar," she said straight, feeling somewhat bad at how he flinched away from her words. "We've been working quite closely with Esthar of late. If people find out about this, then—"

"You don't even know if it's true," Squall countered. "It's probably not."

"Squall!"

"That's just not how it works, okay?!" he said, voice a little louder as he pushed back from his desk and practically threw himself into standing. "You don't grow up an orphan your whole life and then find out—He's the president of Esthar, Rinoa. It's just not true."

"You don't know that. At the very least, you need to make sure."

"Make sure?!" He gaped. "What am I supposed to do, just call him up and ask?"

"Yes!"

"No! I can't do that! He's—No!"

"Then ask Ellone."

"No. No! I'm not doing it."

"And what about when someone finds out and asks you about it. What're you gonna do then?"

"No one's going to find out, because there's nothing to find out!"

Rinoa huffed. "Someone will find out. They always do. Trust me, I've grown up in this sort of world. And if you don't deal with this now, you'll have to deal with it later. Which will only make it that much worse."

"There's nothing to deal with, Rinoa."

Pursing her lips, Rinoa stared at him as he stared at her for some seconds, before she finally tore her gaze away. "Fine." Pushing herself off the desk, she turned away. "But don't say I didn't try to warn you." She was about to walk off, back to the elevator, and it was only the sound of Squall's growl that had her turning back his way.

"You don't understand!" he snapped. "You can't just waltz up here and say something like that without any proof!"

"Gossip columns don't need proof, Squall!"

"Well I do!" he yelled, which had Rinoa flinching back in surprise. Sure, she and Squall argued plenty, but he'd never yelled at her before. Raised his voice, sure, but never to this extent.

He seemed to realize as much as well, his own hand coming up to sift through his hair as he took a few deep breaths to calm himself.

"You don't get it," he said quietly. "You know who your parents are, even if your mother is gone. I made peace a long time ago with the fact that I'd never know who my parents were or what happened to them or why I ended up… alone. I'm not about to… open up that kind of… I'm not about to get back into that because of some assumption that Irvine made based on information that might or might not be right."

"It's still worth looking into," Rinoa reasoned.

"No, it's not," he said, sounding almost desperate as he looked at her. "It's not worth—It's not…" It was like he couldn't even say it, like there was something inside of him physically pulling back on his words.

"Squall…?"

"It's not worth the disappointment," he finally said, the words a little rushed and far too bloated with everything else he wasn't saying. "Can you go now? I need—I need to be alone for a few minutes."

Opening her mouth, Rinoa wanted to say something, but found that she didn't know what there was to say. Instead, she settled for nodding, before wavering just a second longer in place before turning and walking herself out.

She turned to look at him just as she was about to round the lift shaft, but he was facing away. He was staring out the windows, his back stiff and his person unreadable.

Despite knowing that he'd had to know, Rinoa found herself feeling abruptly guilty over the whole thing.

[dryandsweet]

Coffee & Sympathy (Berena)

Before they become the world to each other, Bernie and Serena are a world unto themselves. (Also on Ao3)

For @santahanssen for @berenasecretsanta 2018 who asked for ‘coffee dates & lingering hugs.’

Bernie took Serena up on her offer of a coffee and a chat early on. Bernie wasn’t exactly swimming in offers of friendship and here was Serena going out of her way to make Bernie feel welcome.  She’d have been a fool to lock herself away in misery for its own sake.

Serena suggested meeting up away from the hospital to free them from the awkwardness of prying colleagues. The walls have ears and they talk. Bernie didn’t want any more talk if she could avoid it.

Serena bought Bernie coffee at this little place a few blocks away from the hospital. The mugs were large and sat heavy in both hands; coffee filled them to the brim.  Long minutes passed where all they did was drink and people watch. Semi-familiar faces, some from other hospitals, some former patients; lots of university students lumbering through, half-dead and dazed. The typical haunt for anybody subsisting on caffeine and a vague sense of purpose.

“Tell me about you,” prompted Serena. Bernie resisted her natural tendency to redirect.  She wanted to befriend Serena, not frustrate her into indifference.

“What haven’t you heard?” According to Mo Effanga there was all manner of rumor circulating Holby already. Bernie was a loveless, self-aggrandizing narcissist or a decorated officer tragically cut down in the prime of her military career. The truth was altogether more ordinary than either extreme.

“I want to hear your story from you, not the tittle-tattle from the grapevine.” Serena’s foot nudged Bernie’s under the table, reminding Bernie this was a friendly chat, not an interrogation.  Serena wasn’t her solicitor asking for the intimate details of her infidelity, pricking her with her weaknesses. Her intentions were kinder than that.

“Former army medic out of RAMC, Major. Married for twenty-five years. Two kids I hardly see. Blown up by an IED a few months ago. Did a number on my back.”

“Way to bury the lede.” This startled a laugh out of Bernie though there was nothing much to laugh about. She supposed most people would have led with getting blown up.

“It was. It was frightening. I try not to talk about it if I don’t have to.”

“So we won’t talk about it. Tell me about your kids.”  Serena glossed neatly over that conversational hiccup and Bernie followed her. Keep calm, carry on, and so they did.

“Cameron, 26. Charlotte, 21. Cameron’s still trying to figure out his future. Last I heard he was backpacking in Australia.  Charlotte is at university, reading law last I heard. Not sure if that’s changed. We haven’t had a chance to catch each other up on future plans.” The house was tense when Bernie first came back. Once they were certain Bernie would survive, they were all reminded that they scarcely knew each other. Then, the silence crept in.

“Too much uncertainty in the air?”

“You could say that.” Bernie took a noisy sip of coffee. It was good stuff. Far better than anything Pulses had to offer.  Were it closer to work, she might come here more often.  “Tell me about you?”

“Divorced. One difficult daughter, Elinor, and a wonderful if somewhat challenging nephew, Jason. Elinor is studying drama and Jason is a porter here at Holby. You already know what I do.  There’s not much to say about me.” False modesty was a poor color on Serena.

“I don’t believe that.”

“I like red wine and old movies and moonlit walks on the beach, if you know somebody who might be interested in such a thing.”

“I prefer white wine.”

Serena held her heart. “Oof, hold off a couple of dates before you stab me in the back, why don’t you?”

“Thought I’d be better rip the plaster right off. Wouldn’t want to get your hopes up.”

“Too late for that. Somehow, contrary to years of romantic and platonic experience, that wasn’t a deal breaker. I must like you.”

Bernie smiled. Serena smiled. There was a great deal of that going around today.

“I have a suggestion. Let's play Three Truths and a Lie." “What for?” “So I can get to know you better without resorting to shoving bamboo shoots under your fingernails to get you to talk.”  Bernie was anything but the easiest person to get to know where personal lives were concerned. She was willing to give it a shot. “Okay. Do you want me to go first?” “Please do.”

Bernie picked three facts out of the air and an obvious lie. This wasn’t one of the games she’d excelled at in her youth. “I have two children, I was in the army, I had an affair, and I'm afraid of heights.” “Should I have specified truths I don't already know?” Everybody knew Bernie’s business thanks to her nervous hands mistyping Dom’s email address. Her mistake. “I’ll work my way up to it.” “Fine by me. I assume you aren't afraid of heights.” “I'm not. I tend to be steady at any altitude.” “Likewise. Though if you ask me to climb a mountain there'd better be an above average vino waiting at the summit to make it worth my while.” “Duly noted.” She waited for Serena take her turn. "Three truths and a lie. Hmm." Serena tapped her jaw till a smile stole across her lips. She'd thought of something.  "My older sister was adopted out before I was born, I wanted to be a professional dancer growing up, my father was an accountant, and I always wanted more children but never found the time.”  There was enough gossip fodder about Serena to fill a dossier. Bernie had heard some things, but stopped listening fairly quickly when someone began to fill her in on Serena’s late mother.  Some topics were too personal to hear from a stranger. “Let's see. Those all sound likely enough. You have an MBA, could be your father inspired you.” “Could be.” “Any chance of a hint?” “None at all. Working it out is part of the fun.” “Could be your dad was an accountant so I'll say 'true' on that.  I always wanted more children in theory but in reality I wanted to advance my career more. I scarcely made time for Cameron and Charlotte before dashing back to theater. I am going to say 'true' again. You mentioned your nephew Jason. Could be he was your sister's child. Or he could be from a different sibling, not necessarily one who was adopted. We'll leave that one for the time being. You wanted to be a professional dancer. That one’s out of left field. You're graceful in the theater.” "I'll take that." “But you don't move like a dancer.” Bernie had occasion to meet many dancers in her travels and there was a difference, not matter what style they were trained in, in how a dancer moved, whether they were dancing or not.  Serena had her own flowing manner, but it wasn’t that of a dancer. “Were I a tiny bit less confident, I'd be offended.”

Bernie tapped a finger on the back of Serena’s hand.  "You have every reason to be confident, dancer or not. You have attributes most dancers would kill for.” “Are you flirting with me?” “Will that get me out the dog house?” Serena laughed, and Bernie dipped into her coffee to hide how Serena’s throaty laughter sent a ripple through her.  “I think it just might,” she said. “Then I'll keep going.” Bernie had a way with people she hadn’t noticed till she took up with Alex this past year. Men responded to it, but women, some women went molten for it. She wasn’t ready to examine how much she wanted Serena to be one of them.  “Was I right?” “You were bang on the nose. My father was an accountant and he inspired me to attend Harvard for my MBA. Jason is my half-sister Marjorie's son. We never met.  I wanted more children but I did not want them with my ex-husband. Our marriage was unstable right out the gate and I don't believe in having multiple children to hold bad relationships together. I never found anybody else worth having a family with. Elinor is enough.” “No aspirations to professional dance?” “I did take ballet classes as a little girl but I was a touch too clumsy and my proportions were never ideal, as I heard often. I was fine because I tried but I wasn't anything special and I quit as soon as I was allowed. I was, however, something of a marvel on a stripper pole back in uni to hear my friend Sîan tell it. Serena Ballerina, she called me.” “Ding dong, I'd pay for that show.” Serena short-circuited Bernie’s instinctive mortification response with a conspiratorial whisper. “Catch me at Albie's after a couple of bottles and you'll see more than that.”  Serena lightly nudged her ankle. “Your go again.” “I dance a mean waltz, I can operate an armored tank, I speak German conversantly, and I don't regret my upcoming divorce.”

Serena eyed Bernie up, no doubt seeking justification of one possibility over the other. Bernie prided, and derided, herself on being unreadable.

“Here’s what I think: I buy the tank as a fact. I can just picture you forging across a battlefield in one.” “Dare I ask what you think I got up to out there?” “Lots of heroism, I expect. Dirt on your face, windswept hair, rippling muscles. Staring stoically toward the horizon. Am I getting warm?” “It wasn't anything that romantic, or remotely that sexy.” “I know. But, you're built to be a romantic hero. It's the cheekbones.” Bernie snorted. “Bite your tongue.” “I’m not the only one thinking it. You should hear how the juniors sigh over you.” “My CV maybe.” “That isn't all. I admit I keep expecting to see ‘I heart Major Wolfe’ scribbled on the walls of the ladies.” “Go on.” “I'll never tell.” Serena smirked.  “Operate a tank, yes. Dance a mean waltz? You have a sort of grace about you, don’t you?” “Do I?” Serena looked her over once more, taking her time to inspect Bernie’s hands and arms, lingering at the set of her shoulders and the column of her throat. Bernie softly cleared her throat and Serena’s eyes jerked back to her face. “I’m going to say yes to the waltz. And it’s obvious to me that divorce is the right decision for you. I hope you don't regret it." It was she that reached out this time, a light touch of solidarity that had Bernie reaching back.  Their hands linked fast, fingers almost knotting in their eagerness to take mutual hold.  Yes, Bernie had made the mistakes, but it was still her family in flames.

“I regret the pain, not the decision.”

“Good enough. As for German…”  Serena thumbed Bernie’s wrist.  “You can't speak a word of German, can you?” “Nein.” Bernie dodged Serena's ensuing swat.  “No need to get physical, Ms. Campbell. We haven't even had dinner yet.”

“Just for that—“ Serena balled up a paper napkin and threw it at Bernie’s head. “Manners!”  Bernie tossed a second balled up paper projectile back at her. “Act your age!” “No, you!” “We're the same age.”

There was a better than good chance they were never permitted back at that café, so it was good luck it was out of Bernie’s way.

Serena was wiping tears of laughter from her eyes on the pavement outside the coffee house they’d just been politely ejected from.

“I don’t think I’ve had that much fun on a coffee date in—actually, ever. That was one for the books.”

“You like your dates to end in permanent bans from public establishments?”

“It wasn’t permanent; they said we could come back in a month if we could behave ourselves.”

“We are never coming here again.” Bernie didn’t think her stoicism could withstand the judgmental stares. Knowing Serena they’d find themselves in twice the mischief next time around. She’d probably enjoy it, damn her penchant for troublesome brunettes with beautiful eyes.

The first Serena Campbell hug Bernie ever experienced took her by surprise.

Serena’s arms came around her and Bernie froze.  Serena was shorter than her by a couple of inches, though her trainers largely compensated for the disparity. She was so very different from Bernie physically that it took her arms just that little bit longer to remember what they were meant to do. She returned Serena’s hold as she was starting to let go, and they were stuck in this awkward tangle of limbs that was no less embarrassing than Bernie’s initial lapse. It was just—people didn’t touch Bernie. Could be a symptom of her rank or her natural reserve; whatever the reason, others were loath to cross Bernie’s unspoken boundaries and Serena had charged right through, not unlike a bull in a china shop, though nothing was broken.  Everything was fine. Better, even.

“Not much for hugs?” Serena asked once they’d sorted out whose limbs was whose and teased their bodies apart.

“Not many people are in the market for a full-on embrace in the army, no.”

“Sorry.”

“I don’t mind. It’s nice. I can’t remember the last time somebody was happy to see me.”

“More fool them. You’re amazing.” Bernie scuffed the ground with her boot, wanted so very much to hide behind her fringe but felt that would be telling.

“Was that coffee Irish, by any chance?”

“Hardy har har. No, I’m demonstrative to my friends. Hope that won’t be a problem.”

“Not at all.” Bernie pursed her lips. “Could we, could we try again?”

“We can.”

