#like a psychologist watching through a one-way mirror

[wield-the-mighty-pen]

Does anyone want to put Toxinelle/Shadybug and Cat Walker in a room together and see what happens

[dawnwriterimagines]

The Guilty Plea

SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY x FEM!READER TASK FORCE 141 x FEM!READER

Traitors Among Us (Part 1) and Innocents Among You (Part 2)

Verdict Due (Part 4) Clear Skies (Part 5)

Summary: As you're discharged from the infirmary, under watchful eye, you head to Laswell to talk on the rest of your now ruined military career. Of course, you're forced to confront your team as it happens, the last people on earth you'd like to see.

If you liked this would you Buy me a Coffee?

---

Running your fingers along the raised, pink scar across you cheek, the feeling of it...it really looked terrible. A part of you thought it would disappear, hoped it would, but it didn't. It just became severely more noticeable. Looking at this, you knew you'd always have to think of it. You'd sport this reminder for the rest of your life.

Looking away from it, you find your own tired eyes in the mirror, you haven't been sleeping well. Or at all. You can't remember the last time you got 4 hours, let alone 8. Dark circles still surrounded them but at least the bruising and the swelling had gone down.

You couldn't recognize yourself. Not really.

This woman looked so exhausted, so frail and so goddamn angry. It was accurate, it was how you felt. All of it. So, you supposed that the mirror's reflection was the truth, this was you indeed.

"If you need another day or two, no one will ask questions."

You glance over towards your psychologist, your fucking therapist, a nice little 'gift' sent over by the bureau to check in on your mental state after your ordeal. Glaring at him through the reflection of your mirror, he sighs, putting down his pen that slaps against his notepad, "I can't help you if you don't talk to me."

"I'm going to Laswell." Ignoring his statement, you speak. "I'm ready. I'll pack up. Get back to base. Vera had me discharged from the infirmary. I can start ov--"

"Vera?"

"My nurse. You met her," you continued, annoyance spiking at the interruption. Your wrist brace squeaking quietly under the pressure of your fist tightening beneath the table.

"Right..."

"Do you listen to a word I say outside of...my 'trauma'?" You wonder, bluntly.

Your psychologist blinks, surprised, before clearing his throat, appalled. "If you feel I can be more attentive to your state of well-being throughout our process, than by all means--"

"Oh, so 'no'?" you lean back into your seat, a strained laugh leaving you. His lips press together and you continue before he can find the words. "Because whenever I mention leaving this fucking team, you either adjust our schedule for another two weeks or suggest hypnotic therapy, as if I need anyone else digging around to fuck up my mental state."

"I never meant to imply--"

"Oh, you implied it," you interrupted, gritting your teeth. "I know what I want. And I want off Task Force 141."

He taps at the leather of his notebook. "Scars heal, just remember that, Ms. (L/n). The reminders of your experience shouldn't have to haunt you."

"It's not the scars, I've had my share way before this," you admitted, rising to your feet. You exhale deeply that tells to the effort of it, the steel gear hinges along your leg braces shift with your change of position. Still getting use to them. "It's the person."

"Has she changed, you think?" the psychologist begins to write, getting somewhere.

"She doesn't exist anymore."

Finally, placing the mirror down and onto the side table, you pushed off of the table, rolling your IV pole along with you. Passing the chair your psychologist sits on, he closes his notebook with a frustrated huff, looking over his shoulder. "Session over for you already, Ms. (L/n)?" he sighs. "We've still got the hour."

"I'm done," you take the knob in your hand. Turning.

In more ways than one.

"You understand that, informing your captain on your leave is required of you. Have you spoken to any of them, in the last few weeks?" he spoke up, quickly. "I'm sure giving them a space to open up, share from their view--"

"Why should I care--"

"--will give you better understanding, better clarity of the situation they were in--

Appalled. "What the fuck?" Jamming the door closed with a loud, shuttering thud, you whip around. "IT'S NOT ABOUT THEM!" you could just rip your hair out. "Who--who says that to someone?!"

Your psychologist sits there, eyes wide in confusion. "What--"

"Christ, can you hear me? Can you--can you see me? I've got metal plates in my spine, braces holding my knees in place and nerve damage that'll never heal! Who gives a fuck about them!" your skin feels red hot, your face twisted in rage. "I gave my life! My life to this! And then I'm tortured, I'm threatened, drugged and beaten by my own team, my f--my family for eight fucking years..."

You continue with a heavy chest. "And I'm supposed to invite them for dinner to talk and listen them bitch and moan about why they thought it was necessary to beat me to death for two weeks?! Fuck you!" you spat. "I don't owe them anything!"

"That's not what I was trying to say, Ms. (L/N). I apologize, I overstepped. Come sit down--"

"Of course you meant it," you interrupted, mock humor. "Don't be a pussy, own up to it. Revel in your truth. Be tter yet--" you snatch a journal from the cabinet. Tossing it his way. "Make a note of it."

Turning the knob, you leave the room with a slam of the metal door.

---

You were officially famous. On the base, you were now a legend.

A story that would be mentioned and told at lunch for months. Probably years.

First, you were a rat. Next, you were innocent. This was the most gossip any of those in service had ever seen in their years of service.

An interesting reminder to those in service that you weren't safe off duty either.

You learned a few days ago that there was an update put into the interrogational unit, something about how to properly go about dissecting evidence and being on the lookout for enemy spies in the militia.

You guessed you had been told about it in an effort to be appeased by the thought that the head of control paid attention to anything beyond their own noses for once. But, you had little to no faith in a system that's nearly killed you on and off the field by now, so it didn't matter.

You doubted the new rules would be followed though, there was a plethora of things they'd done to you in that cell that were both illegal and unsanctioned. Most of all, that were expected towards an enemy, a prisoner of war at best, and not a fellow marine.

You arrive at the housing quarters, swiping your key card, pulling the handle and entering the wing. Immediately, you're greeted by a dozen eyes, conversations stopping short and clothes ruffling to silence, suddenly whispers fill the space and eyes turn away.

"Oh, god, it's her..." says one man in the far corner.

"Shut the fuck up, man!" came a harsh whisper back.

"I didn't know it was that bad..."

All those eyes on you, makes you pause in your step, looking around at all of your fellow soldiers, the men and women you've served with for years. Many you recognized, ate with, fought beside that turned their backs to you now. Out of respect? Out of distaste, morale, nerves, pity, it all didn't matter. It all felt the same.

The wheels attached to your IV pole suddenly sounded much too loud on the polished flooring, as you walked down the hall as fast as you were able to.

Breathing out deeply, you get to an elevator, pushing on the button, once, twice, three times, just open goddamn it.

With a ding, the metal doors open, and suddenly you're aware that people could be in the elevator, they could be in this elevator, he could be in this elevator. Your eyes flicker down to the floor, your grip on the pole of your iv tightens, your shoulders stiffen, waiting for a blow that will never come.

You stand there as the doors open up, the small space empty, the metal walls reflect only her and a streak of lighting from the ceiling.

Looking up slowly, finally taking a breath, before sliding the iv up and onto the elevator, following it as you press your floor number along the way.

The ride up is fast, a little rumble as it stops, and then the doors open. Faster than you were prepared for.

Peeking out down the hallway, luckily no one to bump into, which you were thankful for. But, it didn't make this hall any less haunting. You'd been cornered in this same hall, you could recall being hauled out of the room after the solid handle of a knife hits your temple.

You don't go down fast enough, whipping around as you stumble to take the wrist of your attacker, mostly for balance, it's Price. In shock, you're unprepared as Johnny's arm encircle your neck, locking you into position as you both stumble backwards onto the floor. He blocks your airways, hushing you harshly as you struggle, feet kicking out and your vision blurring as your team surrounds you. Your family.

That was quite the headache to wakeup with afterwards.

You hadn't quite remembered until now. Being back served as a hell of a kickstart to your memory.

Just a few more reasons to get the fuck off of 141.

Getting off the elevators, the metal doors sliding closed behind you, you make your way down the hall. The polished flooring creates a subtle squeak through the wheels of your iv pole, your hand absently running over the fading stitches along your side.

Passing the shadows of your tortured memory, the doorway of the office was closed, locked.

You pass Kyle's room.

Johnny's.

Finally, you rush up to the next room on the left, grabbing the handle, before beginning to twist, but then you're yanking your hand back as if the metal had burned you. Your back ramming into the back wall, catching yourself, this wasn't your room.

It was Simon's.

You'd spent hours, days, in that room. More than your own.

Why wouldn't you? You were about to get married to the man. You had more in this room than you had in yours.

Sharp breaths leave you, shivering in your effort to keep yourself together, your head goes back into the wall, swallowing down the ache in your chest.

You wait, muscles tensed and your body pressing back into the wall, hoping it'd absorb you if that door opens. Listening for every sound, any pin drop, even an exhale from beyond that doorway. Luckily, Simon seemed to be out for the day.

Hurriedly, nearly running, you steady yourself against the wall as you rush down to the corner of the hallway, finally finding your room.

Turning the handle, it's not locked, it's broken. It opens with ease.

Entering the room slowly, pushing the doorway aside, the crackle of glass beneath your boots as you step forwards, clothes and picture frames laying scattered.

The mattress flipped and ripped open, springs and cotton cut from it. Your wall of metals and certificates, from acts of bravery and mementos of valor, discarded, later you'd find them in the trash, one with a bullet lodged into the gold.

Sniffling as you leaned down, picking a specific frame off the ground, the only one that hadn't been broken. Laying along the ruined rug, with no care for the glass digging through your jeans, you stare at the still shot of your family.

The only family you had outside of Task Force 141, your father and his sister, military brats themselves, until their retirement. Your mother had passed, or just up and left, days after your 5th birthday, you weren't completely sure, the story kept changing every year. But, these two were the only family you've ever known, ever had, until you joined the military, following in their footsteps.

They'd been so proud when you arrived back after your first assignment, in truth you were heavily traumatized, but seeing them, you just had to smile. Having a family that understood the harsh toll on the line of a trooper, now a lieutenant, it was always easier to bring your troubles to them. But, they were also military nuts so "suck it up" was also a quick go to answer from your aunt, while your father was the smoother talker.

They had met Simon, loved him, his rank, his love for you, his seriousness. They trusted him completely with your heart.

So, when he called them, after the evidence leaked...

They believed him.

"What're you talking about?" You took the handle of the chair in your grip, easing you down into it as your legs do weak at what you were hearing. "I didn't...I didn't do it, Dad."

"Do you know how humiliating and disappointing--how it felt to hear him say that to me, hm?" he says, static crackles on the reciever. "My daughter...my own flesh and blood...working with terrorists--"

"I'm not working with anyone! Are you-" you huff out a breath of disbelief. "Are you even listening to me? I've never betrayed the code. How can you think that way of me?"

For a moment, he's silent. "Alright, then," he began. "Than, what'd you do? huh?"

"What--what..."

"Oh, come on, (Y/n)!" your father yells. "What did you do?! What could they possibly have had on you that made you the most likely target? You had to have had done something, been somewhere, were with somebody you weren't supposed to be with! They didn't just get that information from anywhere."

"What the fuck--" Your expression twists with frustration and misery, running your hand through your hair, pulling at it. "I've sacrificed every part of myself for this job, for this team, what do I have to gain from throwing that all away? They send me everywhere, places you've never heard of, places you'll never hear about and people you'll never have to meet, because of me! Why would you just believe Simon? Why couldn't you just wait to talk to me?!"

Hearing your father scoff at your words was painful. "What reason do I have not to believe him? He knows you, maybe even better than any of us. Besides, he was going to be my son in law--"

"I'm your daughter! Fuck Simon, what about me? You'd believe him instead?"

He sighs. "Listen, you're upsetting Cass. We didn't expect your call. I gotta make this brief..."

"You're upset?" pulling at your hair, sucking in sharply. "I'm the one who's permanently fucking altered here. What do either of you have to be upset about?!"

"Watch your fucking mouth!" he seethes. The anger in his voice isn't new, but the way he spits it at you is. "You did this to yourself, I didn't. Maybe that's what your nightmares were about, am I right? Your guilt?"

Wiping the streaks of tears that had fallen down your face, lips quivering and chest aching with sobs you frustratedly shoved down. "Why don't you believe me?"

"I don't deserve the disgrace that will come with you as my kin, I've lived my part of this war. No daughter of mine should even be in this fucking position," your father spat, disgusted into the receiver. Suddenly, he was the cruel, bitter old man your mother had always known him to be, you wished she had stayed to at least remind you of that. Maybe it wouldn't have hurt as much. "You should be ashamed of yourself, but at least you got yourself out it. The least you could do for us."

"Well--what does that mean?" you spoke, quietly.

"Don't call again..."

"Dad, no--" you break this time, a sob escaping you.

"Me and your Aunt Cass..."

"Daddy please, don't do this--"

"..We've decided to cut ties. We're not taking any heat from this, you're on your own," he finishes, clearing his throat, waiting a moment, listening to the pleads and cries of his only daughter, his once pride. "You take care of yourself. Goodbye, kid."

"Why can't you just believe me? Why?!" you cried.

"Don't come to the house."

"No, no,--" the line goes dead. And staring down at your phone, his caller id going blank and the call disconnecting.

Your phone all of a sudden feels heavy, the device and your hand falling down to your thigh, before the phone slips out of your grip and onto the floor. You sit there silently, until your tears drop up and even after.

Staring at the photo now was haunting in its own way, it was just another painful reminder.

Using the bed frame to stand to your feet, your grip on the frame is painful as you squeeze it, the glass cracks audibly.

"Bonnie..."

Whipping around at the sound of John MacTavish's voice, you back up a few steps at the sight of him, your back hitting the edge of your desk.

He reaches out as you stumble, before his fingers curl back into his palm as you find your balance, his hands receding back to his sides. He doesn't enter the room, just lingering just beyond the doorway, his eyes flickering around the room, guiltily.

"I didn't know--we didn't know you were out," he speaks quietly, as opposed prideful personality that translated into his voice usually.

You say nothing.

In the dark, your eyes are wide and your shoulders are tensed up, he can see the glint of your leg braces, the iv pole at the side, the scar beneath your eye. You looked terrified to see him.

"We were coming back to clean up today, just got back from...from a mission..." he stutters on his words, shifting his feet.

"It's been a week."

His lips press together hearing your voice. "I know..." Johnny glances around at the room he'd let those officers destroy, it hadn't been them, but they might as well had done it. "I know...we just...didn't know it was so bad."

"Really?" your voice is mockingly sweet, drawing out the word. "You didn't know? Well look..." you hold up your family photo, the light in the hallway catching on the glass. "You missed one."

Your hand dropping, the heavy frame comes down just as fast, ramming into the ground, the glass practically exploding on impact.

Johnny flinches, the photo of your family...He looks back to you, surprised. "Bonnie..."

Snatching the next closest thing from your desk, a ceramic cup. "Oh, wow, can't believe you guys missed this one," you chuck it into the wall. It breaks on impact, the remains scatter along the flipped mattress and onto the floor. "That used to be my favorite mug by the way."

The Scotsman worriedly steps forwards, 'Lass, I'm sorry--"

"FUCK YOU!" you spat, coming into the light. You're sure you look deranged, and you didn't care. You could've wrapped your hands around his throat, killed him right on the floor and you wouldn't have blinked. "It doesn't mean anything! 'I'm sorry', 'I'm sorry', 'I'm sorry', over and over and over again! As if you shouldn't be! Your apologies mean fuck all."

"I know...I know," he breathes. "But, I've gotta say it anyway, bonnie. I should've believed you, there was no reason not to. I know that now. I just--"

"Believe me!" you cut him off with a yell. "Trust me! Fucking 'HELP ME'!" you screamed with the same fever as your days in the interrogation room, that terrible cell, the cold, the burn and pain. "I cried it all to you, to all of you, and nobody came. Nobody came for me," you breathe in sharply. "It doesn't matter what you should've done. You didn't do it!"

Johnny's eyes are red, he opens his mouth, closes it and then swallows down whatever chokes him up as he looks at you. "I should've came for you. I wish I did. I wanted to, Bonnie..." he steps forwards, and you recede back away from him, your eyes narrowed with violence. "I'll never forgive myself for not listening to you. For not coming to help you. For laying a hand on you. I'm so sorry, (Y/n). I'm sorry..."

I'll never forgive myself... "That makes two of us," you assured.

Johnny's eyes widen, before they close, his guilt ever consuming. He can't help but understand, to respect your decision, to know things can never be ok again. "(Y/n)...."

Grabbing hold of the nearest thing, a pencil cup, you hurl it at Johnny. He doesn't put his hands up, flinching as it hits him, the metal clinking against his kevlar, eyes closing then opening, he stands still. "I don't forgive. I don't accept your apology. I don't fucking care about it!" with each sentence you throw something else his way, a broken frame, the trash bin, a pillow, the CD player.

His hand has to come up for the knife you unsheathe, a memento from one of your missions, it's rusted, ancient probably. But, you hadn't given it up to a museum or to pawn, you had nearly died on this mission, saving Johnny ironically. You had to keep it.

Seeing the weapon, his defensive position is instinctive but his hands drop just as fast, he understands, you need this. You deserve this. "If you need to..." he speaks. Your eyes flicker up to him, away from the knife. "If you need to, I get it..."

And you need to. You really fucking do.

Your grip on the knife is dangerously hard, it hurts.

Looking at Johnny, he'd been your brother in more than a few ways on and off the field, he had been your comfort, your friend, your family. You had bled with him, held onto him as he carried you from the battlefield, joked, laughed, screamed and cried. You've loved him for years.

He'd had a rough few nights you could see that. He was quieter, reserved. Almost as terrified to see you, as you had been of him.

And you could kill him right now and never bat an eye.

And so, throwing that knife was so fucking easy.

Johnny's eyes close as you do just that, fists clenching and teeth biting down on his tongue to prepare for the pain.

The ancient weapon whiz's through the air, the sound is sharp and he knows it will cut through him like butter.

The thud rings in the room, and Johnny's eyes blow open wide, holding his breath as he collapses to his knees, before turning to you.

You dig into the pile of clothes that had been cast aside, a pair of sneakers and a new shirt. You don't look at him a single time as you take it all, stuffing them in a bag, and leaving the room, passing him completely, a limp in your step.

Johnny releases a pained breath, tears finally leaving him as he looks up, the knife lodged into the frame of the doorway, just barely missing him. The sleeve of his uniform ripped open.

He sits there in the quiet, destroyed room. A testimony to the relationship he's destroyed between you.

Part 4!! OUT NOW

[f1daydreamers]

𝐁𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐫𝐬 [𝐓𝐀𝟔𝟔] 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏

gif credits: @trenty

Pairing: Trent Alexander-Arnold x Fem!Reader

Summary: Arne, in hopes to focus on his team’s mental health as much as their physical, recruits a younger but just as educated psychologist to work one-to-one with the more reserved players. Trent is one of them.