When Serena went for the hug, it was met with Bernie’s full-bodied approval. Serena’s sigh of contentment unleashed a flurry of emotion in Bernie’s heart.  Somebody wanted her here, somebody was happy to see her.

When Serena didn’t protest, Bernie hung on a little tighter for just a little longer. It was nice to hold someone and be held in return.

Serena greeted Bernie at the entrance to Pulses with an excitable grin that would have been the equivalent of an intravenous caffeine drip were Bernie slightly more rested. They’d gone on multiple coffee outings at various spots around Holby outside of work hours and it had cemented them as firm friends.  Bernie hadn’t made a friend like Serena before.

Serena guided her into the wending line of customers, holding onto her arm eager as a child at Christmas.

“I’ve decided we’re going to be adventurous this time.”

“Are we?”

“No more Americanos.”

“But I like my coffee black as my mood.”

“So do I, only my daughter was telling me just today how boring that is. You and I are at the top of our field, we are not boring.  We’re branching out. How does caramel macchiato strike you?”

Bernie screwed up her face. “Sounds sweet.”

“We’re trying it.”

Bernie groaned and shuffled nearer to the counter as the queue ahead of them shrunk.

“Oh god, Serena, why?”  Karma had come for Bernie Wolfe, surely.

“We’re going to carpe that diem, Bernie.”

“Can’t we carpe our usual and save the exotic alternatives for a day when I’ve slept more than two hours?”

“What were you doing that kept you awake?”

“Assembling my new dresser.”

“You should have called me. I’ve spent years putting together my own furniture. I have a tool kit.” The idea of Serena wielding home improvement tools was intriguing and Bernie wasn’t lucid enough to contemplate the reasons why.

“The instructions were in Mandarin.”

“Did they send you the wrong set?”

“I really don’t know.” She yawned into the crook of her arm. “Anyway, I got the thing together in the end, threw myself in bed and got a whole two hours of sleep before my alarm sounded this morning.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

Serena rubbed her arm and pulled her to the counter to put in their order.  “In that case, black coffee for you, because I know the army runs on the stuff. I’ll have a mocha frappuccino.”

The barista was quick today and produced their drinks order in about ten minutes. Bernie spent the wait daydreaming about getting back into bed.  Serena’s previously jolly spirits were already beginning to flag.  By the time they were handed their respective cups, she was thoroughly disheartened. They took their first sips after knocking their cups together in a companionable ‘heads up.’

“How is it?” Bernie asked once the world began to regain its color.

“Sweet.” Serena winced. She’d mentioned her preference for dark chocolate over milk or white once before. “Loving the bite of chocolate though.”

Bernie raised her cup in a mock salute. “Better you than me.  You can share my coffee when you’re falling asleep half an hour from now.”

“Generous of you.”

They hauled arse to AAU with the speed of clinical leads, in other words, as quick as they bloody well felt like it, which is to say not at all quickly by either of their standards. They arrived on the ward to stow their belongings in the locker room and check on the state of things with Morven and the other F1s under her tutelage. They did a few superficial obs, ordered some tests, bloods, and diagnostics and gathered their paperwork for a meeting with Hanssen, the Board, and the other senior consultants.

Bernie grabbed her lukewarm coffee as she left the office. Serena’s frappuccino was nowhere to be seen. They squeezed into the back of the crowded lift for the ride upstairs. Bernie took the furthest corner from the door while Serena propped herself up against the rear wall to make room for a porter and a nurse wheeling in a couple of non-ambulatory patients.

“Do you want a sip? Your eyelids are drooping.”

Following a voracious yawn, Serena took a hearty gulp of Bernie’s coffee.  “Remind me never to listen to my daughter again. She gives terrible advice.” That would not be the last Serena said that in their years together; in the end, Bernie will wish she got to say it more.

They departed their meeting upstairs hours later much diminished for having sat in a darkened conference room listening to a board member entirely lacking in charisma drone on about profit margins into the early afternoon.  Bernie’s almost positive Serena mentioned dating him once.

Serena stared at the down button for the lift for roughly thirty seconds before remembering she needed to push it first.  “Was that the most boring meeting we have ever attended or am I just exhausted?” “It's up there. Coffee?” “An emergency shot of espresso is in order unless I want to be snoring into Mr. Donorat's abdominal cavity at 3:30.” “I’m slightly more lucid, want me to take him?” Bernie could subsist on a single cup of coffee for twice the amount of time of the average person. Necessity and all that. “And I'll review your half of the admin?” She sounded hopeful. “I wasn't going to suggest that but if you're offering.”  Bernie hated the usual NHS administrative drudgery something terrible. She’d take most any out she could get to avoid it. “Consider it done." Serena ambushed her with a brisk hug. Bernie hadn't known hugs could be brisk. Serena rubbed her back and bussed her cheek, then dashed for the elevator with a backwards wave, no doubt off to  wade into their chest-high backlog like the expert swimmer she was.  Bernie smiled at her retreating figure and made for the stairs, whistling softly as she began her descent. They were workplace hugging friends now.

Bernie came back to their shared office after Mr. Donorat’s surgery ran into the early evening. There had been complications, including a couple of free bleeds that had necessitated a transfusion and a fresh set of scrubs for Bernie.  If he survived the night, he’d live to see seventy, in Bernie’s opinion.

On Bernie’s desk, there was a steaming cup of coffee in a cardboard cup holder that read Ziggurat’s Coffee & Patisserie.  They’d been banned from there months ago and all of Serena’s wheedling hadn’t convinced Bernie to go accompany her there again. The smell of dark hazelnut roast greeted Bernie. There it was again, that feeling of being cared for, wanted and appreciated.

“You didn't need to bring me back coffee.”

“You saved my bacon on that surgery, it's the least I could do.”

Bernie didn’t tell her that friends did that for each other. That was a given. Serena didn’t need to be told what friends should do; she needed to see it. So Bernie would do it and Serena would see the kind of friend she had in Bernie. “Thanks.”

“Think nothing of it.” Serena tapped her fingers on the edge of her keyboard. “Dinner tonight?”

“Kebab?” “You read my mind.” After their shift, they repaired to a wonderful Turkish eatery they’d found on their meanderings through town and split a set of beyti kebab while treating themselves to a pot of fortifying Turkish coffee.   Noting how Serena was eyeing the last skewer on the platter, Bernie signaled the server to their table to expand their order. It would take a stronger woman than her to deny that face anything. "Take two?" They pored over the menu, likely butchering the pronunciation of every dish but giving it the old college try before settling on çöp şiş for Bernie and patlıcanlı kebap for Serena. Sharing food was out of the question; they both enjoyed eating their fill too much to share.  Marcus used to give Bernie grief if she ate too much at once. For all that he claimed it was for her own good, Bernie often questioned whether he wasn't worried she wouldn't look the way he preferred if she gained a few pounds. Serena didn't care. She made the right noises about diet and exercise but Bernie had yet to meet a woman more content in her body, or who had more of a right to be.  “Back to our game,” Serena announced unprompted between bites of pide bread dipped in yogurt sauce. “We have a game?” Bernie asked around a mouthful of garlic and tomato dripping with oil, tasting of black pepper and thyme. It was so good she didn’t actually want to stop eating to speak. Serena raised a finger, finishing a segment of eggplant off in its entirety. “Three Truths...” “...and A Lie.” She snapped her fingers. “Okay, let's go.” Bernie liked getting to know Serena this way. It was low-pressure and Serena made it even more so. She wanted to know Bernie as a person, not Bernie as some larger than life heroic figure. Bernie wanted to know everything there was to know about Serena and more. “You first.” Serena counted off her on her fingers: “I played hockey as a girl, I once dyed my hair an unfortunate shade of dishwater blonde, I tried yoga—twice, and I have always dreamed of summering in the south of France.”

Bernie sat back to let herself digest some of the food she’d just eaten. She had every intention of going back to it. “I don't think you'd like yoga very much.” “Ah ah ah, I can be flexible.” In theater, yes; in life, Bernie had observed that Serena had difficulty with sudden, unexpected change.  She and Jason very much had that in common.  Nevertheless, both were adapting swiftly now that Bernie’d come around. “I know you can bend when needed, I've seen you in theater.”

Serena batted her eyelashes.  “Flirt.” “Likewise.” Flirting with Serena had become Bernie’s latest cardio fad. Nothing got her heart rate up like seeing Serena shine with mischief.  Back on task, Wolfe. “You'd love wine country.” “We'll have to go together someday.  I can ply you with the best varietals of Shiraz until you come to your senses.” “Not if I get you to enjoy Malbec first.” Serena unleashed a mighty scowl.  “Never gonna happen.”

“We'll see.” Bernie had Serena beat for bullheadedness any day. “Hockey?” “Never underestimate school mandated physical activity.” Serena’s scowl was more annoyance than disgust this time.  “What are you staring at?” “Trying to imagine you shouldering a bunch of year eight girls out of the way to launch the ball into the net.” “I could have done it,” she defended.  Serena balked at the implication that she wasn’t as capable as anyone.  Bernie would have done the same, had done the same on other subjects. “I bet you could. But you didn't.”

Serena cradled her cup of coffee and narrowed her eyes as if to intimidate Bernie into flinching.  It would have been more effective were it not for the drop of coffee on the corner of her mouth that Bernie couldn’t stop staring at. She wanted to kiss rub it off. “Your final answer?” Serena asked her. Bernie contemplated what remained of her food and threw a hand up to request a take-home box.  Her stomach was doing somersaults; she was in no fit state to eat more. “My final answer.”

Serena flopped back her chair with an air of disgruntlement not unlike the Elinor she’d heard countless tales about.  "You're annoyingly good at this game." “You have a tell.” “What?” Serena followed Bernie's line of sight to her necklace and the double charm she was dragging along its chain. “I've been doing that all my life. Don't even notice it most of the time.” “You do it when you're nervous or when you fib.”

Serena chuckled.  “I'll keep that in mind if we ever play poker.”

Bernie could see Serena on Keller with herself and the others having hospital-approved drinks at the end of shift and dealing cards in the break room. Something told her this woman talked a much better game than she played. “I'd wipe the floor with you.”

Serena’s eyebrows inched toward her hairline. She sensed fresh meat. Bernie sensed a trap and like a lemming she dove right in. Serena propped her chin on her hands.  “Can't wait to spend your hard earned money on coffee next time.” “Was that a challenge?”  Bernie liked to win, but more than she liked to win, she liked Serena. She’d take her up on a game of Twister if Serena decided it was a worthwhile way to spend an afternoon. “Name the time and place, Ms. Wolfe.” “My place, next Tuesday after work. I’ll provide the booze.” “I'll bring the takeaway.”

“It's a date.” Bernie finally heeded the internal alarm shrieking that she was coming dangerously close to asking out her newest friend and changed the subject.  “So dishwater blonde?” Serena deflated. “I hoped you'd forgot about that.” “Memory like bank vault, me.  Was it a dare? Is there photographic evidence?” “Never you mind that.” "Should I ask Jason?” Serena almost spit out her coffee. “No! And you are never allowed to meet Sîan Kors.” “I am going to ask every one of our colleagues until I get her number, and I am going to start with Ric.” Ric enjoyed getting Serena’s goat slightly more than Bernie did and he didn’t care one way or another about taking sides. If nothing else, he could tell Bernie where to search next.

“Bloody Ric Griffin.” Serena gave Bernie all the best bits of Ric’s history to make up for his inevitable betrayal. Bernie forgot all except the choice tidbits. Rocky Griffin had met his match in the two of them.

Serena and Bernie said their goodbyes at street parking. Bernie had a meet-up with the kids in an hour or so if they decided to show. Part of her wanted to ask Serena to tag along for moral support, but she knew this was the time for her to be brave again. That was the version of Bernie her children needed to see. Serena knew all about the upcoming meeting and had done all she could to keep Bernie’s mind off it. She’d done well.  That was her gift, aside from being an excellent surgeon and a relentless shill for the Shiraz makers of Europe, she was a daunting distraction.

Serena bumped Bernie’s shoulder.  "Not a bad meal, and I can't fault the company."

"I'll take that for a review."

“You can take that to bank.”

Serena took one of Bernie’s hands. They were cold as the year grew cooler with a change of season.  Serena never took any notice, seemed as eager to touch Bernie when she was warm as when she was icy.  “Thanks for today.” “Just doing what comes naturally.”

“Saving my sorry backside?” “Looking out for one of my own." Bernie slunk forward to put drape her arms around Serena.  She even dared a kiss upon the rosy apple of Serena's cheek. “You're welcome in my foxhole any day.” “I bet you tell that to all the pretty consultants.”

“Just you.” Serena buried her face in the folds of Bernie’s coat and laughed.  It was only a second and Bernie heart rate still climbed.  Serena pulled back and brushed strands of hair from Bernie’s coat.

“You’d better get a move on before I try to take you home with me.”

Bernie clicked her tongue.  “You won't hear me complaining.”

“Be good, Ms. Wolfe,” said Serena, going stern though not nearly as convincing as she seemed to believe.

Beautiful. Beguiling. Utterly unattainable. Just Bernie’s type. “Where would be the fun in that?”  Serena held Berne’s door for her as she got into her car. They clasped hands through her open car window.  “Goodnight, Serena.” “Goodnight.”

Bernie waited to see Serena safely back in her car and they drove their separate ways. As always.

Serena held the lift doors long enough for Bernie to squeeze through. Yes, she was running behind. She had slept in.

“Good morning, birthday girl.”

Bernie cocked her head. “How’d you know today’s my birthday?”

"I'm clinical co-lead of our ward, not to mention former deputy CEO. All the personnel files used to cross my desk, including yours.” “You remember my birthday?” She was lucky if her children remembered. Sometimes Alex had. Bernie had stopped celebrating in her thirties; there’d been more pressing concerns, career, marriage, kids. It ceased to be an event to anybody else and so Bernie had let it go.

“I remember the birthdays of all my friends.” Serena dug around in her seemingly bottomless coat pockets and produced  a large novelty size Crunchie bar, an oversize travel mug that smelled of Bernie’s favorite decadent coffee beverage (one of Serena’s ideas for an Americano alternative had stuck) and a paper packet that was giving off an aroma so sweet Bernie’s mouth began to water on the spot. Bernie hardly knew what to say.

“You got me cheese Danish.” “You're always eyeing it up on the dessert case and talking yourself out of it. Eat up, you're beautiful, Bernie, and you're as young as you feel.” “I feel about 22 right now.” “You look it.” “That settles it, it's time for a visit to the optician. I’ll drive.” “I’ll go if you go.” "So you can steal my glasses like you steal my hoodie?" Serena turned beet red.  “I did that once because a patient sicked up on my blouse and I didn't have a spare. I washed it and returned it the very next shift.”  Bernie had smelt of Serena's laundry detergent for three days, light and floral and soft.  Time and again, she would catch a whiff of herself and whip around, mistakenly thinking Serena was nearby. Serena's scent was a comely ghost she wanted to be haunted by, that she mourned not a little when it faded to nothing.  “So you did. That wasn't a 'no', by the way.” “You would let me borrow your glasses, wouldn't you?” Without hesitation. Bernie had proven herself a soft touch for this woman from the first handshake. “You'd only steal them if I didn’t.” “I wouldn't steal them, I would borrow them while you weren't looking.” “As I suspected.  You're not to be trusted. And no pouting, you've only got yourself to blame.”

Serena’s lower lip poked out in defiance.  “I've got a department head meeting to haggle over budget acquisition for your trauma bay. When my birthday rolls around in a few months’ time, I want you to remember I took this bullet for both of us."  She pulled Bernie into her arms. Unlike her usual brisk, crushing hug, this was a steaming bath of an embrace, soothing and deep. She held Bernie as tight as their respective possessions allowed and rubbed Bernie's back, stroking a line of bracing heat down her spine. She then kissed Bernie's cheek twice in quick succession. “Happy birthday, darling.”

Bernie didn’t get out more than a stammered word of thanks before Serena pushed her out the lift onto AAU and headed upstairs for her budget conference.

Bernie and Serena had leveled up to a shared ward, unsolicited gestures of kindness, hugs, and terms of endearment. Bernie greeted the ward staff feeling lighter than she had in months. Her feet scarcely touched the ground. 

Months and years and births and deaths hence, Bernie stretched sloth-slow on her side of the bed.  “Coffee?” she offered, voice hoarse and croaky from deep, restful slumber. Serena reached out of her goose down hibernation cave to reclaim Bernie's sleep heavy body for a pre-dawn snuggle. “Five more minutes?” Bernie rolled over to nuzzle under Serena's chin, going limpet and creeping vine stuck with her under the covers.  She wasn't going to turn down a lovely cuddle in this winter weather, nor with this lovely woman. The children and grandchildren and extended relations would be arriving soon and they’d expect food. "Five more minutes." They made it downstairs in fifty. Close enough.

[the-woman-in-the-writing]

“My Name is Tomas Zamora” a short story

Rating: PG-13 Contains: Graphic imagery and physical violence Word Count: 3,221

Author’s note:

Last summer, I took a creative writing workshop. We held one of our sessions in a historical church (Barasoain Church) and we were asked to write a short story inspired by our surroundings. This story started when I mixed and matched first and last names from the list of people who participated in the making of the constitution (however, I’m not sure if that was really the list, but it did have a lot of names). I also wanted to write about the oppression of something that wasn’t usually written about.

Found note in the barracks of a house in Manila Circa. 1890s Translated into English

My name is Tomas Zamora, a loyal and compliant soldier of one of the fiercest commanders of my time – Antonio Luna. It is my duty and purpose to serve my country and to obey the orders of my commander until death has come to my door to take me home. But alas, death has lit his lamp and is on my doorstep, preparing to knock.

I will die before the sun rises.

In my contemplating, I have come to realize that I had another purpose to fulfill and that is to write this note or letter. I do not know who will read this after my well-accepted death or if it will ever be found, but if it does fall in the hands of a noble and faithful soul, I trust that he will use this as a torch to light the way of others.

I do not write, nor do I express myself in feelings or words. Unlike Franco, I am a man of action. I hope you can forgive me for the cluttered storytelling. My late mother had always been better at this than me. Like she had often told me, I am more like my father.

I never knew my father as well as my mother. I have only remembered his face in a picture my mother kept. When I was two years old, he was executed for a crime he did not commit. A guard house was burned down, and he happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Accused of arson and perjury, my father did his best to defend himself so that he could come home to see me and my mother again. Unfortunately, the Spaniards’ cruelty and injustice prevailed. They did not even bother to investigate or find the true criminal; they just pointed their fingers at the nearest Filipino they could find and accuse him, so that they could simply say their job was done.

My father was punished with cavayo y vaca. While being dragged behind a horse in the scorching heat, he was paraded around our town, whipped, and spat at until he fainted and eventually died.

My mother and I moved to a town where nobody knew us. A fresh start was something that she needed after her husband’s demise. I was too young to understand this back then, but when I grew older I understood that the scandalous accusations against my mother were cruel enough to make her leave.

In our new life, my mother was fortunate enough to work as a maid for someone generous. She let her leave whenever my mother liked, but my mother was a diligent woman and she never abused that privilege. We had enough money to be able to eat and sleep in a decent house, however, I was never given a proper education. My mother only taught me what she knew, and I learned some basic concepts taught in school. Mostly, I learned manners and how to cook, clean, be a gentleman, and impress women – some of those I never used.

I was about ten years old when I became a sacristan at the church in our town. My mother taught me to be a man of God and that every good trait will come after I serve the Lord. I believed in her words. Every time one of the Augustinian priests will punish me for forgetting something in the mass or I did not clean the chalice or washed the cloths enough, I would remember my mother’s words: The Lord will reward you for enduring the pain and acting love upon it.

And so, I submitted and patiently endured the whips and punches that landed on my skinny body. I was very thankful for the fact I was able to come home, unlike the other sacristans. Even though my mother cried every time she would trace my wounds and bruises, I came back to the church, so I could earn a little money and serve my God. However, my time as a sacristan ended after my mother’s death.

Now that I think of it, I feel unworthy to share the same time of death as my mother, who gave her body and soul for a sinner like me. It was all my fault. I can never forgive myself nor repay her actions.

It all started with Rafael, a fellow sacristan. As I was about to go home, I heard him being accused of stealing the chalice used earlier in the mass. He never looked like the type who would commit such a crime, especially around priests who were not afraid to enact violence. Rafael was younger than me, yet he suffered cuts and bruises on his frail little body that only grown men could endure. I felt sorry for him.

After all those times I obeyed and submitted to the priests, I talked back to defend Rafael against their false accusations. The priest was shocked at my actions, and from his shocked face, it quickly changed into a mask of rage and disgust.

I will never deny it – one moment, I was brave and then, I am cowering in fear, wishing I went home. The priest smacked my mouth as he cursed me. I fell to the ground and he made me stand up by grabbing my ear harshly. Rafael’s cries were heard as he fled home and by this time, I was also crying as I was the one taking his place.

They say you get used to the pain after a while, yet I felt every lash sink into my skin the whole time. The sting of the whips and heaviness of the punches hurt so bad that I could not think of the time. The torture probably lasted very long, because my worrying mother came to the church to fetch me. I ran into her arms when I saw her, and she kissed every inch of my face until the priest confronted her.

“I am not done with him.” The priest said, harshly.

My mother did not even bother to ask what I was being punished for, she only said, “Please, let my son go home. And please, do not punish and let him return here anymore.”

The priest ignored her request and slapped her on the cheek.

“How dare you interrupt a man appointed by the Lord!”

My mother got on her feet swiftly and grabbed the robes of the priest. His face displayed utter disgust as if a leper was holding onto him, yet it somehow softened when my mother said, “Please, father, I would give anything.”

“Very well,” he pulled his robes from her grasp, “let us negotiate in the other room.” And they disappeared.

After what seemed like a long time, I knew something was wrong, so I decided to look for them in the other room. However, they were not there nor in the priests’ office or in any of the quarters. What was left was the worship hall where the masses were held. When I pushed the slightly opened door, I heard my mother’s muffled cries echo in the room. Pew by pew, I searched for them, but I was unsuccessful, until I heard the priest’s voice.

It came from the confessional.

I silently approached the latticed window of the confessional where the priest sat at to hear the sins of the penitents, and what I saw was something a child my age should never have to witness.

My mother was being raped by an Augustinian priest.

I never forgot the feelings that surged through my veins as I heard the cries through the latticed window. I knew what I had to do and even though I was afraid again, I opened the door and told the priest to stop. Before anyone could react, I grabbed my mother’s wrist and tried to pull her away, but the priest held her tight.

“Tomas!” My mother said before the priest tightened his arm around my mother’s neck.

“Mama!” I cried back as I kept on pulling her away, but she did not budge from the priest’s embrace.

The priest spoke severely like how he preached sometimes, “If you ever speak about this, I will kill you.”

My mother’s grip tightened around my hand as tears rolled down her cheek. All our grips – my mother’s, mine, and the priest’s – tightened until I felt the life leave her hand. The priest finally released her, letting her limp body slide down the steps of the confessional. And as I stared at her lifeless body, my hand held every love that was left in her fingertips.

“Mama, mama, mama…” I kept whispering as I hugged her close to me.

The priest wiped sweat from his forehead and stepped out of the confessional, careless about what happened.

“Go home.” His voice echoed.

And so, I did, even though without my mother, home does not exist.

I could never tell you how it feels like to lose someone. However, the tragedy of it is agonizing enough to damage a soul. Because when you lose someone, a part of yourself leaves you and goes along with them. And when I left that church with my dead mother slumped on my tired and wounded shoulders, she went to join God and a part of my soul came along with her.

I did not have anyone left.

I was all alone.

I know I should not doubt God but that night, I lost everything, and I do not think He even cared.

I ended up on the doorstep of the house my mother worked for. Before I could even knock I already fainted from fatigue. This was the last time I slept beside my mother.

When morning had arrived, I learned that the woman’s name was Rosalinda Mariano and that she was kind enough to help me burn my mother’s body. As we stood and silently cried in front of the burning stacks of wood that covered the corpse, she pulled me into her arms and kissed my hair. From that moment, I knew I was safe.

“The world is full of injustice, boy, but there is a proper time to fight for the balance of the scales.” She whispered and took me back inside to clean my wounds.

Aunt Rosa never married nor had any children, but she treated me like I was her own family. She had inherited her house and money from her wealthy father, and in the years I stayed with her, she cared for me, fed me, taught me, and loved me. I had another mother to repay.

My years as a young man were mostly spent at the home of Aunt Rosa, cleaning and helping around. I still did not get a proper education because she did not trust the teachers would treat me well. She said she was educated enough to teach me. Nevertheless, I had a few friends and still suffered the sting of young love as most were unrequited.

Like other young men, I left my home to work, and in my case, as a soldier. My time in training was quite dull because the days were monotonous, but I learned how to be a good soldier. I was one of the best, they say, but was too young to lead my own men.

After moving from one commander to another, I finally ended up under Antonio Luna’s command. Fierce as he may seem, his heart is full of nationalism and love for people. Luna has sharp skills and an intelligent mind, and with it, we were victorious in most battles. Luna cared for his men in his own way. Tough love, that’s what I called it, but others said it was madness.

I have respect for him until now. I still choose to obey his commands and accept the circumstances he put me in, even if it costs my life. Under his command, I will not die in vain. I am Luna’s man through and through.

His words earlier echoed in my mind.

A few hours ago, I was asked to report to him. Vicente, sweaty and tired, said I had to come with him immediately as it was a matter of life and death. I put my uniform back on and brought my rifle.

I knocked courteously at his door before entering. It was a small hut, so when Luna closed the door and slapped me, the sound reverberated, and birds flew from the roof. I did not know what he was slapping me for. He had never done it prior to this meeting.

“You are a disgust! An abomination!” He scolded as he slapped me again.

I supported myself using my rifle. Confused, I asked him, “Sir, if I may ask, what have I done wrong?”

He turned himself back to me and his face was full of rage. He grabbed me by my collar and said, “Do not pretend like you do not know. You are smarter than this, Zamora.”

I was scared but I did not show it. “Sir, I really do not know.”

He looked at me in the eye more intensely as if he was trying to figure out how I could not have known. And at last he said,

“Franco Herrera.”

My heart stopped.

Franco…

How could he have known?

After every carefully planned meeting, how could have he known about Franco?

Franco, my love.

I have thought carefully about writing the truth about me and Franco here in this note, but as I recalled and imparted the story of my existence, I figured I had nothing left to lose but my own life. And if I write about us here, then in a way, we will never really die.

Franco Herrera is everything and everything, all at once. That does not make much sense but so does the world now. I have an unfathomable affection for him and I always will.

One does not meet Franco and not fall in love with him. In my case, I have walked into a profound likeness for him when I met him.  It was at a secret meeting with the Propaganda five years ago. Antonio Luna introduced his best men to the writers of the La Solidaridad because if he is unable to report to them the current events, we will do it on his behalf. In that conference, I met Laong Laan, Plaridel, Tikbalang, Buan, JoMaPa, Magdalo, Elias, and Diego Laura. As you have noticed, the names I gave are their aliases, just in case this note falls into the wrong hands. I have full trust in those whose names I gave away that they will rather die than betray their country and comrades. The people who wrote for the La Solidaridad briefed to us the password to use, and as soon as the meeting ended, Luna ordered us to leave. And as we were doing so, a knock came from the door.

“Who is it?” Laong Laan asked.

“Archera Ferron” the voice said and told the password next.

Tikbalang opened the door and the man entered. Franco gave him a courteous nod and looked at his fellow writers as a greeting.

“Please forgive me for my lateness.” He looked at the three of us next, and in that moment when he looked at me, I knew his stare lingered for a second. “I see some new faces.” He turns to Luna. “Your men, Taga-ilog?”

“Yes,” and Luna faces us, “introduce yourselves.”

“Manuel Bautista.”

“Rommel Vicente.”

“Tomas Zamora.” And he shook my hand, firm and welcoming, like he did with my other comrades.

“Franco Herrera.” He introduced himself as he looked me in the eye with a sly smile on his face.

Every beautiful thing came after that. I do not want to bore you with how we became friends and eventually became intimate with each other, for it is also private. Franco had asked me earlier when I told him about Luna’s confrontation that I should not write too much detail about us in this note. He believed that what we have dies with us as it had lived. But I cannot control myself enough.

I want to share with you a little of my love for Franco.