A/N: This is me writing in hopes to distract myself from that abysmal final! Just to preface that Lee Richardson is the performance psychology consultant at LFC :) Also, I feel like Trent’s quite shy so I don’t think he’d be as rude as he is in this fanfic but for this to be a kinda enemies to lovers, I upped his rude boi energy by like 100% lol

There's no age gap btw! In the UK, it's doable to become a licensed sports psychologist in 6-10 years. If it took Reader 7/8, that would place her around 25 or 26 years of age. So, both Trent and Reader are of similar ages!

Warnings: psychology but nothing too in-depth, Trent’s rude in this :D, angst, very tense energy

Word Count: 1.9k words (6 mins reading time avg)

…

You checked your watch once, twice, then three times within a mere five minutes.

The sterile office, with its minimalist decor and muted lighting, seemed to magnify your impatience. Your eyes wandered to the vacant chair opposite you, and you sighed deeply.

Trent Alexander-Arnold was now fifteen minutes late for his first appointment.

“Not the best start,” you muttered under your breath.

Jotting a quick note on a pink Post-it to purchase a digital clock for your desk, you flipped the pen and clicked it shut, placing it down with a resigned finality. The email that landed in your inbox felt almost comically timed. It was from Lee, wishing you luck on your first official day.

You’d been in and out of the training center for the past week, organising your office, which had previously served as a spare room, often only used for the odd meetings.

Boxy and unfamiliar, it was a space you intended to transform into something warmer and more inviting with time. But any attempt to distract yourself proved futile; even the mental image of your office becoming a cozy haven couldn’t quell the unrest you felt inside.

Trent’s absence was more than a minor inconvenience; it felt like a deliberate message. After what Lee had disclosed about his rather aloof attitude, you couldn’t say you were entirely surprised.

Locking your office behind you, you ventured into the heart of the training facility. As you passed by groups of players and staff, your shoulders tensed imperceptibly. You adjusted your pace, trying to find a balance between caution and confidence.

Every corner turned, every nod exchanged with passing colleagues, felt like a small test of acceptance. Your mind raced with thoughts of proving yourself here. While a flicker of self-doubt danced across your features, you masked it beneath a veneer of professional composure.

You eventually found Trent tucked away in the far corner of a sparsely populated gym. A few exchanged ‘good mornings’ and ‘hellos’ momentarily eased your stress, but your tension returned as your gaze settled again on the man who had been purposefully late.

With a deep breath, you started heading towards him, weaving your way through the labyrinth of gym equipment.

You skirted around the treadmills, their rhythmic thudding echoing your own anxious heartbeat. Passing by the clanking weights, you dodged a few stray dumbbells left on the floor. The aroma of rubber mats and iron filled the air.

Finally, you rounded the weightlifting machines and found Trent on a mat, engrossed in his exercises. His headphones were still firmly in place, and his expression remained inscrutably focused, as though he was blocking out the world around him.

When you finally reached him, you hesitated, wanting to wait until he finished his set so as not to disturb his workout.

However, Trent spotted your reflection in the mirror in front of him as he came up. He stopped mid-crunch, the beads of sweat glistening on his forehead. He looked down, knowing exactly what this would be in regard of. He’d seen you around the training grounds enough to be familiar.

His elbows rested on his knees as his arms folded inward. He exhaled deeply, trying to regulate his breathing.

He wiped the tip of his nose with the pad of his thumb, then pulled his headphones off and let them rest around his neck.

“What?” He looked at you with mild irritation, craning his neck to see you standing just a few steps behind him.

Your lips pressed together in a courteous and tight-lipped smile.

“Hi, Trent. I’m Y/N, the new psychologist. We had an appointment scheduled for twenty minutes ago.”

Turning back to face the mirror, he stretched his arms out in front of him before reaching for a hand towel to wipe the sweat from his brow and neck.

Then he shrugged, his indifference palpable.

“Yeah, I know.” Your eyebrows furrowed at his response as you studied his expression in the mirror. His face shifted subtly, but the changes were too fleeting to decipher.

“Then why didn’t you show up?” you asked, your tone calm but firm.

"I don't see the point," he responded flatly.

In one fluid motion, he planted one palm firmly on the ground before twisting his torso and hoisting himself up with a push, turning to face you as he rose gracefully to his feet.

Your eyes locked inevitably, the proximity of his body left you no choice but to gaze up at his face, your chin tilting ever so slightly upward.

Beads of sweat glistened from his forehead, and his mouth was slightly parted as he scrutinised you from head to toe. A scoff escaped him before he turned away, sliding off some weight plates and placing them methodically beside his mat.

"I don’t need some shrink telling me how to play football," he asserted dismissively, the hints of his accent colouring his defiant tone.

You took a moment to consider your response, your gaze tracing the broad shape of his shoulders. Despite the urge to react defensively, you couldn’t shake the awareness that someone might be listening in from behind you.

You cautiously approached him, aware of the tension hanging in the air, his eyes flicking to your reflection in the mirror.

"I'm not here to tell you how to play football," you began calmly, letting the weight of your words settle between you. "I'm here to help you navigate everything off the pitch that might impact your performance on it."

"Well, thanks, but no thanks," Trent said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "I've managed fine so far."

“Have you?” you questioned, quickly scanning the room for any prying ears, relieved to find everyone engrossed in their own routines.

Trent rose up, clutching a 15-pound weight plate between his hands.

"Because from where I stand, the club thinks you could use some support. And honestly, there's no shame in that." That was a saying your professors had instilled in you from day one.

Trent's jaw tightened, and for a moment, you thought he might ignore you. Instead, he pivoted to face you once more, his presence suddenly palpable.

"Look, I get that you're just doing your job, yeah? But don't expect me to pour my heart out to some stranger. Especially on someone else's schedule." He emphasised.

You blinked, but maintained eye contact, refusing to back down. "Fair enough. But I'm not going anywhere, Trent. Whether you like it or not, I'll keep trying to reach you."

He studied you for a moment, then shook his head slightly, leaning in just a bit closer.

"Good luck with that, psychologist."

…

"I think that's our time wrapped up, thank you so much, Conor." You hoisted yourself up with the armrests of your chair and gave a warm smile to the man opposite you.

"Yeah, no worries. I'll see you around." Conor said as he turned, rounding the chair he was just sitting on, giving you a final nod and smile before leaving and closing the door behind him.

You waited until it clicked shut before you sinked into your chair again. Your work was deeply important to you, one of few things in life you were immensely passionate about, but man, it took its toll on longer days.

You rubbed your temples in a poor attempt to alleviate the dull ache that had formed from hours of conversation. As you tried to gather your thoughts, the interruption in the form of a new email snapped you back to reality.

It was from Lee, asking you to come and see him when you were free.

Your head rolled back for a brief moment of respite. Trent had been on your mind ever since your confrontation earlier, lingering in the back of your thoughts throughout the day, despite the overall improvement as the hours ticked by.

Resigning yourself to more work, you pushed yourself up with a temporary surge of motivation. Straightening your blouse and combing your hair with your fingers, you headed towards Lee's office across the hall.

The door stood ajar, a silver name plaque bearing his name neatly affixed. Lee's office exuded an air of scholarly authority, with shelves lined with books, framed certificates adorning the walls, and strategically placed pieces of Liverpool memorabilia.

He glanced up from his desk as you knocked on the doorframe.

"You asked to see me?" you inquired, your head tilting slightly as he closed the folder he was reading, sliding it into the filing cabinet behind him.

"Yes, come in," Lee replied, gesturing toward the chair positioned across from him.

You smoothed down your skirt as you settled into the chair, intertwining your hands on your lap.

His demeanor exuded encouragement, warmth evident in the gentle lines of his smile. As he gathered his thoughts, your eyes fell upon a framed picture on his desk. Lee stood on the far left, flanked by several players including Trent and Curtis, their bright smiles frozen in time.

Your own smile deepened at the sight, noting how much younger they all appeared in the photograph. But as today's events replayed in your mind, your gaze momentarily lowered before returning to meet Lee's.

"A few years ago, that one," he pointed briskly at the photo, though he didn't give you time to respond before changing the topic - a relief, in your opinion.

"So," Lee clasped his hands together, "first official day? How'd it go?"

Pushing back thoughts of Trent deliberately, today had gone rather well.

"Good, honestly. Wataru and Conor were a little shy at first, but I think I was able to break through by the end of our sessions. Curtis was quite bubbly and a joy to talk to. We had some positive discussions too." You truthfully answered, giving a polite smile to round off your answer.

He nodded, impressed. Without a word, he turned to squint at his computer screen, his glasses perched atop his head. "And Trent?"

You cleared your throat, your tongue swiping over your bottom lip nervously. After a moment's hesitation, you shook your head once before answering.

"Trent didn't show up." You admitted with a wry smile. "I found him in the gym and brought it up but I wouldn't say that was a positive discussion."

Lee chuckled softly, his voice carrying a gentleness that belied his words. "Trent’s a tough nut. He’s got a lot on his shoulders and doesn't easily trust new people. But that's why you're here."

You nodded resolutely. "Absolutely. I don't intend on letting up."

"If you want me to step in-" He began but you shook your head again, halting him in the middle of his sentence.

"I respectfully don't think that's going to help. He's not exactly trusting of me right now, and I'm worried about the impression you stepping in might leave. I'm fortunate he's at least talking to me and sharing his feelings." You said with a measured tone, your words careful and tinged with a hint of apprehension.

"Well, you're the pro," you smiled at his joke, exhaling a sigh.

"I'm relying on your guidance, Lee. I can only hope he'll start working with me."

Lee nodded thoughtfully. "Trent respects effort and authenticity. He's introverted, sure, but once he's comfortable, he's a lovely lad."

"I'm sure," you blinked, fiddling nervously with your fingers.

Once he's comfortable.

That shouldn't take too long, you lied to yourself.

...

Part 2

Masterlist

Comment below if you want to be part of the taglist! Once you are part of it, you'll be reminded for every part of the series until its completion!

[imreidswifey]

Healing the Genius -Pt 1-(Series) -fluff and angst-

Summary: The BAU is called to consult on a high-profile case involving a series of murders in trauma centers. The team is introduced to Dr. Elena Hart, a trauma psychologist with a sharp intellect and a calm, grounding presence.

A/n: This is the first part to a ling series so get comfortable, the rest of the parts will not have a A/n and will be accessible trough the links below

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6

Warnings: No warnings (if you watched Criminal minds you can handle a tumblr story)

———————————————————————————-

Chapter 1: The New Arrival

The BAU conference room buzzed with quiet energy as the team gathered for their latest case briefing. Spencer Reid sat at his usual spot, a worn leather satchel by his feet, his hands resting on an unopened notebook. He scanned the preliminary report for the third time, his mind racing through patterns and possibilities, even before Garcia had finished downloading the details.

“Okay, team,” Hotch began, his commanding voice silencing the room, “we’ve got a string of murders targeting staff at trauma recovery centers. Four victims, three different cities. The unsub is escalating, and we’ve been called in to consult with a specialist.”

At the mention of a specialist, Reid’s gaze flicked up. Across the room, the door opened, and in walked a woman—early 30s, with piercing blue eyes that seemed to see through everything and a calm, grounded demeanor that contrasted sharply with the chaos of their cases. She carried herself with quiet confidence, her tailored blazer emphasizing professionalism without rigidity.

“This is Dr. Elena Hart,” Hotch continued. “She’s a trauma psychologist who’s worked with similar institutions and victims. Her expertise should give us insight into how the unsub is selecting his targets.”

Elena smiled politely and nodded. “It’s an honor to work with all of you. I’ve been following your team’s work for years—your methods are inspiring.”

Spencer felt his throat tighten at her words, a heat creeping up the back of his neck. He wasn’t used to receiving compliments, even indirectly.

Morgan leaned back in his chair with a sly grin. “Well, we’re glad to have you. But fair warning, this team doesn’t pull punches. You up for it?”

“I’d be worried if you did,” Elena replied smoothly, her voice warm but steady.

Reid scribbled a note on his pad—an unconscious habit to distract himself. She’s confident but approachable. High EQ.

Hotch gestured for her to sit. “Let’s dive into the case details.”

Later That Day

Hours into the case, the team was deep into building a profile. Reid’s theories flowed easily, his mind hopping from one hypothesis to another as the rest of the team contributed their thoughts. But it was Elena’s perspective that surprised him most.

“The unsub isn’t just targeting these centers because of what they represent,” she said, leaning forward, her voice measured. “He’s projecting his own trauma onto the victims. It’s not about revenge—it’s about recreating his pain in a controlled way.”

Spencer blinked, momentarily taken aback. Her insight mirrored his own thoughts, but the way she articulated it added depth he hadn’t considered.

“That’s… interesting,” he said, his voice softer than usual. “It aligns with the geographic pattern. He’s not moving at random; he’s drawn to places where he sees himself.”

Their eyes met across the table, a fleeting moment that felt heavier than it should have.

“Exactly,” Elena replied, a small smile playing at her lips.

Morgan raised an eyebrow, glancing between the two. “Reid, you okay over there? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Reid flushed, ducking his head back into his notebook. “I’m fine. Just… processing.”

That Evening

By the time the team wrapped for the night, Spencer found himself lingering near his desk, pretending to organize his books while the others trickled out. To his surprise, Elena approached him, her bag slung over one shoulder.

“Dr. Reid,” she began, her tone light but curious.

“Spencer,” he corrected, his voice barely above a whisper.

She smiled. “Spencer. You have a fascinating mind. The way you connect ideas—it’s impressive.”

He fidgeted with the edge of his notebook, unsure how to respond. “Thank you. I… appreciate that.”

Her gaze softened. “You know, people like us—people who think faster than we feel—we sometimes forget to take a step back and breathe. It’s okay to slow down.”

He looked up, startled by the unexpected intimacy of her words. “Do you always psychoanalyze your coworkers?”

She laughed, a soft sound that made his chest tighten. “Only the ones worth analyzing.”

Before he could respond, she gave him a small wave and headed for the door. For a moment, he stood there, her words echoing in his mind.

Only the ones worth analyzing.

For the first time in a long while, Spencer Reid felt something unfamiliar: the faintest glimmer of hope.

[ellethespaceunicorn]

Daddy Knows Best, Part IV

Title: Daddy Knows Best, Part IV 

Rating: Explicit, 18+, Minors - DNI 

Pairing: StepDad!August Walker x StepDaughter!Reader  

Fandom: Mission: Impossible - Fallout 

Word Count: 3.3K 

Summary: August Walker and your father were once friends. One mission, a single decision, made them enemies. August decides he needs to get his revenge. And what better way, than to become your new Daddy? 

Chapter Summary: Daddy and Babydoll deal with the police, and attempt to move on after the tragedy.

Warnings: pet names (Daddy, Babydoll, babygirl), age gap (the reader is 18, August is in his late-30s), loss of a parent (mother), police interrogation, Dom/sub vibes, unprotected p-in-v sex, creampie, dead dove: do not eat 

A/N: This is different from my usual fics. This would be considered dark!fic in every way possible. If you read the warnings and still choose to read, you are making your own decision. No one is forcing you to read this. This is an entirely self-indulgent therapeutic fic. Enjoy! Unbeta’d, we die like people who tried their best.  

Dividers by: @saradika 

Support/Reblog banner by me 

Cover Art by me 

Series Masterlist

My Masterlist 

You wake in your bedroom, the early afternoon sun shining through the curtains. You roll over on your side and expect to see Daddy but he’s not in the room. Deciding to take a shower and start the day, you rise and undress.  

As you wash yourself, you are suddenly hit with an overwhelming feeling of emptiness and loss. For a few moments, you were free. And then you remembered. 

Mommy’s dead. 

You saw her lifeless body floating in the swimming pool. That vision will probably never leave your brain. The last memory of your mother is of seeing her face down. The crystal-clear water of the pool marred with the sight of her. 

Even though you had a rough relationship with her, you still mourn the loss of your mother. With your dad out of the picture, you only had one parent in your life. And now she has been taken away from you. 

The water in the shower had gone a bit cold so you rinse yourself off and grab your towel to dry yourself. You dress in a black crop top with a sleeveless black plaid A-line dress on top of it. Pulling on some black thigh-high stockings and a pair of black platform Mary Janes, you embody the look of the mournful daughter. 

You look over yourself in the mirror and try smiling at yourself. Instead, a few fat tears roll down your cheeks and you let them fall before giving up on trying to fake happiness. Wiping your face, you settle for going to find Daddy. 

Once you leave your bedroom, you walk downstairs and are surprised to see that Daddy isn’t alone. Both men stand when you reach the bottom of the stairs, but the woman stays seated with a small smile on her face. Daddy holds out an arm for you to come join them. 

“Come on over, don't be shy. This is Detective Marshall. He came to talk about what happened to your mother,” He nods at my words, “And this is Rachel, she’s a psychologist who works with Detective Marshall.” 

I watch as Babydoll walks over and stands next to me, she greets our guests and then sits leaving space between us on the couch. That’s my good girl, don’t give them the chance to question our relationship. I sit down and gesture for Marshall to continue. 

“I think I’d like to continue with you in private, if that’s alright Mr. Walker. Perhaps Rachel may speak with your stepdaughter?” Marshall suggests and I agree to his terms. 

“Why don’t you take Rachel up to your room so you two can have a little chat?” I insist, patting Babydoll’s knee softly. 

Once she nods, she and Rachel make their way upstairs and I hear the door to her bedroom shut. I look back to Marshall and he is scribbling in his little green notebook. His eyes are harder when our gazes meet. 

“Just a few more questions and I will be out of your hair, Mr. Walker.”  

“Please, call me August. Whatever I can do to help.” I lean forward with my elbows on my knees and my hands clasped together. 

“I appreciate that, August. Uh, so you say that your stepdaughter was the first to see your girlfriend’s body. Where were you at this time?” 

“I was bringing in my luggage from my car. I made it to the kitchen and noticed the open patio door. When I walked toward it, I heard her scream and caught her as she passed out. I saw her mother in the pool and realized that she wasn’t moving. After putting my stepdaughter in her bedroom, I called the police.” I kept my face neutral, but my eyes welled up a bit and I blinked away tears. 

“So, you and your stepdaughter weren’t home when your girlfriend was killed. You two had been on a trip?” 

“Yes. I had been on a trip for work, but my stepdaughter didn’t want to be here alone with her mother, so I brought her with me. Their relationship has been a bit strained since the divorce about a year ago. She misses her father and I, no matter how hard I try, am barely a substitute for him.” That’s it, play the role of a loving stepfather. 

"You mentioned you work for the CIA, Special Activities. Is it safe for you to take your stepdaughter along on business trips in your line of work?” 

“She was never in any danger. No one knew our location or that she was with me. The safe house we stayed in was discreet and out of the way. The only time she was left alone was this morning, and it was just for a couple of hours. I’m sure you understand I can’t divulge the details of my assignment. But you are more than welcome to check in with my superior, Erika Sloane.” I fish her card out of my wallet and hand it to Marshall. 