Franco Herrera has an ability to stop time when he stares at me and he can make it run again, but much more slowly, when he touches me. He is what I survive for in battle. He is my newfound home. In those nights when the sheets embrace us, I remember that there is a little good and a little love left in this cruel world. I have only seen the sunrise with him twice, but in those times that I did, the sun never looked as beautiful – waking up never felt so bright and warm. When he writes for freedom, he writes for the Filipinos; when he writes for love, he writes for me. Not every time his words land on paper, sometimes it is on my skin; and not every time he uses a pen to express himself, sometimes he uses his lips. However, in our shared silences, our eyes are what speak for us.

And last morning, I shared with him my second sunrise as I rest in the quiet of his love. The end never felt sweeter and warm and safe.

“Franco…” I whispered.

“Yes, Tomas...?” He replied.

“Let us look at the sunrise.”

And we did.

We watched the sun light up my little house from the window, with our hands around our waists. The sky burst with colors of pink, orange, and yellow. And at that time, as I was in his arms with the colors and light passing through our lips, life did not feel tragic and we were simply humans learning to love in the little time we have left.

Because of Franco, I have lived.

“Zamora, are you listening to me?!” Luna barked. “I will not remove you from my command because of our situation, but if you get shot or injured later in battle, I will let you die.”

And now, I will pass away.

It was Bautista who saw us earlier this morning. It was him who told Luna. It was him who told the Propaganda. It was him who took my life away.

In complete honesty, I am not bitter that I am about to die. I know I have served my country well and that I did my best to give my countrymen the freedom they deserve. I will soon be reunited with my mother and father, and wherever I am, I will watch Franco until his time comes that he gets to join me. I have fought for what I believe in and I have loved tremendously with all I have.

Tonight, we will fight for our freedom even if we do not have enough men. The liberty of the Filipinos travels with the bullets we fire, and its price is paid with bodies of men. Tonight is my turn.

“Zamora?” Vicente called.

Death has come to knock on my door.

“Sir Luna has called us to assemble.”

And I will open it boldly and kindly.

[stopforamoment]

Nothing New Pussycat (See You Next Tuesday)

Book: The Royal Romance (After Book Three) Pairing: Bastien Lykel x OFC Rinda Parks Word Count: 3,571 Rating: R for Language and Adult Situations TRIGGERS: Unwanted sexual contact, discussion of rape, rape culture, male dominance, use of the P and C words for female genitals, C in a derogatory way “Men are afraid that women will laugh at them. Women are afraid that men will kill them.” Margaret Atwood

Author’s Note: Obligatory disclaimer that Pixelberry Studios owns the TRR characters and my pocketbook with those darn diamond scenes. OFC with all of her quirks is all mine. My apologies if Tumblr or I do something stupid when I try to post this. This was inspired by @kennaxval’s story The Queens of Stormholt part 5: Kenna’s Choice (NSFW) and by Hulu/Margaret Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale. I’ve been catching up on episodes this past week! This takes place the second week of the school year, in September.

Crackpot Ear Worm: Tom Jones “What’s New Pussycat” 

He was a rich, arrogant, helicopter parent whose son did nothing wrong. He also didn’t give a fuck about his marriage vows, and he thought it would be an interesting challenge to conquer the American widow who wouldn’t take off her wedding ring. At first Rinda was oblivious. She was used to dealing with helicopter parents, and she assumed his false flattery was the first step toward getting his son out of an after-school detention that Rinda gave him. As annoying as that was, Rinda preferred that to what usually came next. The incessant badgering and, eventually, threats. Rinda sighed. Time to draw upon her professionalism and boilerplate commentary to get through this one-on-one meeting that he insisted upon. Rinda had been married, and to a police officer, so she was relatively safe for over 10 years. But she got complacent, thinking she would be respected at least for her status as a mother and widow, with the added bonus that she was in her 40s and past her prime. She honestly thought that sex would no longer be used as a weapon against her. Her gender, yes. Always. But sex? Well, maybe unconsciously. Okay, yes. She knew. But she had hoped that sex couldn’t still be used as a weapon against her. That was a small part of why she still wore her wedding ring and kept her married name. Most people would take the hint and know that she should be left the fuck alone. But she truly wasn’t prepared to deal with all of that bullshit again. . . . . .

Rinda was a warrior preparing for battle. She took the time to move her desk so she could sit behind it. That was a Power Move 101. She preferred to keep her desk against a wall because it took up less space, it was easier to throw her squish ball against the wall, and it was just easier to work with the children who needed to sit next to her when she tutored him. But not for this meeting. Bastien and Julian offered to help her move the desk, but Laura just laughed and told them to get the fuck lost. Rinda was in her woman hear me roar mode, and she didn’t need a man’s help. Although as soon as they left she did need to meekly ask Laura for help. Then she strategically placed chairs on the other side of her desk. Laura had to take her dad to a doctor’s appointment, so she wouldn’t be in the room. But Julian and Bastien would be in their rooms, ready to rescue Rinda if necessary. And Julian and his husband Theo would take her out for a drink afterward so she could defrag and repeat every wicked one-liner that she wanted to say but couldn’t. . . . . . He walked into her room, unannounced and 20 minutes early, which Rinda was expecting. But she was still helping another student. And of course, she was sitting next to the student, in another student desk, so she could help her. Rinda stayed seated in the too-small chair, looking up at the father and calmly asking to come back in 10 minutes, when she was finished helping her student. When it’s actually your appointment time. He informed Rinda that he was a busy man and his time was valuable. Right, so that’s why you’re 20 minutes early and harassing me when you could just wait in the hall and check emails or something. Professional Mrs. Parks nodded and related to that. She was also very busy, especially right now, and the sooner she could get back to helping her student the sooner she could begin their appointment. But he wasn’t leaving. She extricated herself from the student desk as gracefully as possible, calmly walking up to him, trying not to flinch. She hated doing that. Approaching someone simply to assert herself. She was 5’3” and really, if he refused to leave what could she do? Call in Bastien to escort him out? God, how humiliating. Needing help from the freaking head of security because there was a rude asshole who refused to leave her room. A man who was being shitty because she was a woman and there wasn’t much she could do about it. Remember, Rinda. You’re white. You’re cis. You’re straight. You’ve had amazing educational opportunities, and you’re comfortably middle class. Other people who deal with this shit have less privilege than you.

He ogled her. No other word to explain it. She stood and took it, hoping her body language didn’t betray her fear and anger. Even though she wore loose clothing and no makeup, it didn’t matter. Even if he was really thinking about last night’s football game while simply pretending to undress her with his eyes as a way to intimidate her, it didn’t matter. He was sizing her up, sexualizing her, dismissing her as a professional with post-college degrees and years of teaching experience. Every woman, every person who has been de-humanized, denigrated, and disparaged, has a way to cope with it. They have a plan in place to ensure their literal survival. When Rinda was younger she swore that she would go down fighting. That she would rather die than let it happen to her. Again. But now that she was older, a mother with a son who didn’t have a father, it was different. There was a lot more that she was willing to take if it meant she could come home to Henry when it was over. And really, being in your 40s with a wedding ring and a kid did make life easier. You were overlooked a lot. What a blessing. But not now. Now she was targeted. But fortunately he chose to wait in the hallway, and Rinda only hoped the young girl who was patiently waiting for Mrs. Parks wouldn’t subconsciously remember this incident. The time when her female teacher, the adult in charge, was challenged just because a man wanted to. Just because he could. . . . . .

When Rinda invited him in he closed the door after him. Friendly Rinda. “Oh, you can just leave the door open.” Cocky asshole with the smug grin. “Why? You don’t trust yourself to be alone with me in a closed room?” No, I don’t trust you, and you know it, you fucking asshole. How dare you try to spin this, as if I wanted anything from you except some basic fucking respect. Delusional douche canoe prick. Professional Mrs. Parks lying through her teeth. “It’s school policy.” Quickly get behind your desk. It’s a barrier and you’ll be safe. Wait, fuck. Did he open the door? Fuck me. He didn’t. If I let it go, he wins. If I open it for him, he wins. God damn this fucker to hell. Rinda motioned for him to take a seat and she opened the door. Julian was discreetly waiting in the hallway and he gave her an encouraging nod for support. She started to walk back to her desk. That fucker moved the chair so I’m going to have to practically grind him to get around him and retreat behind my desk. Retreat. Fuck this. She channeled an image of Justin Trudeau dealing with Donald Trump’s power play handshake. I’m not backing down from this prick.

She moved the other chair, the one on his side of her desk, further away from the man. She sat down, discreetly moving her legs to the side before crossing them at the ankles so there was no danger of her pulling a Paris Hilton or Sharon Stone. Mom taught Rinda as a very young girl to sit carefully and keep her legs closed so she wouldn’t show her Unaussprechlichen.  Rinda, you know. Rinda laughed to herself, realizing as an adult that the humor of that unspeakable word was lost on her mother. Grandma Lorinda would say vagina. Rinda, it’s a vagina. Nothing to be ashamed of. It’s yours, no one else’s. You can call it your Muschi, your pussy or cunt, if that’s what you want. As long as it’s respected and the words used to describe it are spoken with love. Crossing her legs. That wouldn’t be interpreted as discreet by a man like him. No, it would only draw his eyes there, to the Unaussprechlichen.  Crossing your legs at the knee, more sexual. You’re flirting. Crossing at the ankles, more demure and lady-like. But then you’re a prude. Thank God I wore a long skirt today.

He tried wheedling, he tried flirting. Rinda remained professional. She stood by the detention. He leaned in, but Rinda was far enough away that he would have to move his chair closer to invade her personal space. Ha! Score one for Rinda Parks. Oh, fuck. He really is moving his chair closer. Oh fuck, and he’s owning it, like it’s a welcomed advance, not his weakness. Rinda was sure her eyes were changing colors, that sure tell that she was afraid or upset. Hopefully he didn’t know that about her, even though it was hard to miss. Hopefully he couldn’t see how pale she was and didn’t catch her target glance to the door. God, how many times have women and other victims been in this situation, trying to gauge if they stood a better chance of survival if they tried to run or if they stayed still and took it. Rinda, you’ve got this.

He “accidentally” brushed her knee when he sat back down, his face dangerously close. Do I ignore it? If I call him out, will he laugh? Think I’m a bitch who’s playing hard to get? Tell me I imagined it? Rinda tried to stay focused, but she was livid. What if the roles were reversed? What if I just grabbed his cock and gave it a squeeze to assert my dominance? To get my shits and giggles off seeing another person squirm. How would that make you feel, asshole? Ugh. He’d probably love it. Spread his legs and force me to kneel, mouth open, to give him more.

The meeting ended with the usual threat that he would contact the principal, someone who was more reasonable and had more power than her. Fine. Whatever. Just get the fuck out of my face. At least he didn’t threaten her job or remind her that his tax dollars paid her salary. “I’ll have your job for this.” That one always cracked Rinda up. Bitch, please. You’ll “have” it? You want it? Go for it. You wouldn’t last an hour. Rinda let him stand up first. She was wearing a shirt with a high neckline. Nothing to see there and she’d rather be the one passively sitting, even if he was looking down at her, instead of the one standing and hoping he would get up to leave. He waited until they got into the hallway before overtly asserting his dominance. Maybe that was for the best. She wasn’t trapped behind her desk. She wasn’t trapped in the room. And really, it was comical how he thought he could just finish being an absolute ass, telling her that he would go above her head to get satisfaction, and then suddenly inform Rinda that he would take her out and show her a good time. He’d still get satisfaction from her in one way or another. He knew that she was lonely and needed a man’s company. And he’d give it to her. I’m way too old for this shit. Haven’t I paid my dues, yet? Isn’t that supposed to be a benefit of getting older and losing the bloom off the rose? Rinda laughed to herself. Her middle name was Rose. Damn that was pretty funny, Rinda. Okay, stay with it. You can’t use humor to deflect yourself out of this one. Rinda’s eyes darted around, taking in her surroundings. Julian was staying late for her. His door was open and he moved his work station so he could keep an eye on the hallway. She looked over and saw him watching her. And even though she couldn’t see him, she knew Bastien was near. She always felt his comforting presence when he was near. Maybe he was in the room with Julian, or just around the corner. But she was safe. It would be okay. At least this time. She started by purposely misunderstanding him. Not that anyone could misinterpret that lecherous smirk. Of course she would be happy to meet with him and his wife, at school, if they’d like to further discuss the matter. No? Not at school? But she only met with parents at school. Oh, but this wasn’t a professional matter. And his wife wouldn’t be joining him. And now he was leering, and even though Rinda knew she would be physically safe because Julian and Bastien were there, she wasn’t sure which reaction would be worse for her career. Fight or flight. She was so thankful they were here. Refusing their help to move her desk, feeling embarrassed that the head of security might have to escort this man out. She didn’t care anymore. Her pride was so goddamn trivial right now. She was just so fucking thankful they were here. The reality was that she was a woman who couldn’t handle it by herself. And Julian and Bastien were strong men, good men. She wouldn’t even have to ask. One of them, if not both, would stay to make sure she got into her car safely. Even follow her home if necessary. God I hate being a woman.

And then she felt the nausea. Did men think that women were just playthings? Did he care at all about his wife? His family? Did he even care that she said “no” several times, that he was making her uncomfortable, that she was still in love with Jameson? That this asshole’s very presence was violating her? No. He didn’t care. That was part of his fun. Bastien was in the hallway, gauging the situation. He would be able to step in at any time, but he remembered Rinda’s reaction earlier that day when she was struggling to move the desk by herself. He knew why she refused their help. In any other situation he and Julian would have teased Rinda for being so stubborn. But they knew to let that one go. He knew Rinda could handle herself now, and he wanted to be sure Rinda knew that, but he was right there if she needed any help. The man grabbed Rinda’s arm and Bastien saw the golden topaz in her eyes. The look of controlled fury that shook even him. He thought Rinda was upset that this man touched her. He didn’t realize it was so much more than that. This man was arrogant enough to even think he had a chance to replace Jameson, even if it was for only the few pathetic, unsatisfying minutes he might last if Rinda would allow him to enter her. That’s what it boiled down to, for her. Not his disrespect to her, or to his wife, but to Jameson. Her Jameson was a hero who sacrificed his life to save Cassie. People who didn’t know Jameson only saw the gruff exterior. They couldn’t understand how someone as light-hearted as Rinda could ever see anything in a person who was so serious. But they didn’t know the Jameson that Rinda did. The tender-hearted man who would do anything to make Rinda laugh. The one who adored her. He was her beloved. When Jameson came home after a long day of work she would serenade him with her loudest and most awful rendition of Tom Jones’ “What’s New Pussycat?” just to make him smile And no one else knew that when Officer Parks came home he became Rinda’s sweet and silly Miezekatze as she kissed his nose, those laugh lines around his eyes, that adorable dimple, and his irresistible lips. How dare he think he’s anywhere close to knowing what it means to be a man. To replacing Jameson. . . . . .