“Thank you, August. As soon as Rachel is ready, we’ll be out of your way.” 

No sooner do those words leave his mouth, than Rachel is coming down the stairs with Babydoll in tow. I notice the smiles on their faces and wonder what they got up to while they spoke. As they come back into the living room, Rachel stands next to Marshall and Babydoll stands near me. 

“I think that’s everything. We’ll be in touch, August. Thank you for your time.” Marshall reaches out to shake my hand and he smiles at Babydoll. 

For a split second, my face betrays me as I slightly scowl at him smiling at her. But in the same breath, I steady myself and look at Rachel before shaking her hand. 

“If you need anything, don’t hesitate to call.” Rachel tilts her head at Babydoll and touches her shoulder. 

I walk the detective and his partner out and once the door is closed, I turn and make my way back to the couch. My perfect little one sits with her leg under her, her big doe eyes settling on me. 

“So, sweet girl, what did you and Rachel talk about?” 

You took Rachel into your room and closed the door behind her. She looked around and smiled at the various photos and knickknacks you had scattered about the room. She sat on the edge of your bed and patted the space next to her. You sat down and she began to ask questions right away. 

“So, you and your stepdad seem close. What was your relationship like with your mother?” 

“My mom and I were never all that close. I was a lot closer with my Nanny, while she was here. Um, I guess I’m more of a Daddy’s girl. Mom was never satisfied with me, I don’t think. She always wanted me to be better. At sports, at school, at everything. She wasn’t my biggest fan. And then after the divorce, I felt even more distant from her. Dad was gone and I was left with her. Then August started dating Mom and it was weird in the beginning, but he ended up being a nice guy. And he listened to me, and he would stand up for me when Mom was on my case. I didn’t hate my mom. I just wished she liked me.” You looked away from Rachel to wipe a single tear that threatened to fall from your eye. 

“Seems like August was your knight in shining armor.”  

“Um, yeah. He cares about me. He cared about my mom too. He doesn’t treat me like a kid like Mom did. I don’t mean to make my mom seem all that bad. She was doing the best she could, I know that. She didn’t deserve what happened to her. I hope whoever did this to her rots in a jail cell forever. Sorry, I’m just angry and upset. My emotions have been a bit off the rails.” 

“It’s perfectly normal to feel sad or livid or even bitter about death. With your relationship with your mother, I am not surprised your emotions are unsure of what to do. Sometimes, we might even feel like a weight is lifted off our shoulders when a certain person in our life is gone. Nothing of what you’re feeling is wrong.” Rachel tilted her head at you and smiled.  

“Thanks.” You returned the smile and went back to fiddling with the hem of your dress. 

"Do you feel safe here with August? I only ask as a precaution. Having you in a place where you feel safe is most important.” She put a hand over yours and you froze. What did she mean by that? 

“I feel more than safe with him. He’s never given me a reason not to trust him.” You suddenly felt defensive over August and you tried to keep yourself calm. 

“Good. I’m glad you have him to help you through this trying time. But if you ever need to talk, or even if you just need someone to listen, you can call me.” She pulled a business card out of her pocket and handed it to you. 

“I don’t know if I’ll have anything to talk about but thank you.” 

“Maybe something that you can’t talk to August about. Something that maybe only another woman would understand?”  

“Oh. Ok. Um, I will let you know if anything comes up.” You stood and put the card on your desk and Rachel stood as well. 

“Good. Any time, day or night. I’ll be available at that number. Use it whenever you need me. I think that’s all I need. Why don’t we go and rejoin the others?” Rachel went to your bedroom door and let you walk out first. 

You’re not quite sure about how to feel about your interaction, but at least you felt like you defended August well and even made a new friend. She seemed nice enough anyway. 

After she tells me everything that she and Rachel talk about, I feel a bit more at ease. Less like the detective thinks I murdered her mother, but more like his partner thinks something is going on between me and Babydoll. 

Which there is, but she doesn’t need to know that. 

Even if she did know, it isn’t illegal. She’s 18, a consenting adult, and she’s well taken care of. Not that I need to explain myself to anyone. 

“Babydoll, you know you can talk to me about anything, right? Anything at all. Daddy is here to listen and to keep you safe.”  

“I know, Daddy. There is something...but, I don’t know.” She ducks her head and looks to the floor. 

I put a finger under her chin, lifting it so she can look at me. “Anything, Babydoll. You ask and I’ll make sure it gets done right away.” 

“Daddy, I...don’t want to live here anymore. All I can see around me is bad memories with Mom. Or old memories with...my father. And neither of them is in my life anymore. Does it make me a bad person that all I wanna do is move on? I feel weird even being in the living room, so close to where Mom died.” She plays with her fingers and looks down again. 

“Let me make a few calls, Babydoll. I’ll see if we can be out of the house by week’s end, alright?”  

“Thank you, Daddy. This means a lot.” She stands and wraps her arms around my neck in a tight embrace. I hug her back and lift her off the ground a bit and she giggles. The tuneful sound tickles my ears, and I am happy to be the cause of it. 

I kiss her cheek and send her up to her room to deflate. In the next few hours, I have a house lined up for us on the nicer side of town. Three bedrooms, three baths, finished basement, big backyard with an in-ground pool. A perfect place to start a new life. 

By the end of the week, we are finishing up moving all our stuff over to the new house. Other than a small crying fit that Babydoll has while she and I go through her parents’ belongings and decide what to keep and what to donate, the move was mostly hassle-free. 

One morning after a run to clear my head, I was surprised to have a visit from Detective Marshall, and this time he only wanted to talk to me. I let him in and ask Babydoll to give us some privacy. We talk for a short while about moving from the old house and how Babydoll is doing. I ask him to cut to the chase and he nods and tells me Babydoll’s father’s body has been found.  

He was discovered in a hotel room with substances in his system, along with a suicide note that included his confession to killing his ex-wife. At that bombshell, I’m visibly unnerved. Marshall reaches out a hand to my shoulder and apologizes for having to deliver this information.  

He makes a sort-of backhanded comment that my former partner must not have liked that I took his place in his family. I responded by saying it wasn’t appropriate to make assumptions about dead men. Besides, as his ex-wife told me many times, they were rocky well before I stepped in. Marshall also stated that since Babydoll’s father had confessed to the murder this case was now officially closed, and we could go ahead with a burial ceremony. 

I thanked him for relaying the news and escorted him to the front door. Before he left, he made sure I knew he would be keeping an eye on us. Seems the detective doesn’t trust me. I couldn’t care less, honestly. Let him try and pin this all on me. 

I mean, he could pin it all on me if he wanted to do so. It's not like he would be wrong in doing so.  

But I covered all my tracks and sealed them airtight. And with my record, they’d be ridiculous to come after me now that they have a confession and another dead body on their hands. 

I wait until the detective drives off in his large black Ford F-Series, leave my sneakers at the door, and then make my way up to find Babydoll. I find her sprawled across the bed in the Master bedroom, sketching something in her notebook. Technically, this is my bedroom and hers is down the hall, but she sleeps with me most nights. 

“What are you up to, Babydoll?” I ask, coming around the bed to sit next to her and peer into her notebook. 

She shuts it before I can get a good look inside, “It’s a surprise, Daddy. You can’t see it yet.” 

“Oh, I'm not allowed to see it yet, huh? Well, I guess Babydoll isn’t allowed to cum tonight then. How about that?”  

Fuck, I loved to tease her. She always made the cutest little pouty faces. 

“Daddy! No! Please may I cum tonight? I’ll do anything. Just, I was making you something special and I don’t wanna show you ‘til it’s finished. I don’t wanna ruin the surprise. Please?” There goes that little pouty lip of hers, it could make me agree to anything. 

“Ok, fine, Babydoll. But you’re gonna cum when Daddy says to.” 

“I can be a good girl for you, Daddy. I promise.” 

“There’s my good girl,” I lay back against the pillows after I shuck my muscle tank, joggers, and socks, “Show me that sweet little pussy while Daddy gets his dick ready for you.” I take out my length and start to stroke it while she pulls her panties down, laying on her back so she can show me how she plays with herself. 

Within minutes, her cunt is making those glorious squelching sounds I love so much while she fingers herself for me. I am beyond hard at this point and I am salivating just to get inside her.  

“Come up here and lay back Babydoll. Let Daddy have his turn now.”

She removes her fingers from her wet snatch and slides next to me. I take off my boxers and my cock springs up and bounces against my abdomen. Leaning over her, I position my dick at her entrance and slowly slide in thanks to the wetness she has accumulated. 

“Fuck, Babydoll, you are so tight. You feel so perfect around me.” I don’t stop until my balls are against her ass and our hips are flush together. I’ve molded this pussy to fit my shaft perfectly. Pulling out, I slam back in and am rewarded with her angelic little whimpers. 

I don’t necessarily need to last long; I just need to make sure I get her to her peak before I reach mine. I find a steady rhythm thrusting in and out of her tight heat that has her keening in my ear. Her arms are around my neck and her legs are wrapped around my waist. 

I can feel her core tightening around me, and I know she is close. Reaching a hand between us, I use my thumb to flick against her clit to push her over the edge. Her moans tell me everything I need to know. 

“Cum for me, Babydoll. Soak my fucking dick, sweet baby.” Not even a second later, I feel the tell-tale signs of her orgasm as her folds flutter around me and the dam breaks loose. She screams out and I can’t help myself. 

I fuck into her until I feel my balls draw up and then I slam into her heat one last time. I swear I was going to pull out and I almost did, but the warmth and the tight fit and my exhaustion from the run got the better of me. I came deep inside her as my cockhead sat against her cervix. I didn’t give a fuck about anything except the notion of her cunt holding me so perfectly as I blew my load. 

The only sounds in the room were of us catching our breath.  

Once I could move again, I lean up on my knees and pull back from where I collapsed on top of her. Holding her legs open, I let my length slip out. Soon, my massive load starts to rush out and I push all of it back inside her as she lazily smiles up at me. I smile at her then pull her into the bathroom with me to shower. 

She’s barely able to stand in the shower and I mostly hold her steady. We both get clean enough and I help her dry off then dry myself off and we make it back to the bedroom and lay back down in bed. I tell myself it is best to talk to her now about all this instead of waiting and possibly upsetting her. 

“Alright, Babydoll. Daddy just creampied you, I didn’t pull out this time. I came inside you. Now, in the morning, Daddy is gonna run and get you a plan B pill so that you don’t get pregnant. But I think it might be time that we get you on birth control so that Daddy doesn't have to worry about this kind of thing in the future.” I speak slowly and clearly so she knows that I have her best interest at heart. 

“Ok, Daddy. Can we take a nap now? I’m exhausted.” She is already rolling over on her side and throwing an arm across my chest. 

“Yeah, Babydoll, let’s take a nap.” I wrap my arm around her shoulder and kiss the top of her head. 

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t thinking of her tummy round and swollen with my kid and her tits heavy with milk. But I know that’s just emotion talking. As much as I want to get her pregnant, right now it is far too soon after everything with her parents. 

Right? 

Part V (coming soon) 

A/N: I am so sorry this took so long to get out, loves. Anywho, hope you enjoyed this. I still have more in me, I think. 

**Tag List** 

@winterschildren8 @raccoon-eyed-rebel @viking-raider @devotedlythoughtfulanchor @livisss @randomweirdoss @brattymum96 @ambinxe @avengersfan25 @kebabgirl67 @astheskycries @enchantedbytomandhenry @rebelangel1102 @mrs-solo-walker [Let me know if you wanna be added (or removed) 😁] 

[zepskies]

Why We Love the Boys

As promised, here is my review of Supes Ain’t Always Heroes. I actually used to write book reviews in my high school journalism days, so here we go!  

What this book is: A masterful deep dive. A study on character psychology, the source of the comic and show’s inspiration, and the narrative themes illustrated in The Boys that parallel American culture and our real lives.

It includes interviews from one of the comic’s creators, Darick Robertson, The Krip himself (Eric Kripke), and actors Jim Beaver (Robert Singer), Aya Cash (Stormfront), Chace Crawford (The Deep), Jessie T. Usher (A-Train), Nathan Mitchell (Black Noir), and of course, Jensen Ackles (Soldier Boy).

It also includes a small but significant ode to the creativity of fans and fandom (with a mention of fanfic writers)!

I’ll admit, I felt seen. 😊

Who wrote it: Psychologists Lynn S. Zubernis and Matthew Snyder, among several other contributors. Zubernis is a self-proclaimed fangirl of not only this show, but also of Supernatural and Eric Kripke in general. (That aspect definitely comes through in her writing.)

She is also editor of Family Don’t End with Blood: Cast and Fans on How Supernatural Changes Lives and There’ll Be Peace When you Are Done: Actors and Fans Celebrate the Legacy of Supernatural—both of which I now want to read.

As I mentioned, several other authors also contributed to this book, as their expertise and backgrounds lend to the subjects they’re covering, such as racism, sexism, the entertainment industry, the comic’s inception, and more.

Who wants to read this book: Anyone who enjoys learning about what makes characters tick. What drives their choices, their sense of morality and justice, and their trauma and strife that lead them to do heinous things. This book will help you better understand your favorite characters (and how to write about them).

Perhaps most importantly, this book is for anyone who wants to read it put into words, why many of us love The Boys, as well as Supernatural.

In a way, the latter is more escapism entertainment than The Boys. Because in this show, there isn’t much, if any escape.

Despite this being a “superhero show,” as we all know, it’s so much more than that. It’s a mirror held directly into our own faces: about why we enjoy heroes and antiheroes, and excuse the “bad behavior” of the ones we like.

About mental health, grief and loss, nature and nurture, coping mechanisms and the importance of choice in dealing with trauma; of racism, sexism, misogyny, weaponized social media, politics, corporate greed, and the power (and cruelty) of good marketing.

This book explores the true villain of the story...and it ain’t Homelander.

I’m going to get into my favorite aspects of this book—as well as an amazing chapter on Soldier Boy’s character study (and why we love him, perhaps too much).

There was also one small, but key thing I would add to that argument. But first...

The Mirror of The Boys on Screen

This world is a gritty, bloody, and at times all-too realistic take on how superheroes would be if they lived in our world.

They are the worst of celebrities, professional athletes, and politicians all rolled into one. They are the shiny products of a company and are marketed as such—and worst of all, they often buy into their own hype.

Some of my favorite quotes on this topic:

“The Boys often reflects darkness in our real world that is uncomfortable to watch. While we go through the tedium of our daily lives, trying to get by and using television or comics as an escape, it can feel difficult and overwhelming to confront the very real and insidious sources of authoritarianism, nationalism, and corporatism that are not just part of a story. “This show holds up a mirror and forces us to catch a glimpse of things we need to question, and asks us why we so easily believe the talking points of systems with marketing departments and press flacks behind them that carefully massage every word in order to get us to feel enamored with their product or policy.” (p. 227-228)

“The Boys works to reveal the nonaltruistic, sociopathic nature of contemporary US corporate culture. In a sense, The Boys uses the behavior of its characters to diagnose not an individual, but a culture.” (255)

In studying narrative I’ve learned that the best fiction and art serve to reflect the human experience. In this case, it’s something The Boys does expertly, even though it’s packaged in extreme, shocking, and often uncomfortable ways. But also in brutal, hilarious satire that’s fun to watch.

It “exposes real-world abuses, revealing many” of our own frustrations in American culture and in life in general (267).

Major Themes & Questions Explored

Several Boys themes are explored from a psychological, cultural, and narrative point of view, as I mentioned earlier. These are some of my favorite segments:

Toxic Masculinity & Narcissism

A whopper in The Boys, and the main theme of season 3. This book defines clearly what both of these words actually mean from a psychological point of view.

It also takes the bad taste out of your mouth that you might get from just hearing the words “toxic masculinity,” as it’s a phrase that can be carelessly thrown around to describe men and character traits that aren’t truly toxic...

How being emotionally available to your loved ones and not repressive of your feelings doesn’t make you weak, or less of a man. And how “being strong” doesn’t mean being physically violent and domineering. (AKA: the Big Swinging Dick™️ in the room.)

Narcissism is explored in a very interesting way. The book gives a diagram of different aspects of narcissists and how each character (Soldier Boy, Homelander, Butcher, and the Deep) falls into them.

Soldier Boy, for example, is classified as a “Classic Narcissist,” while Homelander a “Malignant Narcissist.” <- This will play into Soldier Boy’s character study, and the main difference between Soldier Boy and Homelander.

Butcher, however, displays narcissistic tendencies but is not, in fact, a narcissist. (More of an antisocial sociopath. Yay for him.)

Misogyny & Sexism

The classic superhero world of comics dates back to the 1930s and ‘40s. It has been, and in many respects still is a (White) male-dominated industry, where in narrative, female superheroes typically work under a male leading the team, as in Justice League, Teen Titans, and the Avengers.

As much as I love DC and Marvel comics, female characters have also been depicted wildly sexual for male readers and the male gaze, and non-supe characters have been written primarily as love interests and damsels for the hero to save. (Think Lois Lane, Lana Lang, and Mary Jane.)

Modern adaptions have given female characters more agency, but their foundations were rooted in underlying sexism and the mythic hero—an Odysseus-type with certain characteristics of male strength and heroism; and that goes all the way back to classic literature, like The Odyssey, Beowulf, and the Epic of Gilgamesh.

In The Boys, the female supes go through the same issues as their comic counterparts. They are treated how women are treated in the real world—marketable as sexual objects. Starlight’s forced costume change is a prime example.

Author Danielle Turchiano argues in the book that the women in power at Vought (Madelyn Stillwell, later Ashley) are given only so much power as men like Stan Edgar and Homelander give to them.

Stillwell, Ashley, and even Stormfront “drink the Kool Aid” of the misogynistic infrastructure of Vought, but they’re not truly “powerful” in and of themselves (112).

I would add that the only female characters that have or find true agency are Grace Mallory, Annie January/Starlight, and Maggie Shaw/Queen Maeve. Even Victoria Neuman is trying to work the political schematic and Vought by operating within the system Vought has created.

Mental Health, Trauma & Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms

This is a huge section, and rightly so. It kind of spans throughout the book, really, because all of these characters have traumas that inform who they are as adults making the (often grotesque) choices they make.

For many of these characters, it stems from their upbringing and fraught relationships with their parents, whether explicitly or implicitly explored in the show.

Butcher: Is an antisocial sociopath with narcissistic tendencies. Arrogant, emotionally manipulative, violent, and obsessive. He was also physically and emotionally abused by his father, led to use drinking and violence as a means to cope and express himself. His rage is so deep under his skin—he loathes himself for it (and his father), but struggles immensely to escape it.

Homelander (John): A malignant narcissist, the height of arrogance, and emotionally manipulative. He lacks empathy for others' pain, and in fact enjoys inflicting it. Yet according to Jonah Vogelbaum, "John" was a sensitive, gentle child who only wanted connection and love. Vogelbaum raised him like a lab rat and fostered him in a cold, detached cell. He was raised to be entitled and to believe he was an all-powerful god, the lord of his own kingdom within his mind, excused from the responsibility of his actions.