Rinda could have extricated herself from his grasp with a basic self defense move. And she could have run away, knowing that Bastien would take care of the rest for her. But she didn’t. Instead she turned his wrist and brought her elbow up to the underside of his elbow. Anger and adrenaline gave her the power to deliver a strong hit to his elbow. There was a sickening crack and the man immediately dropped to the ground, cursing Rinda. Calling her a bitch cunt whore who didn’t know who he was. Who she just messed with. How he would ruin her professionally. How he would find her and make her pay. How he would wrap his fingers around her throat and enjoy watching her eyes bulge as he strangled her. How he would find her and make her pay. Tear her a new asshole. Fuck her until she needed a new asshole. He would destroy her. He would kill her. Rinda didn’t hear most of it. Bastien was already dragging the man away, the man’s rants fading down the hallway. Julian gently pulled Rinda into his room and closed the door while he called the police and paramedics.

Bastien reassured Rinda that it was self defense and he was proud of her for defending herself so well. Bastien truly meant it as a compliment, and he was impressed with her. But Julian and Rinda looked at each other and they both knew it wasn’t that simple, and that Bastien sounded patronizing even though it was unintentional. Rinda also knew that Julian and his husband faced discrimination and hatred far more often than she ever would, and she was so grateful to have him with her that night. Bastien could help explain the factual details of what happened that night. But Julian, Theo,and Laura were the ones to help her navigate the emotional strain of that evening, and they would know the reality of what really happened that night because she was a woman turned down a rich man with on a power trip. To everyone else, Rinda would be seen as unable to handle herself in a situation. She overreacted to a simple misunderstanding. She must have done something to upset that man. She wore a skirt and invited him into her classroom when no one else was there. She sat next to him. She flirted. She encouraged him. And then changed her mind. Like a typical tease. Bitch. She resorted to violence over a simple miscommunication. He’s a married man. Respected in the community. How could anyone trust her with their children? And he was a rich man with power who sometimes donated to the school. Rinda most likely would have to apologize. Best case scenario. The reality was that Rinda most likely lost her job and the safety reform suffered a crushing blow because of her. Even if she were allowed to stay, she would lose all respect from the families, and that attitude would affect the children and how they interacted with her in the classroom. Then she’d lose her job that way. Because she wasn’t able to do her job effectively. Because she was a woman who pissed off a man. . . . . . The night dragged on forever with the police report and statements. Rinda had to call a neighbor to take care of Henry for the rest of the night—feed him and keep him safe—because she had to stay late with something that was school-related. It was true, even though it was a lie of omission. Bastien stayed to deal with the last of the legal issues and some other work matters. He also moved Rinda’s desk back to its original spot and set her squish ball back in its place, where it was easy for her to grab and throw against the wall. He hoped that would make Rinda’s morning a little better. Julian and Theo took Rinda home, and Laura came over too. And once she had Henry safely tucked in his own bed they drank. And commiserated. And cried. . . . . . Rinda didn’t know Bastien was indebted to Queen Riley because of his involvement with the Tariq scandal. She didn’t know that it only took a phone call from Bastien to explain to Queen Riley what happened and why. That Queen Riley was personally involved in speaking to the man and ensuring that the entire incident was taken care of. That what he did to Rinda, he would never do to her—or another person—ever again. Not if he expected to retain his citizenship as a Cordonian. Julian, Theo, Laura, and Rinda never understood how she got so fucking lucky. Why he chose not to press charges. Why she wasn’t fired. Why she never had to see that man ever again. But Bastien knew. He saw what Rinda went through that night. He talked with her, when she was finally ready and trusted him enough. He listened to her explain her feelings about the situation, not just the facts. Then Bastien better understood. He better understood what he did to Riley that night, and he better understood the mantle of responsibility that came with the power of simply being a man.

[violetsystems]

#personal

People aren’t very afraid to talk to me in public these days.  I say this having the perception for years that people hated or were afraid of me.  I think we all fear ultimately these social critiques of the identity we’ve built up for ourselves.  In America, people believe themselves to be free to say and express anything.  It even says it in our constitution.  Freedom takes a lot of work.  The infrastructure and culture required for someone’s right to debate farts on the internet is vast and unending.  In a city like Chicago, people like to bypass the internet entirely at times.  At times I’ve thought it bordered on lawlessness but these days it feels a lot more like freedom than it ever did.  I’ve always been a person who operates solely on being genuine and relying on it in return.  What you learn from being genuine year after year is that it takes a lot of risks to be true.  My ninety year old Swedish grandmother used to tell very soft-spoken jokes on holidays through the late onset Parkinson’s.  Through the shaking you could always tell the clearly defined wink at the end of her stories.  It was a blink and you miss it kind of thing.  She never demanded anyone’s attention and yet I was often there with her alone talking about indoor tennis at the nursing home.  From all the time spent traveling, I’ve relied on listening as a survival skill.  Listening to what works and what doesn’t about myself with different people sometimes gets me to thinking.  It’s weird to think it was only back in January of 2017 I quit drinking entirely.  I had played my first show in New York until four am drinking water with a friend from my school who had moved back to Brooklyn.  I totally just reblogged a cheeseburger of his by accident just the other day.  To think it was only a year ago when I started setting aside the time to think, collect and listen to my own thoughts.  I had written them rather erratically years prior and connecting with people just the same.  I’ve always spoken what I’ve felt here.  I don’t use anything other than Instagram.  I don’t really tell people specifically about my personal life other than my apartment walls.  I’m free to do that but it takes a lot of work.  Especially when you walk out the door and everyone suddenly thinks you are the front facing mascot for the free world.  I should be way more exhausted than I am with it all maybe.  I guess Thursday aside from being fake Thursday was also the start of New York Fashion Week.  I’m sure that’s far more exhausting than my current work load combined.  I don’t mind working.  I sometimes mind the exhaustion that comes from not knowing what I’m working towards.  

What kind of future is there actually for me out there if every year I kind of fade away into this obscure fog?  As of four weeks ago that ambiguity for me kind of faded away.  It did again Thursday afternoon inexplicably.  Sometimes it’s just the universe winking at you.  Sometimes it’s just a cheeseburger backpack on the train.  Other times probability has a real factor in all of it.  I’ve been spending most of my lunch hours at the gym.  It literally is around the corner from my office so I block it off in a calendar.  There’s always familiar people there and for the most part everybody always pretty much leaves you alone.  There’s a kind of interesting solidarity to that.  A safe space for body positivity for sure.  It kind of follows me around now.  People sort of get the message that I take no shit from people.  I take no shit from myself even more often.  I took the long way to the train the other day and this homeless man approached me.  It turns out he had recognized me from running by the lake path.  I was wearing a Nike Korean soccer jersey on the way back from running one day and an older man started a conversation about it with me.  He had brought up how they won the Asian games and how sports was political.  I agreed and thought he meant reunification.  He actually was talking about a player avoiding the military draft to play.  It’s those kind of conversations where two people talk genuinely and learn something about the city and the cultures represented within it that matter.  I’m white it’s true.  I’m not about to argue my way out of it.  What I learned from footwork, hip hop and the Black community in Chicago is that white people just need to own up to their own shit.  There’s this tendency for us to think we’re being put upon maybe.  It’s true you have to acknowledge your privilege.  From there people argue so much that there seems to be no clear step b.  That second step lies within the key to being genuine which is true to yourself.  That doesn’t always gel with everybody especially yourself.  How do you approach critique, build and grow from it?  It’s an active thing for me.  Like how you can watch a video of your favorite person a year later and it has an entirely different context.  Probably because I’ve grown more emotionally to understand and more open to listen.  I keep going back to this concept of a dream job.  I don’t know if it’s as simple as do what you love.  But surrounding yourself with genuine inspiration is sometimes a very radical act.  Especially when you realize after all these years the person you’ve really been at war with has been yourself.  Winning that battle is another thing entirely.

There’s always a welcome quiet now on the weekends.  I spent most of the last year alone in private.  Considering everybody wants to be my friend and hear my opinion at random in public, I don’t consider that antisocial.  When you talk about freedom, there is an aspect I understand as a feeling of safety and a feeling of privacy.  When you talk about feeling safe in a country, freedom to me means it’s safe for everyone.  We all know in these times the opposite seems to be true.  It never has been for me.  If there is one thing I have always been a motherfucker about it’s been looking after the safety of others.  No matter how many people wished they could say the opposite of me out of jealousy, envy or disgust.  I’m still here after all these years operating at a baseline of expectation laughing under my breath at them.  Like I’m some well oiled cyborg patrolling the outskirts of a sandy beach.  Maybe that’s what I’m training for.  Three weeks at the gym is definitely noticeable to me in the mirror.  In all that time alone I only thought about the things I should be doing to make things better.  I never really could rely on people to listen to what I was saying other than here.  Maybe I’m a better writer than speaker.  Maybe it’s less intimidating when I’m staring you back calmly in the face.  I guess that’s something I never had a year ago.  The calm to approach being approached in public without getting too bothered by it.  To understand people aren’t totally disgusted by me as a person.  That I can be something more if I just apply myself.  This city doesn’t do a good job historically of encouraging that.  You kind of have to lead by example.  Sometimes people want to knock you down so they don’t feel intimidated.  You devalue a person that way and it’s insulting.  Men do it to women all the time.  Mostly because they are intimidated.  I wonder what happens when men think about actually empowering women?  What they actually fear at the end of the day and the reasons why they don’t even try?  Have those men ever thought about those fears being collectively valid?  How you might be complicit if you don’t actually take the time to bother to listen to the critique?  Have we ever thought about how to change it instead of complaining about how women never talk to you anymore?  People talk all the time.  Sometimes it’s not even in words.  You have to find it in your heart to listen.  Sometimes it’s “I love you but you need to change.”  I don’t feel like it’s impossible to change.  I’ve become something else entirely.  And I’m free to help others be themselves and live in a world that respects that.  A place where we’re all free to challenge ourselves and be the best we possibly can without obstacles or other people getting in the way.  It’s hard work I know.  But together we run farther.  For now just picture me running beside you rolling my fucking eyes at all of this mess.  We can go as many miles as you want.  You know I’ll be there.  <3 Tim

[bananachickens]

Selfish for once

What Happens when a married Emma Cassidy falls in love with another man ? What happens when Killian finally finds the woman he's willing to push aside honor for ? Roughly inspired by Anna Karenina

Ratings : M

Also on FF.net and AO3

Chapter : 1/?

Chapter 1

Emma rushed into her husband's office, interrupting his work. “I need to go to Misthaven as soon as possible, my brother and Snow have gotten into a serious argument and he's pleading me to intervene” Unable to give her his full attention, her husband continued his revue of the document he was handed by his assistant as he waited for him to sign it “How long will you be gone my dear ?”

“I believe I won't need to be away for more than a few weeks, I have asked for my luggage to be readied and I should be able to leave tomorrow” Emma stated resolutely.

Lowering the report he was reading, he asked everyone present in the room to give them a couple of minutes and closed the large wooden doors “ So soon ?” he looked at her shocked and puzzled.

“I did say I needed to leave soon, Neal” Emma answered, a witty smile on her face.  

“Did you tell Henry ?”

“I did, and he'd like to accompany me and see his cousin in Misthaven” she said her heart full of hope.

Neal considered her request “ I don't think it's a good idea Emma, I cannot permit it, the boy needs to follow his tutor's lessons more thoroughly, and as I do recall, an exception was made not that long ago and it's for that reason that I have to insist on him staying”

Huffing and staring at the floor for a moment, Emma looks back at him and nods “I know you're right, but that makes me very unhappy”

“It will only be a few weeks, you said so yourself ” Neal smiles at her before opening the door and letting everyone back in.

Emma married Neal at eighteen when he was 38, giving him a son soon after. Although their marriage was one of convenience, she developed affection for him and didn't consider herself as an unhappy wife but rather as a lucky one, for at least she got along well with him and liked to consider him as a friend despite their age difference. Most of her friends and acquaintances had married or remarried out of convenience, for wealth or for a title. She could count those who married out of love on one hand and her brother  was one of them.  

**

“ Et ici ? ” (and here ?) Liam asked the maid as he kissed her neck. She hummed in approval, urging him to move lower, which he did. Kissing her shoulder and continuing his journey down while his hand lifted her skirts, his hand touching her naked thighs and moving upwards.

Regaining her wits, the maid stopped his hand “ Monsieur, votre mère ne va pas tarder à rentrer, je ne veux pas qu'elle nous surprend dans cette position” (Sir, you're mother will be back soon, I don't want her catching us like this)

“Ne t'en fait pas, son train n'arrivera pas avant ce soir, c'est surtout de mon frère dont on devrait ce méfier, mais il n'est pas encore à la maison” (Don't worry, her train won't be back before tonight, we should rather fear my brother, but he's still not home) he said waiting for her to make up her mind.

“Ne l'est-il pas ?” (isn't he ?) Killian said pushing the curtain they were hiding behind back and giving them both the fear of their lives.  

Excusing herself, the maid ran away embarrassed and hoping no one else finds out about the dalliance.

“ Did you really need to do that Killian ?” Liam sighed in frustration at his brother's behaviour before rubbing his face with his hands and taking a deep breath. “You almost killed the poor thing in embarrassment”

“ Should have thought about this possibility before initiating anything behind the curtains in the library, anyone could have came in and heard her moans, she's lucky I'm the one who interrupted you. Were it anyone else, she surely would have lost her position”. Despite his popularity with women, Killian was not a man too fool around. He was what his older brother liked to say an “honorable man” who valued good form above all, when he himself has abandoned it long ago. Still, Killial couldn't believe his brother's foolish behaviour.

He had seen him act recklessly before but it seems like the more he grew up the more reckless he became, almost defiant. He liked to break social norms and never cared about his reputation, thankfully he had a brother and a father willing to do anything or pay any amount of money to hush down any rumor or scandal he was part of, not only for their sake, but also for their mother's sake, who still saw her sons as her cute little boys who could never do wrong.

“ What do you want Killian ? Did you interrupt us for a purpose or just for the sake of interrupting ?” Lian said moving from behind the curtain and sitting on a comfortable chaise in front of the fireplace. Killian followed him “ No, I was actually looking for you. I believe mother would want to go to the Opera tonight before Regina's reception, will you join us ?” his mother loved the opera and ballet and she would always take her boys with her when she would go as they grew up.  

“ Of course” he said without a second thought. “What about father ?” he asked already knowing the answer. Killian sighed looking at him, and it was the only confirmation he needed.

“He said he'll attend Regina's reception though,”

“Wonderful, I can't wait” Liam said sarcastically before leaving the room with an ironic bow to his brother.

**  

Nearing the city, Emma stared at the little portrait of Henry she always kept with her, she already felt like she missed him. Emma could not believe he was 10 already, time passed so quickly. She loved her son above all, sometimes she felt like he was the only one in the world to truly understand her, and she him. They both craved adventure and knowledge, and they both felt out of place in the small town where they lived.

“That's my son, Henry, it's the first time I leave Glenheaven without him” Emma handed the portrait to the lady sitting in front of her on the train. She looked at the portrait and smiled affectionately, “he's such a handsome young man, you must be proud of him.”

“I am, he just turned 10 last June and he already acts and thinks like a grown up.” Emma could not believe he was 10 already, time passed so quickly. “ I'm sorry I haven't presented myself, I'm Countess Emma Cassidy”

“I'm Princess Alice Jones.” she bowed her head gracefully at Emma. “ I am actually joining my sons in Misthaven, I expect an engagement might be in order soon” The lady smiles excitedly before adding “I don't believe I have seen you before dear”

“I rarely go to Misthaven I'm afraid”

“That's a shame, I'm sure Misthaven society would be fond of you”

Time passed by quickly as the two ladies talked about their sons, literature and their travels around Misthaven and the Enchanted Forest. Countess Cassidy told her about her Henry's fascination with fairy tales and mythology and Princess Jones shared stories about her sons growing up.

When the time came to leave the train, the two women embraced. “Well I hope we get to meet again soon Miss Cassidy” Alice said before exiting the wagon. Feeling cold, Emma closed her white fur coat and looked through the window for her brother but instead found herself staring at Alice as she joined a young man she assumed was one of her sons. Turning around, the man's blue eyes caught hers and wouldn't let go for what seemed like eternity, but was actually 5 seconds.  

“Emma ! Oh how I missed you little sister” startled, she turned around and saw David running to her, squeezing her with all his strength before letting her go. “I can't believe you actually came, it's been so long ! Too long” recovering from her surprise, Emma smiled genuinely at her brother.  

“I wish I could have came sooner brother” Emma said, regaining her breath after being nearly chocked. She really loved spending time with her brother and her sister in law, Snow. It was always a pleasure seeing them and their son, Leopold. “How is Snow and Leo ? Are you still not talking ?”

“I'm afraid she still won't talk to me, she doesn't appreciate my decision to join the army in the prospect of an impending war” David looked preoccupied, he understood his wife's objection was based on her fear to lose him, had he been in her place he would have reacted the same, however he had to think of his country and his duty.

“War ? David” Emma kicked him on the shoulder “ Why are you joining this foolishness ?”

“Emma, I can't just sit around and wait for Arthur to invade our Country”

“No David, but you could have contributed to the war effort by any other mean, you could have made a donation or built a hospital for the injured” Emma felt a mixture of disappointment, pride and concern. She never doubted her brother's bravery – she saw it first hand when she foolishly jumped in the freezing water to save a little boy from dawning and he jumped to rescue the both of them, saving her and catching a cold that almost took his life at only 13 – but she couldn't deny that his will to save his country and countrymen will undeniably result in the death of some other.

“Leo is excited to see you, he has been asking about you and Henry a lot lately, says he can't wait to show you how grown up she is no” David changed the subject as Emma climbed with him in the carriage, and she decided to let it drop for now.

[k-renne]

SPOIL HER ROTTEN 

Summary: Kylo is the CEO of First Order Industries, entirely capable of running a company but incompetent when it came to dating. At least, he always told himself he just hadn’t found the right person yet. It turns out that he was right, even if costed him years of loneliness just one date would prove that you were worth the wait. 

Warning: NSFW, daddy kink

A/N: thanks @kyloholic for inspiring some of these ideas! Also wow, I’ve been meaning to write this for a long time

Kylo was a friend of a friend, though he had always wanted to be closer to you. He knew you through Phasma, as she brought you to office parties on a few occasions. He had only had a few brief conversations with you, as Kylo wasn’t much of a talker and he intimidated you. Still, you had caught his attention. Maybe it was the red dress you wore for the Holiday party that hugged your curves, or maybe it was the way that you smiled to him from across the room - a blush dusting your cheeks.

But most likely, it was your passion. How your eyes lit up when you talked about your job as a nurse, how much you loved just helping people. Compared to the cold calculated demeanor of his colleagues and himself, it was refreshing. Your passion inspired something in himself that he thought had died long ago, and it stoked his desire for you. He wanted you, and was prepared to do everything in his power to earn your affections - but he held himself back.

Phasma saw the way that Ren looked at you, the heated nature of his gaze was unmistakable. She warned him to stay away from you, she saw you as young as innocent and she didn’t want him to taint that.

“She’s only five years younger than me Phasma, that’s nothing,” Kylo frowned, taking a sip of his black coffee.

“Six Ren, she’s six years younger. She doesn’t go for older men anyways,” Phasma lied. You were absolutely attracted to older men versus the ones who were your age, though it was true that you were too afraid to date them. But in your heart you were open to love no matter the age difference, and you had taken a liking to Kylo.

“Why not? Women would kill to have me,” Kylo boasted. He had quite the reputation, of the man that everyone wanted but that no one could have. Normally he was too busy for women, for relationships, but he wanted to make time for you. Besides, he needed to spend less time at work anyways and this was a worthwhile distraction.

“I said no, so stop trying to steal her away from me,” Phasma pointed.

Kylo chuckled darkly, “Phasma, I haven’t even begun to try.” He paused, “But don’t you worry, I won’t lay a finger on your precious friend, unless of course she wants me to,” Kylo smirks.

“You are such a pervert, I know what you want from her,” Phasma scoffs.

Kylo stood up, “I don’t think you do Phasma.” He crosses his arms. It was insulted, sure he did want to have sex with you but he wanted all of you - not just that part.

“What do you want then? Besides a good lay.” Phasma challenged.

Kylo let out a deep sigh, he shouLdn’t be admitting this. “I want…companionship. Someone who sees me as something more than my money, I want Y/N.”

“Look, I know you need a girlfriend but please stay away from my friend,” Phasma replied. She had to protect you from him, he’d only ruin you.

“This conversation is over,” Kylo shook his head. Phasma couldn’t tell him what to do, no one could. If he wanted to go after you, he would.

Phasma had a feeling that her warning wouldn’t stop Kylo, so she had no choice but to talk to you. “Y/N, whatever you do stay away from Kylo, he wants you,” Phasma warned.

“Wait…the Kylo Ren CEO of First Order Industries wants me?” This was certainly news. You didn’t think he’d even remember you, after only meeting a few times.

“Yes, ugh don’t get all excited about it you need to stay away from him.” Phasma pinched the bridge of her nose.

“What? He’s attractive, I’m flattered.” You shrug. “What has he done that’s so bad?” You ask, now you’re curious.

“He just uses woman to sleep with him, he’s a manwhore,” Phasma tells you.

“Well what if he wants a relationship?” You question.

“He doesn’t, believe me. And you’re not much different than the other women either, they all think they’re so special when they get his attention.” Venom laced her words. Phasma obviously was not a fan of Kylo or the women he chose to sleep with.

Her words stung, “Fine, I’ll stay away from him,” You snap. What you did was none of her business, though if anything did happen with Kylo you would make sure to go in with very low expectations.

Kylo doesn’t waste any time with you, and the next morning you wake to see fresh baked goods at your door with a note from your not so secret admirer.

Dear Y/N,

I wasn’t sure what you liked so I picked out a variety for you, I hope you enjoy them. Please let me know.

Kylo Ren

On the back of the card was his phone number. You couldn’t help but blush, and you were almost thankful for Phasma’s warning because you were unprepared for how strongly Kylo would come onto you.

Being polite, you reply back to him, thanking him for his generosity and assuring him that he doesn’t have to do this for you and asking if you can do anything for him. Kylo’s reply is immediate:

“Please, I have plenty of money to spare. You don’t owe me anything,” Kylo smiled as he read your text, putting your number in his contact. In a way this was the perfect test, to see how you would respond. Just as he thought, you didn’t expect anything from him. It was a good sign. Besides, he didn’t know how to make people like him in any other way. Personality? Nobody really cared about that.

“But I don’t understand why Kylo, we barely know each other. You must want something in return.” You replied. You weren’t afraid to be direct.

His heart fluttered when he saw his name, it was only a text but it had his heart swimming with feelings. “I don’t expect anything in return, though you are right. We don’t know each other very well, I’d like to change that. I’m free after 6.”

He sure got straight to the point. Even if he wasn’t the best at this, a first date couldn’t hurt. And you wouldn’t mind seeing him, “That works for me, what would you like to do?”

“I could take you shopping,” Kylo texts.

You almost spit out your coffee, of course he would say that. “How about we just get drinks or something,” You suggest, something much more appropriate for a first date. Maybe Kylo wasn’t the type of guy that went on dates.

“Sure, I’ll buy.” Kylo replies.

“I can pay for myself,” You say.

“I appreciate it but no. That’s final.”

He sure was a businessman, you sighed. You let him win this round, though you wouldn’t stop fighting him on this. You discussed the details of your meeting, before you headed off to work.

You were tired by the end of the day but it was a Thursday night and you had Friday off this week, so you were excited to be doing something. Even if you were a little on guard, you wanted to look nice for Kylo. Plus you didn’t have many opportunities to dress up when your uniform was a pair of scrubs, so it was fun for yourself as well.

Kylo wore a suit as usual, but left behind the tie. He was a little nervous to see you, that you’d think that he was boring. But he couldn’t just send you gifts forever, especially when you didn’t seem to like that very much. He had to make you his girlfriend first. Then he could spoil you rotten.

He had already ordered a drink, saving the seat next to him for you. Which was annoying as a lot of people tried to sit next to him, and it was happening right now, “Excuse me that seat is…oh.” It was you, and you looked absolutely gorgeous.

“You look stunning,” He complimented, eyes appreciating how your dress suited your body.

“Thank you,” You grinned. Your smile made Kylo’s heart race, it had to be his favorite thing to see. It made him feel warm inside, something he only felt when he looked at his dog.

“So…Kylo I’ve told you about my job, but I don’t really know much about what you do,” You start the conversation.

“I’m sure it’s not as interesting as the way you impact lives in the hospital.” Kylo smirked, taking a sip of his whiskey,

“Maybe not to me, but if it’s important to you I’d like to know.”

It was brutally honest, but it was exactly what Kylo wanted to hear. You two really hit it off, and you had even made Kylo laugh which was quite the feat. You bonded over your mutual love of Darth Vader disdain for walking in the rain, among other interests. It was clear that you were very compatible with each other.

After the first drink his arm is on your waist, supporting your back and keeping you close to him. He’s moved his seat closer to you as well, so that your thighs are touching and that his arm wraps all the way to your midsection. It makes you feel secure, warm and fuzzy inside, like you want to be even closer to him.  

Kylo loved talking with you, which wasn’t something that he said about anyone. With you he could speak openly, not worry about judgement or invalidation of his feelings. “You’re a really great listener you know that?”

“Well it’s my job to be,” You shrug.

“No really, don’t sell yourself short. I haven’t enjoyed talking with someone this much in a long time,” Kylo leans closer, putting his hand on top of yours. You can smell that alcohol on his breath, how it mixes with his cologne. It’s so enticing that if he asked you to come back to his place you might just have to say yes.

“Kylo,” You breathe, gazing into his eyes. You’re trapped by them, they’re pools of warmth and they pull you in, make you feel like you’re drowning.

“Yes Princess?” He leaned closer, so that you feel the heat of his breath fan your face. The nickname wasn’t entirely intentional, but he was a little buzzed and it just slipped out.

“I-it’s getting late,” You shiver, his stare making tingles go down your spine. And if you weren’t turned on before, you certainly were now that he just called you princess. It was making you wet.

Kylo looks down at his watch to see that it’s midnight, only for a moment to look back at you. “Perhaps, we can leave this bar, I could take you home, or I could take you to my place.” He purrs at that last option, eyes dark and hooded.

“Maybe it’s best if you just take me home, I’m getting tired,” You yawn. You want to spend more time with him talking, but you know you don’t have much of that left in you.

“Of course, it’d be my pleasure.” That sultry grin is back, and his hand is at your waist again.

“You already called a cab?” You ask, when you see a car pull up.

“No, that’s my driver,” Kylo explains. Of course he had a driver, he was that rich.

You sit in the back seat together, Kylo encourages you to sit right next to him by patting the space besides him but you say no. You don’t know if you’ll be able to stand being so close to such an intoxicating man, you already felt like you were on fire and you were trying to calm down.

Kylo watches you from the other side, head tilted slightly as he observes you. His eyes glitter in the darkness. He licks his lips before speaking, “Are you afraid of me?” He gestures to the space between you.

You think about what you want to say a moment before replying, “Not of you, no. I’m afraid if I sit close to you I won’t be able to resist…kissing you,” You admit, looking down at your hands in your lap.

“Now why is that such a bad thing?”

“Because, I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop kissing you.” You look up at him.

“Hmm that sounds like quite the dilemma princess, but you have a few options; you could stay over there, not kiss me and we could go on another date another time. Which is perfectly fine, but not very fun. My least favorite option, you could go home and we could never speak again. Which I wouldn’t like very much. And lastly my personal favorite, you could kiss me and I could take you to my place where you can keep kissing me.”

“I want to kiss you,” You decide.