Soldier Boy (Ben): Also a narcissist; violent, arrogant, misogynistic, and often indifferent to the damage he causes, emotional or physical. Yet he was also emotionally abused by his father, who set high and exacting standards for what it meant to be a man. It drives Ben to try and prove his worth to his father, though he’s never able to. It fosters the lack of self-worth he probably feels as he seeks validation through fame, and what he believes power to be.

These three characters have many similarities, but also notable differences that set them apart from one another. And both Butcher and Soldier Boy use substances like drugs and alcohol to cope with their traumas—ones that their forced stoicism and sense of manhood won’t allow them to easily express.

“We see Soldier Boy use substances almost continuously in season three to deal with his PTSD from the childhood emotional abuse he received from his father, the betrayal and assault from his team, and the torture he endured from the Russian scientists.

“In the short term, the use of drugs and alcohol to avoid thoughts and feelings about traumatic experiences can be felt as helpful, but in the long term, it hinders one’s ability to process emotions and can cause a deeper depression from the guilt and shame of both avoidance and substance abuse.” (27)

Heroes, Antiheroes & Villains

This book explores two key questions that the show encourages you to think about:

Who the hell is the hero of this story?

And who is the villain?

The surface-level answer is that Homelander and other supes like him are the villains, and Butcher and his band of bros are the heroes (or antiheroes). But they commit just as questionable, sketchy, and downright murderous acts as the supes they’re trying to take down.

“Butcher is not really a good guy. He’s manipulative and self-centered. His reasons for wanting to take down Homelander are utterly personal. That it serves the greater good is almost a coincidence.” (9)

And if Butcher is not a hero, but a vengeful vigilante, then why do we root for him so much?

Well, we see his incredible flaws, of course, but I sympathize with his struggle in losing his wife and the life he could've continued to have with her. I root for the underdog going against the hydra head of Vought and the psychopathic Homelander.

I see in Butcher, as I also do with Homelander and Soldier Boy, their traumas and their internal conflicts, their deep-rooted self-loathing, and a desire, deep, deep down…to be loved.

(And to foster connection with others, even if they’re unable to sustain them.)

On the flipside, we have antagonists in this show who do truly heinous things. What makes them compelling even sympathetic at times, yet again, are their painful upbringings that have shaped them to be who they are. The supes of this show are byproducts of being treated like products.

Like the saying goes: Villains aren’t born, they’re made.

That’s why the real villain of this story is Vought International. It’s an allegory, and an indictment of the ruthless corporate greed that pervades American culture—and much of the world.

It’s why Stan Edgar is sometimes scarier to me than even Homelander (and was the true villain of my story, Break Me Down), if far more insidious.

Speaking of BMD, let’s get to it, shall we?

Here’s a (lot) bit about the Soldier Boy section of the book.

Soldier Boy: Why We Can’t Hate Him

I had to laugh out loud at the title of Soldier Boy’s chapter:

Loving the Villain: The Confusing Case of Soldier Boy

I’m not gonna lie. I felt called out. 😂

It is a confusing dichotomy. Soldier Boy is an absolute asshole. Misogynistic, narcissistic, arrogant, callous, violent…

But also deeply traumatized, a man-out-of-time, emotionally abused, a byproduct of the historically and culturally different time he was raised in, a man who just doesn’t get it…

And also charming, adorably grumpy, and undoubtedly attractive.

It’s hard to indict “Ben” as an unredeemable villain in the same way I do Homelander, the psychologist-labelled Malignant Narcissist.

Therein lies the main difference between Soldier Boy and Homelander: Soldier Boy doesn’t seem to take joy in harming others the way Homelander does...but, Soldier Boy still harms people, whether he means to or not. He is arrogant and callous, deeply traumatized and vengful.

Zubernis confirms many of my own conclusions and ideas about Soldier Boy, and why I still rooted for him to be better, and didn’t want him to die at the end of season 3.

As Zubernis rightly exclaimed during her own watch of the finale: “Noooo, don’t kill the Danger Grandpa Baby Murder Kitten!” (175)

Because Jensen did what he does best in his roles: He made us feel Ben’s pain.

“What’s funny is, in regard to Jensen playing Soldier Boy, you know he’s fucking fantastic, he’s just so good at bringing the audience, and it’s almost like—what I laugh about is, he was probably a little too good at his job!” Kripke said. (180)

And he continues, “In part it’s because of the fandom. So many people took his side in the finale, they’re like, Were’s on his side, fuck everyone! And you’re like, but he’s the bad guy and he’s trying to kill a ten-year-old.”

Were there fans who held this viewpoint? I’m sure. There are some radicals who don’t care about the humanity of characters or story and will side with their favorites, come whatever. But while I can’t speak for others, that’s not how I interpreted that moment in the season 3 finale when I watched it for the first, second, and even third time.

Yes, I think Soldier Boy was wrongfully willing to fight Ryan after cruelly batting him away. Do I think he would’ve killed him? I’m not sure. I think he would’ve continued to do what he had to do to get Ryan out of his way in his fight with Homelander. Maybe he would’ve been more violent than he intended, in the callous collateral damage he’d shown throughout the season. Maybe he would've held back at the last second. Or maybe he would’ve gone that far, if provoked.

It’s a tough call, as I think this character can go one way or the other in terms of his “villain” nature. We just haven’t seen enough of him in the series yet for me to make that conclusion on the canon-version of Soldier Boy. (In fanfic, I’ve explored my own interpretation.)

But overall, I think The Krip underestimated the power of Jensen’s acting.

…And the ardent nature of his mostly female fanbase. 😂

Why We Love Soldier Boy

The author cites multiple reasons for why we love Ben more than we probably should:

It’s Jensen Ackles: Fair enough. His talent speaks for itself.

Soldier Boy’s backstory: He was emotionally abused by his father and as a result, he has a complex regarding his self-worth, “something to prove,” and I would imagine a secret need for attention, validation, and praise.

He has trauma and PTSD: He is displaced from what is familiar to him and confused when the boys find him, and that is the least of it. He’s been tortured for 40 years. Can you even wrap your mind around that? (*cough cough Dean Winchester in Hell cough*)

He’s charming: In a sexy grandpa, adorably grumpy, lovable asshole kind of way.

We’re drawn to danger: Dangerous “edgy” types are fun, especially when you’re physically attracted to the character.

He has his moments of vulnerability: Jensen’s ability to play the nuance in the character is the ultimate draw. I felt his pain, could see his torture, and his resulting PTSD. He even admits that he longs for a family, even if his ability to bring up those children is questionable at best. 😅

But I think the one aspect that can also be considered is the character’s capacity for change.

Soldier Boy’s Potential

Again, I don’t think you can write off Soldier Boy’s potential for positive character development the same way you can Homelander, or even Butcher.

For one thing, we just haven’t spent enough time with the character. In season 3, a lot of his collateral damage after he escapes imprisonment has been accidental, or PTSD-induced. Though we can’t discount how he murdered M.M.’s grandfather via collateral damage (and was callous about it).

I think this is what drew me to write about Soldier Boy. For all his arrogance, his chauvinism, his massive ego and general bastardry, there’s still humanity in Ben.

In the book, Nathan Mitchell says something amazing about his own character (Black Noir) that resonated with me about Soldier Boy as well:

"One of the ingredients of a compelling character is contradiction. How does one aspect of our personality contradict with one another? [...] Who is he underneath? How might his true nature contrast with the demands of his job?"

Or coded for Soldier Boy/Ben: The pressures he puts on himself to be the type of man he thought his father wanted him to be.

Again, his sexist, misogynistic ideals are shaped by the time he was raised in, by being a product of Vought, and of his father’s emotionally abusive upbringing. Does this excuse or justify all of his behavior? Of course not.

But I do think those 40 years in captivity changed him from the careless alpha dog we saw in 1984 Nicaragua…

He admits to Crimson Countess, with tears in his eyes, that he’d loved her. That he waited for her and his team—arguably the only social system he had in his life—to save him. He’s gutted to realize that not only did she and the rest of the team never love him, they hated him. They traded him for nothing. Just to get him out of their lives.

For all he claims to be afraid of nothing, tough as shit, he is afraid when he goes to face Mindstorm. He knows what the supe is capable of, and he visibly takes a shaky breath and tries to steel himself.

For a moment, he drops the “Soldier Boy” persona that he wears like that fine tailored suit, and he tells Butcher that the backstory Vought created for him was a lie; he grew up a rich kid who got sent to boarding school, but flunked out, because "he was a fuck up." And his father couldn’t be bothered to lay a hand on him, implying he didn’t care enough about his own son to "discipline" him.

He is reluctant to kill Homelander when he finds out he’s Ben’s son (sort of). He even claims that he would’ve been willing to share the spotlight “with his own son.” — Something I doubt even Homelander would do.

Ben even seems to be fighting tears when he levies the same vitriol at Homelander that his own father did at him:

Homelander: “Weak? I’m you.” Soldier Boy: “I know. You’re a fucking disappointment.”

Let me be clear. I don’t think it’s up to someone to change him (like a love interest). I don’t subscribe to that thinking, that a woman can “change” a man.

For example: In season 2, Butcher tells Becca, “Who was I before you? Nothing.”

And yet, she tells him that he put her on an unrealistic and unsustainable pedestal, in which she felt like she wasn’t allowed to fully be herself, unable to keep him from flying off the handle in rage. That kind of relationship (where one is dependent on the other to “keep them in check”) doesn’t work as a lasting, satisfying redemption arc, and it often doesn’t work in real life either.

I do think, however, that a person is capable of change if they’re broken down enough (pun intended), and if they themselves have a desire to change. Someone they encounter can inspire them to be better, like Butcher with Hughie. That person can help support the other.

At the end of the day, however, it’s Ben that has to want to change.

If he wants love and connection, he’ll have to somehow want it, and try (and sometimes fail) to get it, thereby giving him agency and a redemptive character arc.

Now, obviously, it’s up to The Krip where Ben goes from here. He seems to have a more indicting vision of the character than I do (at least, so far). But we’ll see! The fan demand to bring back the character has already had Kripke confirming that Soldier Boy will be back.

Maybe it will encourage him to give the character a more satisfying ending than Dean Winchester got in Supernatural. Though granted, that one wasn’t his doing, apparently he was in favor of that ending, which ultimately culminated 15 years of monster slaying and broments under Baby's roof.

Comparing Dean & Ben

In his interview segment, Jensen talks about what, if any, are the comparisons between Dean Winchester and Soldier Boy. AKA: Wanting a father’s approval, and an undercurrent of “John Wayne”-esque masculinity in John Winchester that Dean sought to emulate.

Jensen also talks about where he drew from to not only embody the character of Soldier Boy, but bring nuance to him—and show the peeks of vulnerability under the bravado and stoicism.

“He’s so fragile and his ego is fragile. Just like Homelander. These bigger-than-life powerful heroes really have a glass jaw… “And everyone walks on eggshells around him [Soldier Boy], and they tell him that they love him, and it’s the same with Homelander. Then when all of a sudden he faces his old team and Crimson Countess says we never loved you, we hated you—that’s a gut punch for him. Because even though on some level he may have known that, he never thought he would hear it. “And he probably propped himself up around trying to believe otherwise, because how can you walk around knowing everyone you’ve ever cared about hates you? It’s too painful.” (191)

It really is. I inherently felt this about Soldier Boy (Ben) when I watched season 3 for the first time. That’s exactly what I got from his performance and thought, there’s more to this guy than the toxic masculinity he represents.

This guy just wants to be loved, like everyone else. He wants to feel important, and even after his father’s dead, “show him” that Ben is the man his father wanted him to be. And so, he bought into the illusion Vought painstakingly crafted for him.

Whether he can come back from that remains to be seen, but I choose to be optimistic until evidence points to the contrary. 😅 (Maybe we’ll see in season 4!)

So that’s my personal take on Soldier Boy and this awesome book. 💚 Thank you again @kaleldobrev for recommending it to me! I hope you all enjoyed my long-winded review and want to check this out.

And if you do read it, let me know! I hope to read your thoughts as well!

Tagging people who said they wanted to read my review on this book: @venus-haze @jessjad @kristophalis @sl33pylilbunny

[aswallowimprisoned]

Restless far from a Wine Dark sea - Sedation

Nurse Brunel checks in on a post-sedated vampiric merman to find their captive with significantly fewer inhibitions than normal..

Tw captivity, sedation, medical whump, drugging, injury, Dead Dove Jewish vampiric whumpee, religious whumpee

RestlessffaWDs' timeline is going off piste for @medwhumpmay

masterlist

≪ °❈° ≫

set maybe a month or two into Nathaniel Fogal's captivity. This is the first snippet that features Dr Elias Freid, a psychologist/therapist who is Nathaniel's main interrorgator alongside Logan.

≪ °❈° ≫

“This is Nurse Ivan Brunel, Post Sedation check on the merman known as Fogal, mer patient #3.” Ivan went through the familiar recording of medical protocol. “Due to the negative after effects of thiobarbiturates on the wellbeing and mood of the patient, anaesthesia for this set of tests was achieved using Propofol.” He snapped on fresh blue gloves as the pneumatic doors hissed open to reveal the sleeping form of the merman bound to his hospital bed. “It has been 30 minutes since the cessation of anaesthetics and removal of airway support, so patient is expected to be still experiencing significant sedative effects… And our resident mer psychologist Elias Freid is in observation bay to assess behaviours and provide therapeutic guidance if required...”

Ivan gave one last check of the monitor displaying the mermans blood oxygen, before unhooking the oxygen mask from his face and replacing it with nasal cannulas. Within moments, the sea monster’s face crinkled with the start of wakefulness at the smell of a human in the room, and he rolled his head to regard him, blinking sleepily.

“Glad to see you awake Fogal. We put you to sleep for a while, and I know you are probably still pretty sleepy.” Ivan kept his voice soft and calm, a familiar routine for waking patients from their deep sleep. Fogal murmured something unintelligible.

“I am just going to flash a light in your eyes now,” Ivan gently steadied Fogal’s head in his hand as he checked his responses. The merman’s pupils were blown wide, barely reacting to the light shone on them.

“Pupils are dilated and slow to respond to stimuli, but he seems both semi-aware and calm.”

Fogal closed his eyes and pushed his head into the palm of Ivan’s hand, chittering softly.

Ivan stalled for a second, before brushing his fingers though the young man’s hair. No - Fogal was not a young man, he was an ancient bloodsucking sea monster who just looked like a young man. And who, going from the delighted whirring noises, really liked getting skritches.

“Is this ok?” Ivan asked, more to the psychologist on the other side of the 1 way mirror than to the snuggly merman.

“Yes,” Elias’ voice came through Ivan’s earpiece, “Though still be careful with those teeth. Drugged means unpredictable. This behaviour is fascinating to watch. Even if he would not normally engage in such displays of affection with any of the staff here, it does suggest that he may exhibit this behaviour towards loved ones in a less stressful environment.” Elias was contemplative, "I wonder if he would be the same with someone he doesn’t like, say Dr Rana?” He was tapping information into the computer, the keys audible over the comms. “I mean, we know mer live in groups, so he is likely to be… touch starved. I do hope we can allow the captive mer to have social bonds sometime later in the project, but allowing touch when semi-sedated may be a good sign he trusts you to some degree...” 

 “I guess someone really likes Propofol.” Ivan smiled softly, “It is nice to see him calm. Even if that calm comes out a bottle.” Ivan moved to stroke the top of the merman’s head, and he let out another slew of chittering squeaks, drooling effusively.

“Indeed.” Elias hummed, “Do you reckon he is going to remember this next time he wakes up?”

“Vaguely. The levels of sedative in his system shouldn’t be high enough for complete memory loss, even if they have affected his behaviour...” Ivan replied.  

“Ok Fogal,” he raised his voice, and the merman focused his gaze on him, “Do you think you can describe how you are feeling right now, and if you are in pain?”

Fogal frowned comically before slurring out an affirmative noise.

“Ok…” Ivan swiped the merman’s doll out of the box at the end of the bed. The communication doll was one of the first tools Elias had introduced when he had started as the merman’s therapist, “Can you point on the doll where it hurts?”

Fogal groped clumsily at the doll’s arm, where Ivan knew the merman had a comminuted fracture to the ulna , then poked all round the top of the toy’s tail, mirroring the placement of the stab wounds on his body. All areas where he was expected to feel pain, but maybe some pain medication might not go amiss.

“Ok. And do you feel sick? or dizzy?”

A low hum for both assured Ivan that negative side effects of the Propofol seemed minimal. 

 “...And do you feel like you want to hurt anyone or yourself right now?”

Fogal shook the doll’s head. Then he started to stroke the stuffed merman’s hair. Ivan had to stifle a laugh as he ruffled his hair. “Good job answering questions, I just have a few more things to do, you can just doze off if you want.”

“That was good non-verbal communication!” Elias sounded impressed, “Propofol is looking good for the retention of awareness and reduction of anxiety.”

Ivan smiled as he put on his stethoscope and listened to the steady beat of the mermans heart. Fogal didn’t mind the cold metal, concentrating instead on wiping the plush merman doll’s head against his hip, crooning gently at the soft material against his bare skin. Ivan enjoyed the quiet - Fogal didn’t always wake up so calmly, the thiobarbiturates they had been using for anaesthetics triggering what appeared to be quite intense PTSD flashbacks. He peacefully allowed Ivan to use the tympanic membrane temperature probe, check his urine output into the box on the side of the bed, and other post-anaesthetic checks. 

“All done and looking healthy, Fogal. You can go back to sleep now. Can you give me the doll?”

Fogal looked up at him with watery eyes, glancing down to his doll then back up at Ivan.

“P’ease?” the merman asked hopefully.

“Dr Freid? Please advise.”

There was a beat of silence.

“Allow him to keep the doll Nurse.” There was a determined note to Elias' voice. “Unlike the previous situation where he tried to take something, the doll is not a choking hazard and has been requested fairly politely. Though this shall be discussed with Logan as his other handlers, I believe that having a possession will aid in a sense of security, and that the doll has great potential for further use as a communication tool."

Ivan gave the merman's hair one last ruffle. 

"Ok Fogal, you can keep a hold of it. Now let's get you back to sleep, ok?"

--888--

Nathaniel awoke theto the heavy tread of Nurse Brunel. Memories came back in dregs. Dr Rana had put him to sleep, so they must have done something to his body, though there were no new spots of pain...

“Hey Fogal, how are you feeling?”

His hands hadn’t cramped up as much as usual. They were clamped around something soft and thick, far better than the thin sheets he usually balled up in place of seaweed. He creased his brows and held up the item as best he could with his wrist still bound to the bed. 

The stupid rag doll stared back at him.

Nathaniel cocked his head in confusion, and looked up questioningly to his favourite nurse. 

“We sedated you for some tests, do you remember?”

Nathaniel nodded slowly, then wiggled the doll at him questioningly.