“Then slide over her, come on, don’t be shy,” Kylo pats the space besides him.

You inch closer to him, until you can slide a hand around his neck and meet his lips. The first kiss you give him is very soft, tentative as you test the feeling of his plush lips against his. But quickly you begin to kiss him harder, faster, hungrier as you release the tension building between you two throughout the evening.

His hands are all over, gripping your hips, running over your thighs, squeezing your ass in a way that makes you grind against him. The skirt you’re wearing is splayed over his lap as you straddle him, and he can feel the heat of your core through his pants. “Babygirl you’re making me want to do a lot more than kissing,” Kylo said breathlessly, pulling away from your lips for only a moment before latching on to the, again.

Babygirl, hmm. Did this man have a daddy kink? You hoped he did, because it’d be really hot. It might cost you, but there was only one way to find out. “Only if you want to daddy,” You purred, kissing his neck.

Kylo’s eyes widened, “Oh fuck,” He cursed, that alone made him hard in seconds. He looks down at you, as if to ask how you knew. His cheeks felt hot and his pants felt tight.

You just smirk up at him, “What? You seem like the type.” You say. You run your hand up his chest, teasing him, ”Right daddy?” You look up at him innocently.

“That’s right princess,” Kylo finally composed himself, playing along. How were you so damn perfect for him?

“Mr. Ren we have arrived at your destination,” A voice echoed through a speaker. Kylo gently plopped you off of his lap, getting out of the car first so that he could help you out.

He holds your hand on the way up to the apartment, occasionally stooping down to kiss your cheek or bringing your knuckles to his lips. “I have a dog by the way, I can put her away if you don’t like dogs.”

“No don’t do that, I love dogs and I’d love to meet her.”

Kylo is relieved, some of the women he’s brought back in the past didn’t like dogs. And it was only made worse as his dog seemed to bark at any female guest he brought home. He really hoped she’d behave for you though, he really liked you. He didn’t want to scare you away.

He has a black lab, he’s not the type to have a small dog. He can hear her whining when you get closer to the door, excited to see him after a long day. When he goes inside his dog is so happy, wagging her tail as Kylo pets her. She’s just as happy to see you too, and when you squat down to pet her she wags her tail even faster, nuzzling and sniffing your face. “She’s so cute,” You squeal.

Kylo can’t believe it, this never happens. It had to be a sign, that his dog approved of you? He didn’t really know, but it had to mean something. “She really like you,” He crosses his arms, watching you two.

“That makes me so happy, because I like her too,” You smile, continuing to pet the puppy.

How adorable, Kylo thought.

You spend some more time with his dog before he eventually gets you back to his room, kissing you just as heatedly before. This time his hands dance underneath your skirt, massaging your inner thigh and teasing over panties. “So soft,” Kylo hummed.

You squirmed under his touch, moaning as he sucked a hickey on your neck. “You like that babygirl? Do you like when daddy touches you like this?” Kylo whispered huskily against your ear.

That made you soaking wet, your thighs squeezed around his hand, “Yes daddy,” You whine.

“Princess you know exactly what I want to hear, but I want to see you too. Daddy is a greedy man.” Kylo growls.

“I’m sure you can manage this zipper,” You tease.

“You’re so right,” Kylo rasps, ripping open your skirt. Followed by your shirt, bra, and panties. He had been wanting to do that all night.

“Kylo!” You yell at him.

“I’ll buy you new clothes.” He smirks. You glare at him as you watch him unbutton his shirt, carefully folding and placing his clothes in a pile. When he takes off his underwear your draw drops, you’ve never seen a man so big. “It’s alright babygirl, I’ll be gentle.”

He’s on top of you, kissing you with his tongue as he slides into you. Kylo moans as he feels your wet heat around him, “So fucking tight.” He hisses.

True to his words, Kylo is gentle with you, keeping a slow pace as he slots his hips against you. His free hand snakes up to knead one breast at a time, dropping his head down to take a nipple in his mouth. “Princess you’re pussy feels so good, it feels like heaven,” Kylo groans.

“Harder, go harder,” You pant.

“What princess? What did you say?” Kylo pretends not to hear.

“Daddy please, go harder,” You plead. Embarrassed and turned on at the same time by your words.

“That’s more like it,” Kylo grunts, changing his pace from gentle to fucking you hard.

Once he changes your place you’re getting close, after a night of teasing you know you’re not going to last longer. “Daddy I’m gonna come,” You warn.

“Go ahead babygirl, I wanna feel your pussy squeeze my cock.”

“Ah daddy!” You moan as you come, Kylo admiring the way you back arches and your eyes squeeze shut. Absolutely gorgeous. He could see himself doing this many more times.

With a low moan Kylo comes inside you, filling you with his warm essence. He pulls out and snuggles against you, arm wrapping around you and burying his face in your neck as he nuzzles you. “Did that feel good Y/N?” He says softly.

“Mmm it felt amazing,” You’re in pure bliss right now.

“It’s late, I’d like for you to stay the night. If you want to of course,” Kylo suggests.

“That’d be nice, your bed is very soft,” You sigh.

“Good, because I don’t want to see you leave just yet.” Kylo kisses you. “And I’d hope that we can do this again sometime,” He adds.

“I’d like that,” You smile at him, snuggling closer against his chest. Kylo wrapped his arms tightly around you, burying his face in your neck as he continued to leave light kisses there. He was happier than he had been in a long time, he really thought you were the one and he knew he couldn’t let you go. He just couldn’t wait until he’d be able to spoil you, show you off to his parents and coworkers. He dreamed of your future together as he fell asleep, of everything that could happen between you two, and like you it was perfect.

[actual-leia-organa]

5 Times He Watched Her Sleep

Hey guys! I wrote another little something for the House fandom, a quick little 5 times fic. Special thanks go to @queenraynajaymes for making me commit to publishing something by the end of January, to @fruit-lupe for always agreeing to read my works whilst still in progress, and a shout out to @geekhappens for inspiring me with her amazing fic - you make me want to be a better writer. 

I’ll also eventually be posting this on my FF.net account, but I also welcome feedback through tumblr!

Title: 5 Times He Watched Her Sleep Fandom: House, MD Summary: 5 times throughout their relationship that House has a chance to observe Cuddy asleep. Definite fluff and some AU. 

First time -

His first thought on waking was that he’d never touched such soft skin in his life.

His second was that a ringing phone was possibly the worst sound to wake up to.

Groaning softly and disentangling himself from the gorgeous undergrad in his bed, he did his best to not wake her whilst making it to the phone before it stopped ringing.

“Hello?” he near whispered into the phone, watching as the lithe figure of Lisa Cuddy rolled over in his bed, burying her face into his pillow and sighing softly.

He was only half listening to the voice on the other end, throwing in the occasional “uh huh” and “yeah” as he observed her in sleep. Her cheeks were flushed a soft pink, her long lashes curled where her eyes were gently closed. Her lips were slightly parted, her breathing soft. Her wild curls were spread around her, and he’d be inclined to describe them as a halo- were he that way inclined.

Suddenly the voice on the other end of the line was demanding, requesting he confirm a meeting with the Dean in… 20 minutes. House swallowed, a heavy weight forming in his gut.

“Sure, sure, I can get there by then.” He shot another look at the girl in his bed, regretful he would have to leave her to wake alone.

Hanging up the phone, he wandering around his room, collecting his clothes from where they’d fallen - or been thrown - the night before, and dressing in silence.

Before he left he ran a hand through her hair, smiling as she leant into his touch. As he pressed a soft kiss to her temple, her eyes softly opened.

“Hey,” her voice was heavy with sleep.

“Hey yourself.” House shot a quick glance at his watch, “I have to go, I have a meeting, but you sleep in, ok? I’ll call you this afternoon”

Cuddy nodded, pressing her face back into his pillow as she slipped back into sleep.

Grabbing a post-it from her desk, House scribbled a quick note:

Cuddy-

I’ll call you, this afternoon.

- H

Second time -

He couldn’t sleep. The pain in his newly mangled leg was like an animal, one with razor sharp teeth and jaws of steel, with a bite he could never escape. The so called ‘experts’, his ‘doctors’, the same ones who dismissed his pain, who missed the dead muscle, who left him a cripple, had started him on Vicodin. It left his thoughts clear but the pain was still there, would always be there, would be with him the rest of his days.

Unlike Stacy.

The thought was like a punch to the gut, even though he knew he’d been the one to not ask for her help, who distanced himself, who pushed her away.

He tossed his head again, trying to find comfort where there was none. Out of the corner of his eye he caught movement as Cuddy adjusted her blanket in her sleep, curled into the armchair Wilson had pushed into his bedroom to watch over him during the worst nights.

Cuddy. He couldn’t believe she had come to him, that she had helped him… that she had stayed. But there she was, curled into the old leather armchair, his afghan haphazardly thrown over her. She’d tied her unruly curls up, which made her look younger, and her eyelashes fluttered with REM sleep.

She’d cared for him all afternoon, coming into his darkened apartment and not letting his depression dampen her ferver. He’d been laid out on the couch, his crutches thrown across the room in a fit of frustration. She’d cleaned around him, doing his laundry and cooking enough food to last a week. She’d brought him the latest medical journals, even some case files, “if you feel up to it.”

She’d stayed for dinner, making sure he ate a decent amount, before offering to help him to bed. He was proud, too proud, but was also pleased when she stepped forward as he stumbled with the crutches. She walked with him to his room, brought him clean pajamas and stepped back, calmly waiting for him to ask for help when he needed. When he looked at her she stepped forward, letting him lean on her, helping him balance, all without a word.

As he pivoted around in bed, laying back against the cool fresh sheets, she pulled his comforter up and he grabbed her wrist, his pain-filled eyes meeting her cool grey gaze.  

“Stay?” his voice was soft, and Cuddy nearly missed the word. He spoke as if ashamed to ask, as if afraid to need.

“Of course I’ll stay,” her smile was gentle, with no pity in her eyes. House thought it was such a change, her just being there, a comforting force, so different to Stacy’s fretting, to Wilson’s frenetic neediness. She was soft, and gentle, and she calmed him despite the pain.

He closed his eyes, but sleep didn’t come. Instead he watched as she curled herself into the chair and pulled the blanket close. One arm fell out towards the bed and he moved across to capture her hand in his. It felt so warm, so right. But he also knew she deserves more, so much more than an angry cripple, and so he was content to watch her slip into a deep peaceful sleep.

Third time -

It’s 3:10pm, and House is taken aback when he storms into Cuddy’s office to find her absent. He’d checked her schedule - both personal and professional - and he fully expected to find her behind her desk, ready to roll her eyes at the procedure he’d burst in to ask for.

A slight snore pulled him back to the present, and he turned to find her stretched out on her couch, head propped against one of the throw cushions. Her mouth was slightly open, and a glass of water sat on the floor beside her- odds are because she’d been feeling ill again.

He gently pushed her legs back and sat beside her, watching her steady breathing. A soft smile appeared as he thought about the past week, and what the future would bring.

She needed the nap, after catching what she wrote off as “just a bug”. House knew better. She hadn’t kept her breakfast down for the past 4 days, and this was the third time he’s caught her napping.

“There’s nothing wrong with you that hasn’t been wrong with women since the beginning of time” had been his cryptic comment a few days earlier, but she’d brushed it off as a House-ism, not seeing the deeper message.

Leaning forward, he brushed a strand of hair from her face, pulling back as she stirred. Her long lashes fluttered before her eyes opened, the striking grey muted from sleep.

“Hey” he softly said, “you feeling ok?”

Cuddy nodded, slowly sitting up, her back propped against the arm of the sofa. “Still just getting over this bug, I’ll be ok”

“Cuddy…”

“It’s just a bug House, people get them. Don’t look for more than this is.”

“Because this is more than a bug, Cuddy! This is… this is big.”

“House…”

“Cuddy” he mocked back at her, making her meet his eyes. “It’s ok to be nervous. It’s ok to be afraid. But don’t pretend this is something else.”

“What do you want me to say, House? That I’m scared to admit this to myself in case it's not true? That I’m afraid I’ll get my hopes up only to lose it again? That I don’t want to say those words, because it's everything I’ve ever wanted?” Her eyes filled with tears at the confession.

“It’s ok Cuddy” House held out his arm, and she curled against him. “I’m nervous, afraid, everything, too. But don’t deny this to yourself.”

His hand gently rubbing her back soothed her back to near sleep, and House released her from his embrace so she could lie back on the couch.

As he pulled himself to a stand and made his way from the office, her sleepy voice brought him to a halt.

“House…” he turned towards her as she half opened her eyes, a smile playing on her lips, “I think I’m pregnant.”

House smiled at her in return. “I think so too. Enjoy your rest, I’ll see you tonight.”

He limped out, being sure to close the blinds as he went.

Fourth time -

House limped in his front door, pushing the door shut with his cane and hoping the resulting noise didn’t disturb Cuddy - she’d said nothing about going back to his place, but her luxury sedan parked outside was a dead giveaway.

He didn’t expect her to still be awake, it was the early hours of the morning, he’d finally solved his case, and was looking forward to spooning behind her and hearing her contented sigh, which he realised as he made it to his bedroom was not going to happen.

Sprawled under the haphazard covers, Cuddy was curled around his pillow, wearing one of his older graphic tees with a hand protectively on her second trimester baby bump.

He sat beside her, smiling as he watched her sleep, softly laying a hand on her ever-expanding stomach and feeling the gentle pressure from within.

He had been afraid, bordering on terrified, when her pregnancy was confirmed.

Afraid that he’d be a terrible father, that he’d follow in his own father’s footsteps and never know how to properly discipline, that Cuddy would finally wake up and realise he was a terrible choice to have a baby with.

But more than anything he was terrified that something would happen to the baby, and Cuddy would again be devastated. She’d been through so much, this was her dream, a baby of her own… a baby with him. And he would move heaven and earth for her, and the baby, to make it through this pregnancy.

She started regularly sleeping at his apartment early in the pregnancy, holding him close when she woke from nightmares of losing the baby. It wasn’t until after the 12 week scan, the line crossed, the simple words “everything looks good” sounding like magic to their ears, that Cuddy relaxed her nighttime hold on him.