“When I went to check on you afterwards, you really wanted to keep a hold of the communication doll there. And Elias thought it may be useful for you to have him with you anyway.”

Nathaniel looked down at the soft little plush merman. His tail was the same pleasant deep red as Nathaniel’s own tail, his sewn-on expression one of peaceful neutrality.

He squished the doll’s head gently. A strange half memory rose of petting the doll's hair, and then of gentle fingers carding through his hair. Nathaniel scowled.

What would his interrogator think of him if he saw Nathaniel wanted to keep a toy?

- I. no. need. stupid. Communication doll. - He signed, trapping the doll under his wrist to form the words. 

“That’s ok too, Fogal.” Nurse Bruel spoke peaceably, “And you can let me know if you change your mind. Can you keep a hold of it while I check your eyes?”

Nathaniel nodded, and Nurse Brunel stepped forwards with a tiny bright light. Nathaniel surreptitiously shuffled Little Fogal under the sheet. He could barely see the little lump the doll made under the covers. He tucked it into the fabric and rested his hand back by his side. 

“Looking good, no post-sedation signs. I can take your oxygen mask off now.” Nurse Brunel took the bulky plastic off his face. Nathaniel wiggled his jaw.

- Thank you - He signed.

“No problem, Fogal. I’ll let you pray now, and Elias will be through for a session once you are done…”The nurse glanced down to Nathaniel's empty hand next to the little doll shaped lump, and the slightest smile appeared on his face. Nathaniel watched him warily, but all the nurse did was give him a swift gentle pat on the wrist before turning to leave the room.

Nathaniel squeezed his new possession once, and settled into prayer.

[site666]

Like A Dog

ok first time posting a drabble lets go. honestly quite terrified to post

present hcs: trans glass, bright with inhuman features..?? kinda (hes got pointy ass teefs and red eyes)

implied bright/glass but can be read as platonic

anyways ... i love dog symbolism a lot

Jack Bright stares at his face in the mirror, half shaved and absolutely not his. As he stares into the eyes of the face he controls, he feels he’s looking into the eyes of another, because, really, he is. He can’t recognize himself. Not even as he slowly drags the razor along his cheek, his eyes unfocused as his reflection shifts and sneers at him. He’s too busy staring into dead, watery red eyes, eyes he has no business seeing. With a jolt of brief pain that brings him back, he winces as he had nicked his cheek. He turns the squeaky faucet on and quickly throws some cold water over the sliver in his cheek.

And, fuck, those eyes really aren’t his. Neither are the hands that rub water into the cut on someone else’s face.

He startles as he hears the bathroom door creak open, turning to face a mildly surprised Simon Glass. Bright gives a hesitant wave before the therapist speaks. “Shaving in the men’s room again?” Glass asks softly, a smile tugging at his lips.

“Didn’t have time.” Bright mutters, looking away. His eyes — someone’s eyes — drift back up to the reflection in the mirror. He sees Glass. He sees a man. He doesn’t see himself.

“You look… inquisitive.” The psychologist notes, tilting his head slightly and keeping his distance.

“You ever look at yourself and think, wow, that is NOT me, or is that just a me thing?” Bright asks bitterly. He doesn’t look at Glass.

The other man approaches now, just a few steps, and he looks in the mirror at himself next to Bright. “I see… my physical body… and I’m fairly certain that’s me.” He faces Bright with curious, pale blue eyes that are simply the exact opposite of the scientist’s bold red ones. “When I was younger I didn’t like to see my reflection, because I didn’t want to look like a little girl.”

“That’s different.”

“Not really. No matter what your brain believes shouldn’t be true about your physical body, your physical body is still you. You are the person you see in the mirror. So am I, and so was I back when I was little.”

Bright continues to watch the mirror in silence. His face crinkles in frustration. “I had green eyes. I had green eyes, and I needed glasses.” He pulls his eyelids with his index finger and thumb to get a good look at the full eye. “Bullshit.”

“You could think of it as a scar,” Glass says in his stupidly soft spoken way and Bright wants to agree, but goddamn does he want to be right himself. So, cornered and scared, he gnashes and bares his teeth in false anger, like a bad dog.

“Fuck off, Simon.” He snarls through grit teeth, crooked and yellow and sharp and just like a dog’s — and not his. 

“Jack…” Glass begins slowly, carefully. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay, nothing here is okay, this place is FUCKED, AND YOU KNOW IT.” Teeth are snapped uselessly against metal bars that separate his wolfish self from the fragile deer on the other side, one he so foolishly wants to kill and hold and cry into and love. His own humanity cages him and he gnaws wildly at the bars.

“I know this place isn’t right in… a lot of ways, but I also know it’s better to accept flaws sometimes.” Glass reaches out, offering his hand to Bright. The scientist swallows a lump in his throat, glaring with his lip between his teeth as he takes Glass’ hand. Glass intertwines their fingers, and he looks up and smiles. “You see that?”

“I’m not blind.”

“No — I mean, you see our hands, touching. And you feel it. Right?”

“…Sure.” Bright keeps his eyes locked on their hands, his bony knuckles and long fingers awkwardly engulfing the soft and small hand of the psychologist. He feels the gentle warmth coming from Glass’ hand against his significantly colder one — his own hands always seem to be freezing — and he feels the pressure from each of them holding on.

“That’s you.” Glass says.

“What.” It comes out more a statement than a question.

“You see yourself holding my hand, you feel yourself holding my hand. You’re you. That body is you. It’s yours.” Glass smiles up at Bright, confident he’s made a point.

And goddammit, he has. 

So he backs down, his anger giving way to the fear it hid so desperately as the deer nudges the cage door open. Like a dog, he’s been shown gentleness, and god, he just wants to be helped — to be saved. So for the time being, he lets Simon save him. Just like a loyal dog.

[lovelylogans]

the parent trap

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE: epilogue

Two very similar boys help their two very different families assimilate into one.

⁂

“Aw, Pa, do we have to?”

Patton—still entirely unused to driving on the left side of the road and therefore relegated to the passenger’s seat—gives Remus a Look through the rearview mirror.

“Even if this wasn’t suggested by the lawyer to clearly illustrate the harm that judge had on your upbringing, yes, I absolutely would have pushed for this on my own.”

“It’s a big upheaval in your lives, anyway,” Janus says, absently reaching over to pat Patton’s hand as he cranes his neck to watch for incoming traffic. “Too right you should have someone to talk to that isn’t related to you.”

“Or Virgil.”

“Or Virgil,” Janus amends. “And before either of you get any ideas, if you absolutely hate it there: fine. We shall find another child psychologist. But if you prank your way out of there, then that means you’re going to another child psychologist and your time in therapy will increase, as pranking the people you dislike is not a healthy way to express your feelings.”

The twins exchange a look.

Patton hopes that look means darn, any potential plan is foiled! but even he can see that there’s still some mischief brewing in those matching heads of theirs.

But any complaints are cut short by Janus pulling into the parking lot; sorry, the car park, he’s still getting used to all that.

Patton and Janus herd the boys in; they shuffle in, all together, to a cozy-looking if slightly bland waiting room, the other three taking up all the seats on the available couch as Patton approaches the front desk.

“Hi,” Patton says. “Appointment for Remus and Roman, under Parker-James?”

“Parker-James?” The person at the desk says, flipping through their agenda calendar. “Remus and Roman Parker-James… yes, I have you right here, he should be ready pretty soon…”

Janus flips through a spare copy of Vogue; the boys play some kind of hand-slapping game they must have learned at camp; Patton pretends to read the magazine in his hands while watching them both out of the corner of his eyes.

“Parker-James?” A voice calls from inside the office.

All four of them stand and make their way into the room.

The room is set up in mostly earth-tones; brown couches, leather armchair, nice wooden bookshelves stocked up with the books chock full of the latest therapeutic breakthroughs, a few plants tucked away in the corners. 

The pops of color come from the cartoon decor; little figurines, paintings, a few stuffed animals tucked into strategic locations. Rubber ducks and Disney heroines and plucky child protagonist and superheroes, stretch as far as the eye can see.

And there’s a great tarp set up on the floor and transparent plastic wrapped over the chairs, hanging in front of the bookshelves with their decorations and books, with a variety of incredibly tempting, messy-looking acrylic paints ripe for any child to cause chaos.

“Hello there, boys,” the therapist says with a smile, setting aside his pen and notebook. “I’m Dr. Emlie Picani. I’ll be your therapist. Do either of you enjoy painting?”

The boys exchange a look, this one much less loaded with mischief, but both nod.

“Good!” Dr. Picani says. “Me too. I’d like this first session to be much less formal—and don’t worry if you get a bit messy with it, I’ve got all these tarps laid out and I believe your Dads have brought spare clothes if necessary. And, on that note—Dads, if you’ll take your leave?”

“Be good,” Janus says, smoothing a hand over Remus’s then Roman’s hair.

“Have fun, boys!” Patton says, and they take their leave.

Patton has a pretty good feeling about this.

⁂

“All right, Remus?”

“All right,” Remus says, getting pretty used to the way the British exchange this particular pleasantry. “Uncle Logan’s sent down—”

“Ah, a cuppa!” Grandfather exclaims, taking tray off Remus’s hands. “Now, I’ll be mother—would you like one?”

“What is it?” Remus says.

“Earl grey, looks like,” Roman says, taking his nose out of the book he’s reading long enough to look.

“Yeah, I’ll have one,” Remus says, flopping onto one of the numerous couches in the study. “Thanks, Grandpa Toby.”

Grandfather putters about with the tray for a moment, taking a moment to add something to his—Remus spies the amber-colored liquid in the glass bottle Grandfather keeps in an isolated place where the children can’t reach it.

“Here you are, Roman, bit of honey—Remus, yours with enough sugar to kill me—”

“No brandy?” Remus says, giving Grandfather a hopeful look.

“Certainly not,” Grandfather says, as if he didn’t literally just sneak away a healthy slug into his own teacup. “You’ll stick to your wines, and you’ll have to ask your fathers to indulge in that, besides.”

Remus considers this. “How many years until that wavers?”

Grandfather pauses. 

“When you’re eighteen!” Roman squawks.

“Yes, certainly,” Grandfather says with an approving nod to Roman. “When you’re eighteen. That’s the responsible answer.”

Roman nods in satisfaction and returns his attention to his book.

“When I’m twelve?” Remus whispers.

“Certainly not,” Grandfather says, just as quietly.

“Thirteen.”

“No.”

“Fourteen? Fifteen?”

“...Eighteen.”

“Oh, puh-lease, as if you didn’t have moments of underage drinking, you can’t judge me for wanting to try things.”

Grandfather pauses, then waggles his hand side-to-side.

“Knew it,” Remus mutters, and he picks up a section of Grandfather’s newspaper. The sports section—Remus has been told in very certain terms about which teams the Jameses do and do not support, but it’s all gone in one ear and out the other—and pretends to read the articles while he really keeps an eye out to see if they’ve put any of the fun, rude chants in the paper.

(Tragically, no.)

And so they sit in silence, sipping their tea and reading their individual pieces of interest, and neither twin breathes a word to their fathers when their Grandfather cracks open the study window and busies himself with packing his pipe the instant the tea is done and spends the afternoon merrily smoking away.

⁂

Janus had initially been surprised that Patton had so willingly gone along with his insistence on filing a legal custody arrangement, even though they were once again back together.

The Patton he married nearly a dozen years ago probably would have insisted it wasn’t necessary, that they were together now and there was no point in it, but the Patton of today had fervently agreed and pored over the agreement with a metaphorical fine-toothed comb.

A decade without one of your sons was enough to change a person, Janus supposed.

Even if Patton tended to call it the Worst Case Scenario document.

“Okay,” Janus says, examining it. “Each boy returns to their original schooling, if necessary.”

“Even year summers are mine; odd year summers are yours,” Patton says. “The boys spend your birthday with you, and my birthday with me, when possible.”

“You have American Thanksgiving, always, which would mean I would always Bonfire Night.”

“Even year Christmas-and-Boxing-Days are yours; even year New Year’s are mine.”

“And Easters and other minor holidays in which the boys have a break from schooling alternate, with potential to revise the custodial arrangement until the boys are eighteen, at which point they’ll be free to spend holidays as they choose.”

They examine the paperwork in silence.

“Do you think we missed anything?” Janus says.

“I don’t think so,” Patton says uncertainly. “I’m sure Remy will tell us if we did.”

“Yes, that he would,” Janus says.

They stare at the paperwork some more.

“And now,” Patton says. “To file it away with Remy and hope we never need it.”

“To hope we never need it,” Janus agrees fervently, and Patton leans in for a kiss.

⁂

Not to be dramatic, but Remus has been dying from excitement looking forward to this moment literally since the moment their parents decided to send Remus to Roman’s fancy British school.

The fact that he has to wear a suit and tie kind of sucks, though. But it’s kind of nice that he’s going to be in all the same classes as Roman, if solely to spend more time teasing his brother and nothing else sentimental.

The school is smaller than Remus’s public California school; it’s all red brick and ivy, with a SOCCER field out back, a little bit outside of the edges of the city proper. He rides on the bus (also new—Virgil usually drove him to and from school, back home) and Roman escorts him to the office to make sure all of their paperwork is filed, like Dad told him to.

It is—he has to do hardly anything, just carry a form for his new teacher to fill out. He ignores whatever map they’re offering and just falls into step behind Roman.

The teacher meets him in the hall, signs his form, and goes into the classroom to introduce him.

Remus smiles to himself. Excellent. A dramatic entrance.

“Class,” the teacher says. “We have a new student this year—a Mr. Remus Parker, from California, in America. Come in, Remus, we can find a place for you next to your brother.”

Remus walks in, to whispers of wow, Roman has a twin! and American?! unhearing to all of it, his eyes searching the room for one familiar face.

He finds it.

All of the blood has drained from Dick Davies’s face, making him look even more pale and awful than usual. He’s slithered down in his chair, looking moments away from letting out a pathetic, awful whimper.

Remus offers his most bloodthirsty, shit-eating grin.

He does find a spot near Roman—near the back of the room, which is excellent. None of his American teachers would have made that mistake.

He waits until class is underway before he starts making mischief.

Like fucking Spalding he writes on a piece of paper, crumpling it into a ball, which he proceeds to chuck, full-strength, at the back of Davies’s head. Davies picks it up, frowning, and reads.

He lets out a really undignified squawking noise, which gets him giggled at by his classmates and scolded by their teacher. Roman grins sheepishly into his notebook, exchanging a look with Remus.

Yeah, Remus thinks. It’s going to be a fun year.

⁂

Janus loves London dearly.

He was born and raised there; he’s raising his children there. London is like another member of the family.

But Napa was certainly very nice at this time of year.

Janus lets out a pleased sigh at the sight of the sun, hands braced on the balcony railing as he looks over the vineyard sprawling below them. 

“You’re like a cat,” a familiar voice says behind him, amused.

Janus smiles, but he doesn’t turn to see his visitor; instead, he simply theatrically tilts his face into the sunrays, taken up by the sweet, simple treasure of his body inundated by the sun’s glow.

“Sitting in the little sunspots and soaking up all the warmth,” Patton continues, pressing his lips to the nape of Janus’s neck; Janus can feel him smiling there.

“The boys are off,” Patton murmurs. “You’ll probably see them galloping out if you stand here long enough.” 

Janus grins. “I’m sure Roman’s eager for the excuse to dress up as a proper countryman.”

“They look pretty cute in the flannels,” Patton says, and he wraps his arms around Janus’s waist. “You do, too.”

“It is yours.”

“Ah, that must be part of it,” Patton murmurs, and Janus laughs.

“I’m sure you were probably coming to soak up the sun before you return to the frigidity of London.”

“Well, I won’t lie—that’ll definitely be a nice part of being here again,” Patton says. 

“And the other part?”

Patton presses another kiss to his neck, more lingering, more heated.

“Nice big house,” Patton says, “I think we’re the only ones in it” and Janus laughs; even after all these years, Patton can barely bring himself to say anything past the implication of innuendo.

“All right, then,” Janus says, turning to wrap his arms around Patton’s neck. “Bring me in we’ll do our best to keep each other warm.”

And Patton, pulling him along to their bedroom, certainly does.

⁂

“I guess there’s a lot to do on a vineyard this time of year.”

Roman surveys the grape vines, buzzing with employees and tourists alike, from his place tucked amidst the trees, atop Sprout. He is—once again—wearing the full wannabe cowboy outfit: flannel shirt, jeans, boots that Papa got for him practically as soon as they arrived in California, and his truly excellent cowboy hat.

Remus—a more experienced rider and therefore permitted to ride Papa’s Cinnamon—looks over at him with an expression that reads duh. 

He’s also in jeans and boots, but he’s wearing a band t-shirt with one of Virgil’s old flannels thrown over the top, and a black cowboy hat. Basically the all-black, goth-equivalent of Roman’s red-and-white, wannabe-cowboy outfit.

Roman decides to read it as fond, reasserting his grip on the reins. “It is nice to feel warm weather, though.”

“Oh, you’re telling me,” Remus says. “I’ve never seen snow like I’ve seen in London—and it doesn’t even stick around very long! All the cars water it down to gray slush—”

“—and Dad and Uncle Logan would not be pleased it you started tracking that inside,” Roman says hastily, lest Remus resume his ideas of dirty snow snowball fights. Roman does not want to deal with slush down the back of his newest jumpers, thank you.

“Yeah yeah yeah,” Remus sighs, waving him off, and turning his face to the Napa sun. Weak as it is, Roman thinks, it’s certainly much warmer here than it is back home in London, where carolers and bell-ringers have set up shop on practically every corner. 

It’s not their first time back in Napa since their parents resumed their romance, but they are here for the longest; they’ll be back in London in time for Christmas, Boxing Day, and New Years’ with Grandfather, but the James-Parkers have decided to take advantage of the stretch of much better weather down in Napa while the pair of them are off school.

So: plentiful horse rides in the vineyard, getting up the courage to maybe splash around the much chillier pool, occasional jaunts into nearby cities and towns, baking cookies with Virgil and Uncle Logan. 

Roman’s really looking forward to it. 

“You know,” Roman says, contemplative. “The last time I was around this spot, Papa was trying to tell me he was going to marry Maddox?”

Remus makes a dreadful gagging noise. “Ugh, could you imagine?”

“I bet we’d be stuffing his Christmas cookies full of cinnamon so he’d choke on them.”

“Stuffing his stocking with dead fish!”

“Wrapping up a list of numbers for divorce lawyers as a present for Papa!”

“Pushing him out on an iceberg with the penguins!”

They both crack up at the memory of Maddox flailing in the middle of the lake.

“I’m really glad our fathers sent us to the same camp.”

“Ugh,” Remus complains, then, “yeah, I guess I am too.”

They sit in companionable silence for a while. There are a few birds, perhaps on their way south for the winter, chirping quietly in the trees. The distant murmur of people in the fields reaches them in a hush. The fields are less verdant than it was in the true depths of summer, but everything here is certainly much greener than anything in London. The scent of wildflowers wafts on the slight breeze, distant but there. 

It’s really very nice.

Then:

“Raceya!” Remus shouts, and him and Cinnamon are off like a shot.

“Hey, no fair!” Roman yelps, digging his heels into Sprout’s side, and they speed off after his brother, kicking up dust behind them.

⁂

Logan thinks that Janus has placed a sprig of mistletoe in the doorway leading from kitchen to dining room solely for the purpose of attacking Patton with kisses whenever he goes to get everyone more wine.

Not that Logan is complaining. It works to his advantage, too.

Logan waits, quiet, as the sink shuts off, as the last cabinet closes, and then he takes a purposeful step forward.

Just in time to catch Virgil coming back from washing the dishes.

“Oh,” Logan says. “Look at that. We’ve been caught under the mistletoe.”

Virgil grins at him. “Accidentally, I’m sure.”

“Was I being too subtle? No, I want to kiss you.”

Virgil laughs. “Merry Christmas, Logan.”

“Merry Christmas, Virgil,” Logan whispers back, and Virgil leans in, pressing their lips together, Logan leaning back against the doorframe and wrapping his arms around Virgil’s neck.

They thoroughly fulfill the criteria of kissing under the mistletoe.

⁂

It’s almost weirder to Patton that he isn’t experiencing a ton of déjà vu.

Sure, it’s his second wedding day; sure, it’s in the same place as it was last time; sure, it’s to the same man, but other than that, there isn’t much else that’s the same.

For one thing, their relatives have managed to make it this time, Patton’s dearest regret of eloping the way he did; his sister, Linda, is standing beside Janus’s father, their heads bent together, discussing something very intently.

Their boys, in matching suits of white—Remus with a basket of flower petals, an errant rose probably plucked from a floral arrangement stuck behind his ear. Roman holds the rings, smiling up at Patton. 

(They’d considered the boys for the opposite jobs—Roman surely would have liked to be tossing flower petals everywhere—but then Patton thought priceless wedding rings and Remus’s brand of mischief and they’d quickly swapped them around.)

Patton smiles back at his son, reaching down to ruffle his hair, thinking better of it, and instead squeezing his shoulder.

“You ready, Pat?” Virgil murmurs from his rightful place at Patton’s side as his best man.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been more ready,” Patton confesses, adjusting the lapels of his silver-gray suit jacket, mindful not to crush his boutonniere of a tiny, pale pink rose and white alstroemerias. “I should be more nervous, right? I should be nervous, but I’m just really excited.”

A corner of Virgil’s lip quirks up, his eyes straying back toward where Logan is ducking back to see to any of Janus’s last-minute needs.

“Or maybe,” Patton suggests innocently, “all this talk of weddings is maybe leading you to think about…?”

Virgil laughs, a nervous, gleeful giggle, as Remus blitzes down the aisle, pelting anyone and everyone with rose petals. 

“What, your wedding could make me think about my potential wedding?”

“Maybe you should,” Patton says, “think about a potential wedding, I mean” and Virgil snorts.

Roman gives Virgil an excited look at the thought of another occasion for fancy outfits, and he has to prodded into remembering his entrance timing by Vendela.

“How about we get through this wedding before we start worrying about another one?” Virgil says.

Patton grins, links arms with Linda—Janus’s father has gone back to join Logan and Patton’s once-groom-now-groom-again—and waves Virgil off on his walk down the aisle. 

And now Linda squeezes his arm, rubbing up and down.

“Last chance to back out,” Linda jokes, her brown eyes and tan skin accentuated by the pale rose gown and matching shawl that Janus has put her in.

“Not on your life,” Patton says, breathless and giddy, which makes Linda laugh.

“Ready?” Vendela murmurs and, before he can answer, she says “and go” and suddenly Linda’s walking him down the aisle.

He feels a little awkward with everyone’s eyes on him, but he finds it’s easy enough to tune it out when he smiles and waves to his friends and family—the folks who help him at the vineyard, cousins and aunts and uncles, friends from school and beyond.

He finds it easiest of all when he focuses on the end of the aisle: the officiator, Virgil with his hands behind his back, smiling at him fondly; and his boys, handsome in their not-quite-matching white suits, discreetly elbowing each other.

When they reach the aisle, Linda stands to kiss him on the cheek.

“Love you,” she murmurs. 

“Love you too.”

She departs to her seat. Patton takes a moment to once again squeeze Roman’s shoulder and to ruffle Remus’s already-messy hair before he stands at the altar, staring down the aisle.

It somehow takes forever and also just a moment before Janus makes his entrance.

And Patton loses the air from his very lungs.

Janus—handsome, always—seems to have moved from beautiful to ethereal. 

He’s stunning, wearing a self-made suit with a tailcoat in all white, from his intricately-knotted tie to his shining white oxfords, except for the soft patch of pink over his heart that denotes his boutonniere that matches Patton’s.

Patton blinks out the first of many, many joyful tears of the day.

Patton can barely notice the way Logan is smiling shyly at Virgil.

(He does notice, in fairness. But it’s very difficult to not be staring at his ex-husband/husband-to-be.)

Janus smiles at him, that familiar wicked curve of his mouth, the port wine birthmark across his cheek, those mesmerizing eyes, and Patton beams back, cheeks aching and sure that he looks very silly, but he can’t bring himself to care.

At last, at long last, Janus’s father kisses Janus on the cheek, gives Patton a very firm handshake, and goes to offer the boys a paternal pat on the shoulders before he finds his seat beside Linda.

Logan ascends, taking a brief moment to give Virgil an unchoreographed kiss on the cheek before he flees back to his place.

But then Janus is standing before him, smiling. He’s so handsome. He’s so incredible. He’s so happy that this is the father of his children, the man he’s married once, the man he’s going to marry again.

Janus offers his hands. Patton seizes them, squeezing hard, almost blinded by his happy tears.

“I love you,” is all Patton can say, murmured under the swell of music.

“I love you too,” Janus whispers back, under the rustle of everyone sitting down again.

He can hear Roman’s daydreamy sigh and can only hope that Remus will suppress the urge to go “UGHHH” at an inopportune time in the ceremony.

“Ready?” The officiator murmurs. Patton and Janus nod, not taking their eyes off each other, and the officiator turns on his microphone.

“Friends, family, and loved ones, we are gathered here today…”

Janus squeezes his hands. Patton smiles at him.

Yeah.

They’re ready.

previous chapter | masterpost

[tomurasmoleunderhislip]

~League of villains members as things I said/done/whatever~

Y'all will think I'm messed up but oh well

Tomura: "yawned whole time and ate chips in front of psychologist while sitting next to best friend that was low key nervous and anxious (I was with best friend for support @wholelottawidows thas you dawg 💀), offered psychologist chips and later when I ate whole bag, I licked my fingers in front of both of them and picked my ear when psychologist wasn't watching."

+

"Drank like 3-4 mugs of coffee and monster energy drink in one day but still fell asleep anyway"

+

"What's the point of all these hard work if we will all die either way, sooner or later?"

+

"When having breakdown, I remember something funny and stupid which makes me burst into laughter and forget what I was crying so violently about"

Dabi: "I'll start working out this summer, just to be able to fist fight and beat up our dads one day"

+

"chased sibling with knife around house it was a joke just to scare him don't worry no one got hurt lol"

+

"Life is short make it shorter"

+

"Made my younger step sibling hit step father in the head few times with something"

+

"Damn this headache fucking me in brain really hard now"

+

"It is what it is (I would say that after I fucked up something 💀)"

Toga: "Slept with knife under my pillow few times"

+

"have one stabbed pillow on bed which is covered with old t shirt"

+

"when I was a child I used to bring dead hedgehogs and mouses to my mother saying: Look at this poor kitty mom, let's help it!!! While the fucking animals were flattened like pancake and were literally full of ants and flies"

+

"Tried to snatch a street kitten once but failed and gave up"

Spinner: "Tried to eat cigarettes and rocks I found on ground as kid"

+

"I know I'm atheist and don't believe in that shit, but you hoes need Jesus"

+

"one time i ran through a swarm of tiny flies and my mouth was opened since I was gasping for air because of running and some of these tinyass flies got into my mouth accidentally I could feel them in my throat and gave up from trying to spit damn bug out so I swallowed it 💀"

+

"Who needs bitches when you have perfect sandwich"

Twice: "-Why is your nails painted pink? I mean you are mostly dressed in black it's surprising.

- Because I'm fucking fabulous"

+

"Smoked one or two times my whole pack of cigarettes and than my best friend's whole pack of cigarettes in one day (dw she gave me it I didn't just stole it and smoked it without her permission and I'm not heavy smoker now 👍💀👍)"

+

"Feels confident and looks at mirror whole time thinking how good I look, than after 30 minutes look at myself in mirror and either cry or laugh saying how dumb I look"

+

"accidentally choked on my own spit few times"

+

"Tried to help my best friend to get up one time because she fell but right when I got closer to her I tripped and fell as well"

Magne: "cold & badass women are daddies and cold & badass men are babygirls and pretty princesses"

+

"Bullies my siblings but when someone else does it I go protective mode like: "I'm the only one that can bully this dumbasses"

Mr Compress and Kurogiri:

"I can't stand you bitches so I'm cutting my legs off"

+

"Smacks siblings hand/head when they touch something they're not supposed to or something that's dangerous for them"

+

"one time while I was making coffee, my younger brother came to me to bother me and annoy me out of boredom, so I told him to go away. He did go away but not really far away, he stood at one line of kitchen floor half of meter away from me, I saw what was he trying to do he was trying to provoke me so I was like: If you want to provoke me at least do it fucking right you idiot

And I grabbed him and pulled him with me as I stepped on the actual ending line of kitchen floor and left him there as I went back to making coffee for myself"

~We gotta go baba now ~

I apologize to all people that I told earlier I'm going to sleep, sorry y'all but this idea farted up on my mind and I had to write it immediately so that I don't forget it 😍😍😍

Got a lil distracted 😔😔😔😔

(I hope people won't unfollow me bc of this💀💀💀)

[wonderswritings]

Reapers Fall 2: Ready to Comply

Summary: In one moment, a life ended. In the same moment, a life began. Pairings: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Fem!Reader AN: I literally wrote the last half of this right before I went to bed. So, it's unedited, and possibly a little rushed? I don't think it's rushed but I also need sleep so what do I know. The Reapers Fall pt.1 

☠

“Reaper! Reap- Grim! Grim answer me dammit!” Simon jerked to, sitting up in bed, his chest heaving as he called out your name. He made a face when there was no response, only silence.  Oh. Oh.

I promise, I will always come back to you. I’ll see you soon.

Liar. You lied. You didn’t keep your promise. You’re a liar. And now he’s left all alone. Alone and in agony. 

Today, we remember and honor the life of one of the greatest soldiers I’ve had the pleasure of ever working with and habing the privalege to call friend. She was one of the greats, and today, we leave a legend to rest, in the peace she deserves. 

Simon scoffed as he got out of bed, making his way to the enclosed bathroom, splashing cold water on his face. He grabbed the sides of the sink, taking a few deep breaths before he looked up, looking at his reflection in the mirror. The longer he stared, the angrier he got, and in a fit of rage he punched the mirror, the mirror breaking into pieces, some shards cutting his hands, his knuckles bleeding as he his chest heaved, tears welling in his eyes.

☠

Flashes of moments. Flashes of moments you couldn’t place or understand. Something loud going off, things falling. The feeling of heat, and then nothing. Waking up to a blinding light, blurry faces standing over you, a prick in your arm and then a cold sensation spreading. Then it was burning, like your body was on fire from the inside. You couldn’t move as you screamed your voice hoarse. In and out of consciousness, all you felt was pain and confusion. And then one day, you opened your eyes, and there was no pain, and everything was clear. For just a moment, it was peaceful. 

☠

Ghost walked into Price’s office, nodding at him once before Price motioned for him to sit down. Price leaned back in his seat, looking over at Ghost.

“How’ve you been?”

Ghost clenched his jaw, balling his hands into fists, clenching and unclenching them as he responded.

“M’fine.”

“Si-”

“The psychologist cleared me. I’m fine.”

“It’s okay if you’re not. We all under-”

“I am fine. People die all the time. You move on. I’ve moved on. I’m fine.”

Price sighed, nodding slightly.

“You’re cleared to return to active duty. Recruits are waiting for you. They’re yours for the day.”

Price leaned forward, grabbing one of the files from the corner of his desk, placing it in front of him.

“Try not to kill any of em’.”

Ghost nodded, standing and making his way to the door when Price called out for him, causing him to stop, looking over his shoulder at him.

“You’re right about people dying, but you’re still here Simon.”

“Simon is dead.”

☠

You looked up when the door to your cell opened, watching as two guards walked in, followed by him. You backed into the corner, bringing your knees up to your chest as the man stepped forward.

“Are you ready to comply?” “Please, no, I don’t want to.”

You moved closer to the wall, shaking your head, tears welling in your eyes.

“Please. Please, I’m tired.”

The batons the guards held lit up, casting a blue hue over your face, causing you to jerk your head down into your arms. “We will take you by force if you do not comply.”

“Please.”

“Comply.”

“Please.” With a nod, they moved forward, shocking you with the batons. You screamed as pain coursed through you, your body convulsing. You looked up as they grabbed you, their grip on your arms tightening when you tried to fight them off. You looked over at the man,tears streaming down your face.

“Please.” A needle was placed at your neck, your eyes rolling as they injected you with the knockout agent.

“In the end, they always comply.”

He looked down at you, huffing slightly before he looked up at the guards.

“Take her to the chair. It’s time to begin.”

☠

The chair. You hated the chair. The chair only brought pain and misery, but it was basically your home for what felt like weeks- if you were able to keep track. You were strapped down, your wrists and ankles bound as another strap went across your forehead, ensuring you couldn’t move in an attempt to resist. The moments you spent in the chair were long, agonizing hours. In passing, you heard one of the doctors mention electroconvulsive therapy, the sharp pulses in your brain growing the longer they did it. When they;d finally let you out of the chair, dumping you back in your cell, you couldn’t move. Practically in a catatonic state, you could only lay where they’d dumped you, unmoving as ghost pains from the therapy pulsed through you. On the days you weren’t in the chair, you were on a table, strapped down with different wires and iv’s attached to you. Those days, you missed the chair. 

☠

Guards were placed around the room, two more entering with him- your handler. You watched from your peripherals as he walked closer to you, walking around you.

“Status report.”

“The electroconvulsive therapy has done well. She is susceptible to the orders we’ve given. She has exceeded in all of her training. She is ready.”

He nodded as he came to a stop in front of you, looking down at you.

“Just for good measure, hit her one more time.”

A stinging pain spread throughout your head as your handler spoke, but it was just muted background noise as you began to convulse from the pain. Eventually  it stopped, and as you slowly began to stop convulsing, your handler came to a stop in front of you, placing his hands on the metal cuffs keeping you in place.

“Are you ready to comply?”

The mouth guard stopped you from speaking, and the strap across your forehead kept you from moving your head. But he wasn’t expecting an answer, not really, not after they’d broken you and molded you into their perfect, obedient little soldier. He shot you a grin before he turned, looking over at the head guard assigned to keep you in line.

“Get her prepped. The chopper leaves in thirty minutes.”

“Yes sir.”

He left, the two guards he entered with following after him as the lead guard moved to stand in front of you, a smirk on his face.

“Well, let’s get you prepped.”

☠

The first mission Ghost was assigned to after your death, he kept looking over his shoulder for you. He was glad he was alone, because after he’d switched the comms off, he was talking to you. Or at least, the ghost of you. The image he’d created felt off, but in the end it was still you, and he felt a small semblance of peace. Now, a year after you’d died, he was going with the motions, doing mission after mission without much care for his own safety. Currently, he was on a mission with the rest of 141, what was meant to be a simple catch and grab turned into an all out firefight that seemed to never end. Somehow, they’d managed to get separated from one another, the onslaught of enemies never ending when there was a lull. The shooting had stopped, and there were no more explosions.

“Sound off.”

One by one, they each reported in, stating their status and location when Gaz’s voice broke through.

“Vans incoming, southside!”

Ghost peered over the ledge, watching as three armored vans drove down the road, only for the van in the middle to turn and stop in the middle of the square. 

“V’got eyes.”

“Steady. We don’t know what they’re doing.”

“Copy.”

Ghost steadied his rifle, keeping his eyes locked on the vans when the doors opened.

“We’ve got movement.”

Ghost looked through his scope, watching as a group of at least ten got out of the vans when the back doors to the middle van flung open, a person jumping out. They were dressed in all black, a mask covering the lower part of their face, goggles that were also blacked out covering their eyes. Ghost watched as one of the men walked towards the person, handing them what looked to be a grenade launcher, saying something to them. Ghost watched as they stepped forward, lifting their weapon and aiming at one of the buildings Soap and Price had reported being in. 

“Incoming!”

“Move, move, move!”

Ghost watched as they shot a series of grenades, and once the launcher was empty they dropped it, grabbing the weapon the smaller man behind them handed them.

“Cap, what’s the plan?”

“We need to fall back. We’re outgunned and outnumbered.”

Like a button had been pressed, the group that was still standing in front of the vans moved forward, taking aim and shooting. Ghost watched as the person dressed in black aimed, shooting off rounds with an accuracy that puzzled him. They’d come mid fight, and seemingly knew where everyone was currently hiding out at, save for himself.

“Cap?”

“Take em out! We need to take out however many we can so we can retreat safely.”

“With pleasure.”

Ghost started to shoot, the men dropping like flies before they dispersed, taking cover, except for the person in black. They continued to walk forward, the person following them having ducked for cover some time ago. Ghost jumped slightly when a shot landed next to him, and when he looked around he saw the person in black aiming at him. They started to shoot, causing him to take cover. Once the shooting had stopped he slowly peered over the ledge, only to see the person was gone, the square seemingly empty of everyone.

“Anyone got eyes?”

“Negative.”

“Alright, evac is eight minutes out. We hold our ground until they get here then we haul ass, clear?”

“Copy.”

“Ghost, take out as many as you can and then make your way to us.”

“Copy.”

He peered over the ledge, aiming his rifle, looking for any signs of movement. After double checking he lowered his rifle, keeping it close to him as he slowly started to make his way off the balcony and back inside the room.

“Moving.” 

He started to make his way down the stairs, keeping an ear out for any sounds of movement. Once he was on the ground floor he kept low, occasionally checking to make sure it was clear before he’d move. 

“Heading out now.”

He had just entered the hall where the back door was when it opened, a flash grenade being thrown in. blinded, he stumbled into the wall, huffing when something slammed into him, forcing him to the floor. He’d dropped his rifle, and before he could attempt to reach for it, hands were wrapping around his throat, squeezing. His eyes widened as his vision returned, his gaze landing on the black goggles that looked like pits. 

“Lt- come- status.”