But she didn’t stop coming over, hence why he now found her taking up most of her bed, but he couldn't be mad at her. She was so happy, glowing even in sleep. Her hair was back, pulled into a braid, exposing the soft skin of her neck. House lent forward and gently kissed the pulse point near her ear, smiling as she let out a soft moan and turned to him. Her eyes slowly opened, grey meeting blue, as she moved to kiss him.

Pulling away, she took in his appearance. “Solved your case?”

“Yeah,” he pulled back and started to toe off his shoes and socks, “so it would be nice if I could squeeze in there with you and the spawn.”

Cuddy smirked at his choice of endearment, slowly rolling herself back over to her own side. Her smirk became a full smile at the idea of even having her own side in House’s bed.

By the time she’d managed to re-situate herself House had changed into his pajamas and was climbing in next to her, turning onto his side and pulling Cuddy against him.

Pressing a kiss to her hair he heard the gentle sigh that meant she was slipping back into sleep, and he pulled her closer as her breathing slowed and she finally relaxed in his arms.

Fifth time -

A soft murmur came through the baby monitor on the nightstand, causing House to rouse from sleep, reaching across the bed for Cuddy but his hand meeting cold sheets.

“Cuddy?” he raised his head and checked the bathroom, but no light was on.

The noise came through the monitor again, the softest of snores, and House smiled. He knew where she was.

Slowly standing up from the bed, he made his way down the hall without his cane, holding the wall for support. At the second door on the left he turned, pushing the door open to see the room lit by the soft glow of a night light.

In the crib a tiny baby with a headful of dark hair fussed quietly, whilst Cuddy napped in the rocking chair in the corner.

House approached the crib first, laying a gentle hand on the baby’s chest but moving to pick him up when he fussed more, hoping to head it off before the baby started crying and woke his mother.

House gently shushed his son, holding him to his chest and watching Cuddy over the baby’s spiky black hair. She stirred slightly, and House decided he’d give her until the baby was settled before waking her and walking with her back to bed. As tired as she was with a newborn, she deserved a better night’s sleep than in a wooden chair.

She looked more relaxed than she’d been in the last few weeks, in the lead up to the birth and bringing the baby home- she confided in House once they were home that she couldn’t believe it had all happened, and she finally had a baby just down the hall.

The baby squirmed in House’s arms and let out the softest of squeals, but it was enough to cause Cuddy to stir again, her eyes on the verge of opening.

If asked Cuddy would probably say this was the worst she’d looked in a long time, a newborn taking up enough of her day that she was lucky to brush her teeth and hair let alone complete her usual beauty routine, whilst House would proclaim it was the best she’d ever looked, a pink flush to her cheeks and a new shine in her eyes. Just watching her sleep now was proof of that. Her pajamas had a milk stain on them, her hair was a wild mess, she was gently snoring, and House was adoring every inch of her. It was thanks to her he was currently standing with a baby in his arms, his son, something he had given up on long ago.

The baby rooted against his chest and let out another cry, and like that Cuddy was awake.

“House?” she looked up at him, slightly groggy from her quick nap.

“Hey sleepy,” he walked over to her and handed her the baby, “I think someone’s hungry.”

She smiled down at the baby in her arms, running a hand through his whisper soft hair and watching his bright blue eyes take in both his parents.

As she went to feed the baby, House lent in and kissed the top of her head. “I’ll see you back in bed?”

Cuddy nodded, her rapt attention on her precious little Benjamin Cuddy- House.

[alwayswriting123]

Are Young People Tuning In?

Youngsters don’t want to sit through either a 2 or 3 hour-long debate of old people arguing about why they deserve to sit their kiesters in one of the world's most powerful chairs ever. (Hmm, wonder if it’s a lazy boy... anyway) No, they’d rather sit around and vape or do the smart thing like the bird-box challenge and posting it online.

In fact, I bet if I asked a group of teenagers who Pete Buttigieg is, they’d reply with a vacuum cleaner salesman and I’m not kidding. I sat down with a group of teenagers and someone literally said he’s a vacuum cleaner salesman. I felt so bad for little Petie I continued to ask them questions on all of the current candidates. Their results? A D+. So I began to wonder, just how many teenagers aren’t tuning into the debates? And what’s the most efficient way of getting to these young voters? Through social media and other places of course! 

Well I mean, like, I don’t know about other people but I just don’t care about that kind of stuff. Like, I hear about politics a lot more in my household and stuff - it’s not that I don’t wanna learn it’s just that I feel afraid to contribute to the conversation, you know? Like I don’t wanna open my mouth and say something wrong. Trust me, I don’t like Donald Trump at all, I really don’t know why he won in the first place. That say’s a lot about America. Like a lot but, I really hope he doesn’t win again. I mean, I voted in the past.

Me: “That’s good you should keep doing that.” 

That’s why I feel bad because I didn’t vote in the last election. And it wasn’t because I didn’t like either candidate, I liked Hillary. But I just felt like my vote wouldn’t count. The electoral college is messed up! That **** is crazy and plain bananas. - Greg Soyer

Mmm, that **** was indeed crazy and bananas. (This **** is bananas- B-A-N-A-N-A-S!) But I still was hungry for answers. Why was the **** crazy? I needed to find out. So I did the opposite of what I did the first time and asked older and much wiser people.

Question 1. Why do you feel like young voters aren’t or are tuned in to the election?

I think young people starting out in life are very worried about one thing and that is what is going to happen to their future. The presidency affects not just the individual but also their entire existence. Though the argument can also be made that they also don’t tune in because they mistrust the government and at times think it’s corrupt. - Tucker White

No reliable news outlets. [There is] too much to sort through.- Anonymous

I feel like young voters don’t want to be involved or, the ones that are involved don’t pay attention to the policies. - Anonymouse

While I’m not sure if more young adults are tuned in are tuned in or not, I personally feel conflicted. On one hand, I’m invested because I want Trump & his administration out of office. On the other hand, I feel discouraged about who can be trusted to lead our nation next. It feels like the corruption never ends, regardless of who’s in office.- Elizabeth Adebayo

You know it’s funny that you bring that up because I asked my son if he was gonna vote and he said no. I asked him why not and he just responded with my vote won’t change anything. And you know, I feel bad. As a mother, you hear your kid telling you he has no control over what happens in his life? It made my heart almost break. I wanted to argue with him but... I couldn’t look him in the eye and tell him to vote because I’m not even sure if it’ll change anything with the last election.- Elizabeth DeTar.

I can speak for like late 20-somethings millennials. We’re too busy drowning in debt and trying to make it to care about a bunch of lackluster candidates who don’t seem to be inspiring - Anonymous

I soon realized a pattern in each responder's answers. They all felt betrayed. Violated by their government, concerned and scared about not only where their future would end up but, the next generations. I, for one, had hope that democracy wasn’t dead. And to prove it, I continued my search for some good ole’ fashioned teenage spirit, printed out a couple of headshots of each of the 2020 democratic candidates and headed to the one place where teenagers gather (sometimes in flocks) the mall.

First up was Bernie Sanders.

“Do you know who this guy is?”

Oh, of course, that’s Bernie Sanders. He’s one of the candidates. - Amanda Peters

Amanda got Pete, Sanders, Elizabeth, and Biden right, but when it came to Klobuchar... she got the short end of the stick.

Oh... yeah I don’t know, gee I guess I don’t know much about the candidates.

But that was just one person, right? Next, Tom Styer.

“Who is this guy, what do you think of him and do you know any of his policies?”

Oh shoot... I know the guy! I just can’t remember his name. Oh jeez, am I gonna get in trouble for this? 

"Okay, I believe you. Do you know any of his policies?”

I’m not even gonna lie, I haven’t even been to his page.

“Do you know who your gonna vote for in the 2020 elections?”

Oh, definitely Pete Buttigieg! I definitely have huge respect for him and his campaign. I mean to come out on national television as a gay man and give zero ***** about it? That takes huge balls. And he has a certain Obama swag about him. I’m not just voting for him because we're both gay, that’s the stupidest argument ever people try to make. I’m voting for him because he’s actually got great ideas. For example, his climate change policy is offering a National Catastrophic Disaster Insurance program that helps and provides stability to people like me. Our house was hit last year. - Ben Potemyer

Wow, now that’s somebody who knows their stuff! Also, he later told me to mention he highly recommends that people read up on his policies. So I invite all of you to look into him with me.

Question 2. Do you feel like most people are just tuning in more now than ever because they just want Donald Trump out of office or for other reasons? And if so, what are those reasons? 

In a way, Trump has awakened people who, otherwise, wouldn’t care to know what’s going on politically. I also think that he’s insighted a new era of people to at least watch his comedic politics to get their news. The Trevor Noah’s & Hasan Minhaj’s of the world have become more popular because people are trying to engage in polotics without boring themselves or feeling lost in the conversation. -  Elizabeth Adebayo

Yes, people are tuning into the news because of the recent impeachment trial. But I don’t feel like it’s just for seeing him removed from office. - Tucker White 

I think people are tuning in because of Trump. Because they see even though the president has checks and balances, he can still have a huge implication on other Americans and how those Americans treat other people. - Anonymous

I do believe it has to do with wanting Trump out, but I think that is because of a want for other types of social policies that Trump is against. - Anonymous

I don’t think more people are tuning in. I think we’re all transient bystanders watching the circus fire. - Anonymous

Another coincidence, among these people I interviewed, all of them said that they think young people aren't focused on this coming election. I wanted to try and find more people. All of this talk about generations got me thinking. What if there were people, who couldn’t even vote yet, had opinions? I met a powerful little 10 year old. And I’ll never forget what she said. 

I don’t think it’s because of either one of those things. I think people now see what they have done and who they’ve put in the oval office and they want to correct what they’ve done. Because deep down, we should all love each other. Love should always win.” - Ashley

Love should always win. Wise kid huh? 

Question 3. Who do you have your eye on in the race? What draws you to them?

I’m supportive of Bernie Sanders, as I was in the last race. His views seem to be less about solely taking care of the wealthy, but actually looking out for working-class people. I want a leader who cares about helping Americans create better lives for themselves through healthcare & employment v.s focusing solely on our external affairs. I’m also interested in Elizabeth Warren, but I need to do more research on her political decisions. -  Elizabeth Adebayo

I have my eye on three candidates, Joe Biden, Elizabeth Warren and, Bernie Sanders. Currently, I’m leaning towards Elizabeth Warren. Joe seems a little consertive and Bernie seems too progressive. Elizabeth has just the right balance. - Tucker White

Of all the candidates I would consider Gabbard, Yang, Biden or Trump. I lean center-right and see the U.S as doing pretty well right now. I do find Gabbard and Yang appealing because they seem very genuine and tell it like it is, similar to Bernie. - Anonymous

I don’t really have anyone I’m drawn to right now if anything, Bernie Sanders but I don’t know everything about him either. - Anonymous

No one. - Anonymous

Question 4. Why are all the big named candidates like Pete Buttigieg, Bernie Sanders, Elizabeth Warren, Joe Biden, and Amy Klobuchar popular in the news? 

Honestly, I don’t know. - Elizabeth Adebayo

I feel like these names are in the news the most because they are the mainstream and more established friendly.  - Anonymous

I suppose they pop up bc they’re campaigning and doing they’re part to try to spread their message. - Anonymous

I think the simplest way of saying it is because they have the money and resources to be able to.  - Tucker White

Mayor Pete appeals the common man, Bernie has a wonderful grassroots base, Joe Biden was/is associated with Obama and, Elizabeth Warren is supposed to appeal to women(?) I don’t know about that last one. I expect they make a splash because either A: they have clout and social media following or B: they have the money to appear like they have clout. You forgot Yang! (This person is referring to Yang being a big named candidate.) - Anonymous

Question 5. Who do you feel has the most successful chance of being president? 

At this point, I don’t know. For better or for worse, Trumps election has changed the expectation of what we view as a suitible leader to run our nation, so I can’t even say. I do think that we, as Americans, are over the smoke & mirrors of politics. - Elizabeth Adebayo 

I think Trump either gets re-elected or Bernie or Biden gets elected. Warren isin’t as strong as Sanders in my eyes. Anonymous

I feel like maybe Elizabeth Warren or Joe Biden. Maybe even Bernie. - Anonymous

I’d say Elizabeth Warren would be the best canidate for the job. - Tucker White - 

I don’t know, maybe Warren. I honestly think our country sucks enough that we’re about to elect Donald Trump again. - Anonymous

Question 6. What are the biggest flaws amping these candidates and what could help improve their chances?

I just want a politician that’s real that cares about actual people and isn’t the “Better of two evils” bull. - Anonymous

The thing that’s hurting all these campaigns is easily that they’re just playing to their bases instead of trying to sway moderates and voters on the other side. - Anonymous

To face not just the Democrats but also the Republicans. - Tucker White

Bernie and Biden feel like familiar territory to me, so with the exception of Warren, the other candidates haven’t built enough of a rapport with the country to solidify their chances. -  Elizabeth Adebayo

Question 7. How do you feel about Pete Buttigieg? Do you think him being gay will hurt him or do you think we, as a country have gotten over that hurdle?

I’d say he’s a pretty good alternative to Biden. From what I hear he doesn’t have very good support in the south, where Biden does, but he can be seen as a strong candidate to religious voters. - Anonymous

As a country, I don’t think we’ve gotten over that hurdle, despite what the media portrays, but if he could speak to the needs of working/middle-class Americans by talking about the things that matter most to them, he might have a chance. - Elizabeth Adebayo

[Buttigieg] Sounds like a solid candidate. I like what I’ve heard about him so far. As for his chances, America is still super “Christian”. And that’s a large chunk of the voting base that isn't ready for a gay president. So no, we suck at getting over that hurdle.- Anonymous

Question 8. And finally, do you think young voters are just affiliating themselves with their parents/ close friends same party? 

I want to say that more conservative voters may be doing that because they focus a lot on the idea of the collective through their moral or religious values. Liberals, on the other hand seem to think more individually, but are more heavily influenced by their friends. - Elizabeth  Adebayo

Ergh, maybe younger ones. In my experience with mid to late twenty-somethings, we’re diametrically opposed to family members voting wise-- to the point where it’s awkward at family reuinions. - Anonymous

I would like to thank everyone who participated in this very long post about what everyday Americans thought about the candidates so far. For the most part,  I say young people/first-time voters are clearly in desperate need of just a little education on each of the candidates and the power - the drive to get engaged. But most of all, to not be afraid. To all my readers, thank you.