Shaking his head, he fought back, managing to knock the person off him. They went back and forth, the person managing to meet his hits with just as much force as his own, even though they were smaller than him. The longer the fight went on, the angrier Ghost became. They’d already managed to cut his arm, blood dripping down his sleeve, seeping into his glove, causing his fingers to become slick. He was starting to become tired, but it seemed like the person in front of him was only getting started. He needed to get them out in the open, with hopes that one of the others could take a shot. Thinking fast, Ghost ran forward, tackling them, causing them both to crash through the window, landing in broken glass as they rolled out into the streets. 

“Lt town’s clear. Evac hit some trouble, they're ten minutes out.”

Huffing, he slowly stood, keeping a glaring gaze on the person that continued to lay on the ground.

“Copy.”

Slowly, he made his way to the person, harshly kicking their side. When there was no response, he started to search them, turning them onto their back. His eyes widening slightly when he saw their goggles had fallen off. He continued to search them, and when he glanced up to make sure they were still out he froze. Their eyes were open, but it was as if they were looking through him, their eyes empty, void of any emotion. Within seconds they’d managed to wrap their legs around him, flipping him onto the ground as they stood, preparing to fight. Ghost went to get up when they ran forward, tackling him back to the ground. The two fought once more, until Ghost managed to land a kick to their face, forcing them back as they fell. Ghost’s chest heaved as he stood, glaring at them when he saw their mask had fallen off. 

“Lt, I’ve got a clear shot!���

He watched them stand, slowly turning towards them. When they looked up at him, his heart stopped as his blood ran cold. 

No.

No.

There was no way, it was impossible. You, you were dead. You are dead. But if you’re dead, then how are you here, standing in front of him? You were looking right at him, but there wasn’t an ounce of recognition on your face, your eyes didn't hold the warm, welcoming feeling they used to. Instead they were cold, cold and dull. 

“Lt!”

Shaking his head, he practically screamed into the comms.

“No! Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot! It’s- It’s Grim.”

He could hardly get your name out, not after a year of refusing to say your name, always calling you by your callsign or the nickname he’d given you. But saying your name? It felt dirty, wrong. He watched as you titled your head to the side, slightly making a face.

“Who the hell is that?”

The others were screaming in his ear, but it was as if he was underwater, his only focus being on you. You, who was dead for a year, now standing in front of him not knowing who you were. Or for that matter, who he was. Frozen, he didn’t register the small device that rolled between you both, only snapping out of it when smoke filled the area. Coughing, he tried to wave the smoke out of his way, and through the smoky haze he could just barely make out your figure moving away from him. He yelled your name, his voice growing hoarse as he followed after you. Once the smoke cleared, he looked around, but there was no sign of you. The vans were gone from the street, and you, you were gone.

“Lt?”

Turning, he saw Soap and the others making their way to him. Shaking his head, he muttered your name, turning back towards the road the vans had come from.

“She’s alive. She was right here.”

He turned back towards the others, clenching his jaw as he looked at them.

“She’s alive and I’m getting her back.”

No matter what, he’d get you back. For a year, Ghost went with the motions, going from one mission to the next. Now, he had a purpose. Simon had a purpose. You. 

Reaper’s Fall Tags:

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Everything Tags:

@jedi-dreea 

@scarlett-witchhh

@sammysgirl1997

@cevans-winchester

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[blowflyfag]

WORLD WRESTLING FEDERATION MAGAZINE : OCTOBER 1997

Dude Love… or Delusional?

By Bill Banks 

Has Mick Foley finally reversed his 30-plus years of madness?

In terms of any psychiatric evaluation, Mick Foley could be classified as a medical miracle… a human being on the brink of irreversible madness who somehow cured himself without the use of any known medical technology.

The slow backward grinding of the gears in his mind began sometime during those in-depth RAW IS WAR interviews back in June… perhaps the moment Mankind watched a quivering Jim Ross gag for air on the floor of the Titan Television Studio. In a way, that was his little brother of some 20 years earlier under his torture, while his mom was somewhere in the back of his warped mind yelling at him to stop bashing his sibling’s head into the wall. In that moment of utter chaos, some say the mind that no mental ward would touch was being repaired.

In the following weeks, it would take the trained eye of a psychologist to realize that Mankind was slowly reversing from crystal-clear dementia to the roots of his former wrestling persona Cactus Jack. In several subsequent matches, he would begin to stare into space and then spontaneously deliver his once-tokened “BANG-BANG” from his days as the man from Truth or Consequences, New Mexico. It was a sign that “Jimmy” had jarred something loose inside his mind… and now the personalities of Cactus and the Boiler Room Dweller were combined into one human being–although both sides seemed to be at war with the other. 

Despite the fact that his grotesque mixture of madness and morbid aggression was welcomed with open arms by the fans, Mick Foley was still in search of someone who would give him the one thing he never had in his life–acceptance. You think he liked going home and turning off the lights because he couldn’t stand looking at himself in the mirror? It as a torture he had gone through all his life… from being shunned by classmates in grade school to the emptiness associated with never getting the chance to show that he could love. However, looking toward Stone Cold Steve Austin for that affection would end up being a damnation–or a saving grace–depending how you looked at it. 

For some inexplicable reason, Mankind chose to ignore the warning signs pointing toward trusting in the proverbs of Austin 3:16. In June, when Shawn Michaels’ sabbatical from the squared circle opened the door of opportunity for the Deranged One to plead his case, weeks of politicking lead the Victoria, Texas native to plan the ultimate slap in the face for this “long-haired freak.” On that RAW IS WAR episode in July when Foley confronted his future partner, he was met with a dubious mutual respect by Stone Cold. Just moments later, however, millions would discover those open arms were not Austin helping to exorcise Mankind’s demons; but rather, a butcher welcoming the lamb to slaughter. After finding the very acceptance he had spent a lifetime reaching for, Stone Cold snuffed out the hope like he was squashing a cockroach with his steel-tipped boots.

The Stone Cold Stunner that followed would be the final treatment which Mick Foley would require…

[What followed was truly something out of Homer’s Odyssey… a tale of a misguided soul which had finally found acceptance after years of searching in dark corners.]

After confidently leaving the “freak” in the fetal position on the canvas, Austin 3:16 began his long walk back to the dressing room. Shortly before parting the curtain, however, he was met with a dark voice unlike one that has ever been heard in the Federation. Sure enough, it was Mankind, but what he had to say was far more disturbing than any interview he had ever been a part of. By promising “drastic measures” the following week that would “change the Federation forever”, the former Boiler Room Dweller touched a disturbing nerve in each of the millions watching at home. Prior to this announcement, fans had always listened with a sense of intrigue concerning his ramblings, but this was a far darker side to his personality than anyone had ever witnessed. A sense of fright and urgency filled the stomachs of every spectator, as if he could have snuffed out the entire crowd the following week had he been so inclined. 

This announcement would serve as the final bridge to Dude Love… without it, Foley might have been stuck in some kind of limbo between Mankind and Cactus Jack for years to come. Had the in-depth interviews conducted by Jim Ross not taken place, there would never have been the change of gears or the politicking to “Pick Me Steve.” And without the final piece of the jigsaw puzzle–the Stone Cold Stunner–Dude Love might not have existed once more. One action connected to the other, resulting in a total reversal of 30-plus years of insanity seemingly curing themselves. The following week in the final match of the Federation Tag Team Title tournament, the transformation was complete when an image of a tie-dyed “Hip Cat” descended on the San Antonio, Texas fans. Indeed, he had found the means to his end. 

What followed was truly something out of Homer’s Odyssey… a tale of a misguided soul which had finally found acceptance after years of searching in dark corners. Out of the locker room walked Dude Love, the lone shred of decency  Mick Foley still held dear to his heart–and the one man he never had the chance to be. Stone Cold, who couldn’t believe what he was witnessing, had no choice but to accept this newfound partner. Several minutes later, “Dude 3:16” was not only a co-holder of the gold but years of pain were finally wiped away when Austin offered his hand as a gesture of respect–this time without opposition. Then gold, the women, the fans and acceptance… indeed, Mrs. Foley’s baby boy had it all.

Or did he?

In one week’s time, millions of fans began jumping on the “Dude Love” bandwagon, as it was enough to overshadow the return of Shawn Michaels and the debut of the Patriot on that RAW IS WAR episode. However, one must wonder whether by participating in the dreams of Mick Foley… could we possibly destroy it? The plight of Mankind to find acceptance was something he never intended to share with millions around the globe. It was HIS dream and in a way, the prostitution of it in the form of T-shirts, banners, posters and internet posts only seems to chip away at the true meaning. Perhaps, like old stars up in the sky, the phenomenon of Dude Love will burn itself out… and the persona of Mankind may be the only escape for Mick Foley once he realizes everyone has become a parody of his lifelong struggle. 

Until that star stops shining, a little bit of Dude Love lives in all of us… 

[pendinghope]

The Day I Loved You - Filipino bl. This show slays, especially Nikko. He’s awesome. I see a lot of people saying it has Heartstopper vibes. I do see some semblance in the art styles and special effects. It’s really cute so far and the characters are fun. School delinquent gets caught committing vandalism and is punished. What does he have to do? Community service and join the dance troupe. School president and leader of the dance troupe, Nikko has to teach the school delinquent to dance. Honestly it’s just really fun so far.

Old-fashioned Cupcake - Cute romance story. Two office workers hang out and have fun. Visiting dessert shops and enjoying life. Just a cute story.

Make a Wish (2023) - An Angel and a doctor who sees ghosts. A goofy and fun story so far. Mystery, drama, comedy, what conspiracies will these two unveil?

Triage - A doctor stuck in a time loop. Forced to find a way to save a young man from death’s clutches, watch as this doctor stumbles his way through each loop. With an Angel by his side to keep him on track and no way of escape, what will this doctor do?

Memory in the Letter - On the night a comet passed by an event linking two worlds together occurred. Now with a mirror showing another world, how will these two new kinda roommates handle life?

A Secretly Love - MC has had an ongoing crush for 7 years. Having already confessed, he is fine knowing that his crush is happy. Now going to the same university, mc has unfortunate run ins with his oblivious crush.

My Secret Love - School pranksters and club presidents are forced to work together. The chancellor is definitely abusing her authority. Has similar vibes to bad buddy with the neighbor situation. It’s cute but the chancellor is definitely evil. What she’s doing is wrong on so many levels, otherwise enjoy.

My Precious (2024) -

Tokyo Tower (2024) - Seems like a cute romance story.

Takara no Vidro -

Vanishing My First Love / My Love Mix-Up (Kieta Hatsukoi) - Super cute Highschool romance.

Psych-hunter - Amnesiac Jiang Shuo gets entangled in a web of murders. Caught in a game where lives are on the line, what can he do? Qing Yi Heng, a psychologist, and (I haven’t found her name yet), a cop, have their own agendas/motives for getting involved. Now working together, will they be able to solve these crimes and save everyone? Will they be able to survive?

Killer and Healer - A doctor and officer begrudgingly work together to solve crimes. I enjoyed this show however there are two endings to this show. One good, one bad. Choose whichever one you want, I vote the good ending is the real ending. Cause that’s what these characters deserve. They deserve happiness.

The Golden Eyes - A pawn shop owner gets super eyes? That is a horrible description, I can do better. Just uh give me a moment. I need to research this show a bit more.

Celestial Authority Academy -

Blacklist - Blackmail, manipulation, murder. Bloodthirsty and dangerous, how will these students survive the hell they’ve been put into. Is it all orchestrated? Who started this? A game they all have to play, who will survive to the end? (Take this overview with a grain of salt. I remember almost nothing from this show)

My roommate is a fairy fox -

Remember my boy -

Queer Beauty -

Love is more than a word -

The most beautiful place is my place -

Theory of Love - Ah unrequited love. Best friends and roomates. One has been in love with the other for years while the other is a playboy. Drama, friendship, betrayal. How will this story go down?

Tohon Chocolate - I’m not a fan of the main romance. The main romantic interest is homophobic and a jealous douchebag most of the time. He may change, it’s just my current understanding of the show storyline. I like the side characters such as the roommates and rich guy (he needs to learn to take no for an answer but otherwise he’s not that bad). Childhood friends reunite after years apart. One has had a crush on the other for years, what will happen now?

S.C.I. Mystery - I keep misreading the title as CSI but it’s not, brain please. I haven’t watched this one yet but from my current understanding it’s mystery and detective type stuff. Looks super cool. Special Crime Investigation Team. That’s what it stands for. Childhood rivals are forced to work together to solve crimes.

Crossfire - it’s about gamers and that’s all I really know. It has the same actor that’s in Tomb of the Sea (lost tomb series) which is how I found out about it. Looks fun.

Cherry Magic - ah, secondhand embarrassment. We meet again. Just a really nice and goofy show. The characters are super expressive and the romance is cute. I loved it.

Sweet Combat -

The Long Ballad -

Peach of Time - it’s sad… I don’t wanna deal with its sadness so I haven’t watched it fully.

You Light Up My Life Again - University setting. Roommates, music, and sports. Enemies to lovers is what it currently appears to be.

Although I Love You and You? - A restaurant owner falls for a salaryman. Bro has fallen hard. It’s a really cute watch so far.

Favoritism of the God - A student recently confessed to his crush only to trip into oncoming traffic. Unfortunately, truck-kun failed to isekai the mc. I’m not that far into this show so I’m not exactly certain what happens. Essentially, mc gets offered a deal by a god of a shrine he visited 100 times. What does he choose to do with this deal? Well he decides to become his crush’s ideal type. He believes that means becoming a girl. I don’t know how well this show will handle that but that’s the premise. I’m only on episode 2 at the moment. I don’t feel like continuing it at the moment but if you watch it let me know what you think please.

Nishiogikubo Mitsuboshi Youshudou - A chef recently quit his job, reunites with old classmates. A bar for everyone, come join these old friends as they take a break from life and live in the present. Will they find what they are looking for? (Honestly I’m loving this show. The same actor from cherry magic is in this one. It’s full of emotions and friendship. A nice comfy watch.)

A man who defied the world of bl - The theme song is super catchy. This is extraordinarily painful for me to watch. It’s goofy and comedic but I get really bad secondhand embarrassment. It’s full of cliches and silly tv show romantic scenarios. If this is what you’re looking for have fun! If not, no worries there’s plenty other shows out there for you to enjoy! What in the bl tropes is this? I’ve made it a bit of a ways into it and it’s mainly just a comedic goofy show. It’s extraordinarily hard for me to watch cause of secondhand embarrassment but it is a nice chill watch.

My personal weatherman - A broke mangaka is offered a place to live by his senior in university. Living expenses are fully covered as long as he does everything his senior tells him to. What exactly is their relationship?

Spring of crush/love in spring- Similar concept to Nobleman Ryu’s Wedding. A slave ran away and has to change his identity in order to not get caught. His father’s old friend makes a deal with him. He has to pretend to be his third daughter out of wedlock in order to survive. Unfortunately, the old friend’s wife is not a fan and after a year she sets up a wedding for the mc. How will mc survive? (I can’t find the next episode TvT I’ll have to continue watching this one later)

Oh! My Assistant - Fairly cute romance story. A manga artist that does X-rated works needs to hire an assistant.

Our dating sim - Old best friends reunite after one of them vanished the day they confessed their love. Now working in the same company, what will happen? (I’m on episode 6)

Love Tractor - A top of the class law student takes a break from the social expectations placed upon him. Now hiding away at his grandfathers farm, he gets roped into working for his grandfather. What will he learn from these friendly faces?

Fudanshi bartender - this is painful for me to watch, because again. Secondhand embarrassment is strong with this one. Okay I can’t handle the secondhand embarrassment from this show so I don’t know much about it. Have fun. A bartender who secretly likes bl and makes manga based on the interactions he sees at the bar.

Justice in the dark - the Abyss - Seems interesting so far. A strange event caused 1.3% of people to loose emotions. (Carole and Tuesday did something similar and addressed it well. There is a medical thing where this just is. It doesn’t make someone good or bad, it just is). However, society believes the rising crime rate to be because of this. Wanting to put into effect laws where people are forced to take a blood tests to see if they’re part of the 1.3%, society is in turmoil. Our main characters investigate the murders occurring and have to figure out who all is behind them.

Craving you - A chef and a singer work together as a business strategy to promote each other’s works. However, their pasts haunt them. Will they be able to find closure? Will they be able to move on?

After Sundown - movie. The trailer looked intriguing. Karma, fate, destiny. When one is destined to fall, his parents decide to tie his fate to another in order to save him. (I haven’t watched it yet. The trailer makes me think it will have a similar plot line to the Sign series.)

Love Mate - An office worker who doesn’t believe in love gets a new colleague who is determined to teach mc about love. Why? To be honest I’m still unsure as I’m only on the first couple episodes but if the assumption is correct, the new guy says he fell in love at first sight so uh let’s just go with that.

Make it right -

Twenty twenty - Twenty years old… what does one do now? Growing up is strange and figuring out what to do is difficult. Can they figure out what they want from life? (I’ve only watched a bit of episode 1)

Senpai, this can’t be love - well, that escalated quickly. Hmm I’m sensing secondhand embarrassment on the horizon… New socially awkward cgi worker ends up under the mentorship of a friendly experienced cgi worker. Extrovert vs introvert, will they be able to properly communicate? I’ve just started episode two and wow, I’m scared. It seems interesting though and I like the outro song so imma try to see if I can handle this show.

Ah this one is getting a bit long so I’ll end it here. Have a marvelous day/night!

I kept adding more stuff to this so I’ll post it as is. I’ll edit the missing overviews later. Have fun!

[thatmcgwords]

Never Split the Difference

A good speaker is not naturally silver-tongued — they have years of practice and mental stamina behind them and can make their dreams come true by knowing what, when, and how to speak

Negotiation was one of the pillars of all former civilizations. ~ Chris Voss

“Humans are illogical: Daniel Kahneman, a ground-breaking psychologist, proved this idea through years of research. He found two ways people guide their thoughts: animalistic and logical. Kahneman argued that our feelings and desires deeply affect our judgment. A sound mind often blurs with confusion, anger, or excitement. As a result, we fall into the trap of emotions.”

“People seek community due to their social nature — the desire to be understood is innate to everyone. When they feel heard, people are more likely to lower their guard.”

“Mirroring is a part of being a good listener, which comes from the natural urge to soothe each other. Subconsciously copying our crush's mannerisms or speech patterns to achieve reciprocity is a good example.”

“Other secrets to persuasiveness include:

Using a soothing, cheerful, assertive voice, depending on the situation.

Focusing on a person's words instead of building an argument.

Slowing down the pace of conversation to help the other person feel heard.

Smiling to ease the tension.”

“Compassion is the first social skill parents must teach their children. Mutual understanding is a fundamental value in our society. However, such sympathy can be confused with deceit. As a community, we seek personal benefit through others. But it does not have to be cynical; this is when empathy enters the stage.

Having empathy means not only understanding others' feelings but also seeing beyond the smile. A genuine commitment to another person helps them trust us more.”

“An experiment on neural resonance found that good listeners can predict each others' responses. We can exercise our resonance skills by observing speakers or watching TV interviews.”

“Labeling emotions results from good observation and is another valuable tool for appealing to people. Talking about negative feelings helps relieve related stress. When we name the worry or fear, we also show solidarity with the other person. “It seems like you're worried about that job interview” or “It looks like this person really stresses you out” are good examples of labeling. Conversely, starting a conversation with: “I think you…” is a bad tactic, as it focuses on our opinion instead of the person's circumstances.

Another benefit of branding emotions is neutralizing the negative ones. The latter consists of two levels: emotional cover and actual feelings. A crabby aunt who feels alone at family gatherings is familiar to everyone. Labeling her unhappiness will soothe her. To condense the lesson, negate pessimism with positivity.”

Quitting after a refusal is a waste of possibilities. ~ Chris Voss

“Before we enter the maze, there are two rules: we must persuade others, not ourselves, and never compromise. Empathy is a powerful, but not exclusive, tool to achieve them. Here are a few others:

Pausing encourages the other side to exhaust their thinking and give us more information.

Showing engagement through fillers like “Uh-huh,” “I understand,” and “OK.”

Paraphrasing the opponent's words to confirm our understanding

Summarizing their statement to show we're on the same page.

These tactics aim to lead the other person to say “That's right” instead of “You're right,” as if to end the invasive conversation without believing our arguments. This strategy is useful when negotiation comes to nothing as it ensures that both parties appreciate each other's values and motivations and are willing to look for common ground.”

“When negotiating a price or a business deal, make sure to:

Lower your opponent’s expectations: You avoid loss if it's more likely than success. Afraid to take a risk, we prioritize any profit over losing everything.

Let your opponent offer first: You need all possible information to negotiate the price confidently.

Give a range: People subconsciously choose the lower number (for example, $130,000-$170,000).

Give an odd number: Using this tactic makes it look calculated and thus respected.

Discuss non-monetary terms if your financial ones don't yet match: If necessary, offer your opponent the same to keep good relationships.

Offer a gift to start on a good note: But don't use it as a tip or it's a bribe.”

Kindness is good for breaking the ice, but calmness is excellent for sealing the deal. ~ Chris Voss

“According to research, words convey only 7% of the message, while voice and body language convey 38% and 55%, respectively. When the verbal message doesn't align with the physical expression, we fail to convince the other person. To successfully negotiate, we must learn to control our emotions, especially fear, anger, and worry. We risk gaining a bad reputation or blowing the deal if we don't. A calm and neutral attitude is best for negotiating.”

“Three types of effective leverage can be used in negotiations:

Positive: The other person gives us power by expressing their want of what we can provide.

Negative: Pressure based on threats exploits the opponent's fear of loss.

Normative: This is using the opponent's values and standards to gain an advantage.

Positive and normative types are more ethical and, therefore, preferred. What's common for all three is research: What does your opponent want to achieve, and what can't they lose? Who is their average client? What is their reputation?

Some other ways to seal the deal include:

Shared interests or values. Psychologically, we accept those who are similar to us.

Showing interest in others' passions or goals to earn trust.

Reasoning our demands by using “because” for empathy.

Engaging in face-to-face meetings for more insight.”

“Voss classifies three debating styles:

Analyst

Accommodator

Assertive

Analysts are short on emotions. Structure and skepticism are their main values, so it's better to get straight down to business. They prefer quality over time, so their analysis is often thorough. However, “How” and “What” questions baffle them.

Accommodators are open and friendly. Unlike Analysts, who need quiet time to think, they are chatty and fear silence. So, one can annoy the other by talking too much. Those who accommodate during talks don't usually gain a lot and need more firmness.

Assertive people are just that. But they care only about business and thus can be aggressive. Knowing our opponent’s style can show us things to improve, so we can confidently enter the next bargain.”

“Too much assertiveness or vigor can be harmful. But even sharp tongues want to be heard. Understanding and observation work even with those who think they're invincible. Mirroring and paraphrasing their offerings, giving them time to think, and showing genuine interest can win the deal with any self-assured counterpart”

“1. Practice your arguments: Consider your wants, reasoning, and what your opponent may require from the deal.

Prepare beforehand: Investigate your opponent's needs, pressures, and future options. It will help avoid surprises.

Play a broken record: Repeat your position when there's pressure on you.”

[tellertales]

This Must Be the Place

I used to write, once upon a time. It's been a long while since I practiced and even longer since I used to share my ramblings with others. When I used to write before, I was writing in order to find myself because I couldn't find my place in the world. I always felt like an outsider, an observer. A psychologist in a labcoat watching the great experiment of life. I was searching for an answer for what I was to become. Like cookie dough without a method - how long do I need to bake for until I am ready? I was searching external to solve the mystery of my internal. Funnily enough, I never found it.

I think it was Guillermo del Toro who once said that the ages of 19 - 29 is the "sublime confusion". A time you realise the burden of your potential. The burden is heavy along the path of self discovery and actualisation. We look to others to catch a quick glimpse of reflection. We are the company we keep and the media we consume. The world a mirror to our image. Our attention is our currency and seeds grow where we water them. But looking externally, we soon understand all the ways we don't measure up. It was easy in school, segregated by age and ability. Some amalgamation of adults dictating our direction and gently guiding us along the way. But once the reins are removed, we have to find the answers ourselves. So we look to other souls who are just as lost as we are, trying to feel ourselves through the dark and find enlightenment on the other side. There's this mad dash, this desperation to discover our place before we're 30 because otherwise it's too late. We're rotten goods.

I grew up with "choose your own adventure" books, RPGs, and The Sims. It seems fun to create different personas and try on different lives. In reality, to commit to one thing... feels awfully restrictive. But if you don't pick a costume for the party, nobody else will know who you are, how to place you, how to treat you. And so begins the nagging sense we've fallen behind. We've lost our potential. We've aged and don't know how to market ourselves. If you don't know how to sell yourself, who would be willing to buy? This bleeds into every aspect of our lives: friendship; career; romance. A shopper wouldn't buy an ingredient if they didn't know how to cook it.

Then suddenly you're 30 and the world didn't end. You then start to pine for the person you used to be. You're Alice looking for her muchness. You can only do this by looking in. You were hiding in your skin the whole time afterall.

All this to say that I used to write, but I stopped once I realised there were much better voices out there. People who express themselves so beautifully and eloquently. But I miss the craft, if only to stop the words bubbling up inside me, longing to escape if only to provide some relief.

[sourkive]

006 : LIAR, LIAR, LIAR.

Starring: Jade Lim.

Featuring: Song Taejun, Cairo Go.

Summary: The tower begins to wobble.

Word Count: 2k.

CW: Drinking, sexual reference, NSFW dialogue, inappropriate relationship, age gap, minor physical harm.

Lately, Jade was spending more nights with glitter on his cheeks and bass sending shockwaves through his body than he’d really like. 

Ultimately, he just wasn’t doing this to spend his life partying. He’d disrupted his whole life for this idol thing. He wants to do it properly, wants to be like Harin, spending days at a time in the studio, honing his craft. Every little gay boy dreamed about being a pop star one day (vast generalisation, but Jade is as gay as they come, so he can make those) and that had fallen out of the sky and into Jade’s lap. He’d like to give it his everything. 

Instead he sits on the lap of song Taejun in yet another vip section, the man’s hand splayed across the back of his neck and his tongue down his throat. 

He’s good at enjoying himself, regardless. As a child, Jade had built a technique, wherein on his third time lying to himself, he believed his lie. He’d say ‘I want to do my homework, I want to do my homework, I want to do my homework.’ And then he’d just do it, and it wouldn’t be that bad. He’s not, like, a psychologist. He doesn’t know if he’s actually placeboing himself or if he’s simply psyching himself up, but he’d done it his whole life. By the third time, he’d be fine. Earlier, he’d put a slutty little outfit on and looked at himself in the mirror and said ‘I want to go out, I want to go out, I want to go out,’ and by the third time, he did.

And he was having fun, until Taejun got bored of dancing and then got bored of drinking and then got bored of talking to his friends and then all there was left to do was kiss Jade.

It’s not that Taejun is a bad kisser; it’s just that he never really let Jade get into it before he got intense. Sometimes it was actually pretty nice just to be grabbed and kissed as if the world was ending, but there was a time and a place for that - and that isn’t when four of Taejun’s friends were sitting at the booth with them. They’re all engaged with their phones and their conversations- one of them is twisted over the sofa to yell back and forth to a girl who was way too pretty for him in another of the VIP booths, but he feels their eyes on him anyway. He’d caught one of them watching them kiss before. 

He feels Taejun’s big hand sliding softly up his thigh, and he parts the kiss with a little gasp as it dips between his leg. He wraps his own hand around Taejun’s wrist, pulling his hand up and away, resting it on his waist. 

“Baby.” Jade says in a voice that is as warning as it is gentle. There was a way to tell Taejun no, Jade had learned. Though he’d never made Jade do anything he didn’t want to do, Taejun, if not handled with velvet gloves, was prone to a sulking session that could last upwards of days when he felt rejected. 

“Come on.” Taejun says, pulling his hand from Jade’s waist, once more dipping down to splay across his crotch. “Let me get you off. It’ll be hot.” he speaks in a murmur that Jade can barely hear over the noise of the club, but the embarrassment of someone potentially hearing that still runs hot through him. He screws his face up, trying to push himself off of Taejun’s lap. Taejun grips his hips and pulls him right back down. 

“Please let go of me.” Jade says, voice firmer but still patient and level, even as his palms begin to sweat.

“I’ll do it quick.” Taejun says, leaning in to press a wet kiss to Jade’s neck. Jade’s palm spreads over Taejun’s forehead and pushes him back. Taejun fixes him with a glare, which spikes an irritation through Jade’s chest.

“I don't want to do that in front of people, hyung.” Jade says, with a forceful tone in his voice. He’d deal with a sulky Taejun if he had to, his patience could only stretch so far. “It's trashy.” something shifts.

“Trashy?” Taejun lets out a mean little laugh. His grip tightens, his palms digging into Jade in a way that hurts. There’s a weird look in his eyes, and Jade feels his pulse quicken just a little, because Taejun was supposed to be a predictable creature, and he had thought he would have just let him go. “You didn’t care about being trashy when you spread your legs for me the first time we met.” 

“You’re hurting me.” Jade says, a mounting panic rising in him. Taejun is looking at him, but he’s not really looking at him. There’s an anger in his eyes that Jade has never seen. He wants to get away. 

“You’re so fucking hypocritical.” he says. Jade would normally be bothered by the words, but he’s barely listening to him, gripping at his wrists and trying to pull his hands from his hips at such a force that his forearms begin to tremble. “Talking about trashy? Oh, if people knew the things you begged me to do to you last night-” 

“Taejun, you’re seriously fucking hurting me!” Jade’s voice rises at the end of his sentence and he hears the conversation around him lull. For a second Taejun just looks up at him as if he’s thrown a glass of cold water in his face, and then his hands unclamp almost mechanically. He gapes up at him, lips flailing like a cartoon impression of a goldfish, but no words come. 

Jade feels the tears prickle in his eyes, and he looks around at Taejun’s friends and all of them stare in silence, and he’s waiting for at least one of them to speak up, a ‘what the fuck, Taejun?’ would suffice. But each of them divert their eyes when Jade looks at them. He looks back at Taejun, and he’s going to say something but Taejun is staring behind him. 

He looks like he’s seen a ghost. 

Jade turns his head to the booth not three feet from theirs, and standing in the middle, watching with raised eyebrows, is a handsome face that Jade takes a few seconds to place. 

Cairo Go. Leader of Polaris- a group that had sprung up out of nowhere with a sudden hit. They’d been hammered into Jade’s brain lately as target major; Sour Candy’s objective this coming comeback was to make everybody forget they ever heard Polaris’ record in the first place. Cairo catches Jade’s eye and offers him a wink, plucking a cigarette from behind his ear and popping it between his lips, stepping away from the booth and disappearing into the throngs of the club.

Jade pushes off of Taejun’s lap, finding space next to him on the uncomfortable faux-leather couch lining each booth. He wipes his tears away with the pads of his palm and looks at Taejun, who does not look happy in the slightest. 

“Well. That’s it. We’re fucked.” Taejun says. 

“Cause of Cairo?” Jade asks. He rubs his hip as subtly as he can manage, already accepting the fact that he’s not going to receive an apology nor explanation for what just happened. “What does he have to do with anything?” 

“Are you stupid?” Taejun asks. It’s a question he’s asked Jade a thousand times, and would continue to ask no matter how many times Jade told him that that word cut deeper than most. 

Once, he had watched Ikumi show off a purse to Harin, and in her excitement she had exclaimed ‘it's so pretty, like, are you weird!?’ Which was exactly the type of meaningless syntax and pointless hyperbole that Taejun loved to pick at Jade for using, but it helped to recontextualise his words through Ikumi’s filter. Ikumi, who had once looked at Jade in his stage outfit and said ‘you fucking cunt,’ and Jade had immediately understood it to mean ‘you look great.’ Ikumi didn’t ever speak to hurt Jade; the rougher her words, the higher the praise. 

It’s a trick he had learned to make loving Taejun a little easier. At its core, he’s making believe that his boyfriend is nice to him. He doesn’t often think of it that deeply, though.

“No.” Jade says, pressing his tongue into his cheek. Taejun shakes his head, wiping his nose with his palm and leaning forward to take a drink of the beer he had mostly been ignoring in favor of Jade. 

“He was announced as mc along with Minwoo and Chaerin today. You really think he wont tell them what he just saw?” 

“We don't know what he saw.” Jade offers unsurely. 

“Well, maybe he wouldn’t have seen anything if you didn’t start acting crazy and yelling.” Jade worries his lip, eyes flickering to the neon sign above the door that leads to the outdoor smoking area. 

“Give me a cigarette,” he says. “I'll go talk to him.” 

The VIP section was small, and so Jade isn’t sure why he expects its designated smoking balcony to be packed. Still, it’s a shock when he exits out into the cool spring night, wrapping his arms tightly around his body, protected by the chill only by a mesh tank top tucked into a pair of oversized jeans belted high on his waist. 

He hadn’t imagined that only Cairo would be out here, but he’s met with nothing but the sight of his back as he leans over the railing of the balcony, puffing away at a cigarette. 

Jade joins him, standing close, his bare arms resting on the cool metal bar lining the top of the railing. “Can I borrow your lighter?” He asks, though Taejun had given him his to use. It just seems like the type of thing you say to initiate a conversation in this situation. 

Cairo neglects to look at him, blowing smoke from his nose, and then digs in his pocket for a plastic orange lighter. Jade takes it from him with a small bow and lights the cigarette Taejun had given him. He’d smoked in high school, but he’d long since kicked the habit. The first draw is comforting and familiar, even if the taste sticks unpleasantly in his throat and he knows he’s going to be smelling it on his fingers for a while no matter how hard he scrubs them. 

“Sour Candy.” Cairo says.

“Polaris.” Jade responds. 

There’s silence for a bit. Cars run through the streets, drunken students cackle and yell below them, the bass thumps inside. Still, Jade perceives it all as silence. It’s Cairo who breaks it. 

“How old are you?” he asks.

Jade furrows his brows, taking a draw of his cigarette. “Twenty-two.” he says. 

“Korean age?” 

“Oh. No. Sorry, twenty-three, I think.” 

“Foreigner?” 

“American.” 

“Right.” He says. “Jade. I remember you.” 

Jade looks at him again, head tilting slightly.  “From where?” He asks.

“I hosted a variety show you guys were on last year.” Cairo says with a smirk. He’s still yet to look to the side, yet to make any sort of physical acknowledgment of Jade’s presence at all. “Ah, you don’t remember meeting your seniors…” 

Jade just snorts out a laugh. “I barely remember my debut at all.” He says. “It was a blur.” 

Cairo nods in understanding. “So.” He says after another drag. He blows the smoke out with his words. “Tiny.” 

Jade grits his teeth, cigarette finding place between his lips again. Cairo finally looks at him, and it’s with a snort. “What about him?” Jade asks. 

“Cause for concern?” Cairo asks. He diverts his eyes again, and he speaks in a tone that tries too hard to be casual. 

“What do you mean?” asks Jade, playing oblivious.

“You were all teary-eyed.” 

“Well.” Jade takes a long draw, watching the smoke dissipate into the air as he blows it slowly out. He can feel himself sobering up; the cold nipping him through the see-through fabric of his tank top. “It’s not a party if nobody cries.” 

“Cute.” Cairo says. “That’s not an answer.” 

“Look,” Jade presses. He had his own internal investigations to do about whether or not he should be concerned about Taejun. Cairo really wasn’t who he wanted to talk to about that. “Could you not tell anybody that you saw us together tonight?” 

Cairo breathes out another laugh, shaking his head. “Who would I tell, kid?” The pet name makes Jade bristle; as far as he’s aware, there’s only a couple year’s difference between them. But he says nothing, because he’s out here to ask a favour of Cairo. Conflict is the last thing he wants. 

“My groupmate is going to be mcing with you. And so is my noona.” 

“Ah.” Cairo gives him a knowing look, that’s followed by a smirk that makes Jade feel guilty over nothing. “So are you his dirty little secret, or is he yours?” 

Jade screws his face up. “It’s not like that. It’s… we both agreed to keep it secret.” 

“… So you make out in clubs?” Cairo looks at him with that look - one that Jade is well accustomed with. He looks at him as if he’s stupid. Suddenly, the walls go up. Though it’s half-smoked, he drops his cigarette from the balcony, to the city below, and stands up a little straighter. 

“Well, his friends know, so-” 

“But yours can’t?” Jade blinks. 

His lips part in search of a response, but it doesn’t come. 

“Whatever.” Cairo says, raising his hands. He stubs his cigarette out on the railing, flicking it down to the city in pursuit of Jade’s. “I won't tell your friends, kid.” 

“Thank you.” Jade says. He scratches the back of his head, looking towards the door. “Are you coming back in?” 

“Nah.” Cairo says. He pulls his cigarettes from his pocket, flicking it open and taking another. “I'll see you around.” 

Jade rocks back on the soles of his feet, nodding a goodbye to Cairo tightlippedly before making his way to the door. Just as he pushes it open, Cairo calls, “hey, kid.” Jade looks at him with a raised eyebrow, and Cairo says, “I’m not gay, but you’re a handsome guy. You should get a boyfriend who actually claims you.” 

And Jade plasters a smile on his face and says, “I stopped listening when you said you weren’t gay.” Offering a little salute, he falls back into the club and lets his face drop. 

He pushes down the dread in his stomach when he thinks about going back to Taejun and convincing him that he’d fixed everything, but he thinks it’s mostly just because dealing with a drunken Taejun was just kind of exhausting. His hips had already stopped hurting, and he thinks about Cairo’s question and knows that there’s no cause for concern. Taejun loves him. He’s not scared of Taejun.

He’s not scared of Taejun.

He’s not scared of Taejun.