#the only other people these social workers could tell about our situations where 'something' could actually be done were our families

[detransdamnation]

I'm still really upset about that post [AL] I wrote on educators telling students' parents about their dysphoria or transgender identity because this topic is really only a small part of a greater framework of how "parental rights" harm youth.

If abuse is most likely to be perpetrated by immediate family members, especially parents, that means that, speaking strictly statistically, parents are the least safe people to tell about a child's mental health struggles because they are most likely to use them to abuse them. Factor in that many youth who develop a mental illness in the first place have faced abuse at some point in their lives—and many are subsequently abused, mistreated, or neglected after said mental illness develops—and this becomes even more dire because the root of these teens' mental illness and the unhealthy behaviours which arise from them is significantly likely to have grown from the hands who feed them. "Mental illness is a product and reflection of our environment" is not only what so many of us espouse and incorporate into our belief systems but is also a relative, observable fact.

And yet, in response to teens who are struggling as a result, we operate as if this is completely untrue. And it's not only apparent in this aforementioned debate; it is apparent in this entire culture of conditional confidentiality wherein everything a minor shares with a psychologist or therapist or social worker is "just between us" but as soon as the teenager crosses a line, takes a step too far, expresses symptoms or develops coping mechanisms that are a little too close for comfort (or respectable politics), all of a sudden, it is no longer the professional's job to help and support the teenager but the parents' right to know about the teenager's struggles because it is the parents' job to keep them safe, always assuming but almost never confirming that the parents ever actually cared about what a parent "should" do. There is never consideration that the parents are the reason why the teenager is unwell, why the teenager is unsafe to themselves in the first place, and that telling the parents about the teenager's mental state could do even more harm than whatever harm the teenager is posing to themselves at the time.

And this is something that the most vulnerable are often most painfully aware of. I saw several therapists over the course of my teenhood and none of them had any idea why I was in therapy because I never talked about anything that I actually needed to talk about. I couldn't have. My confessions would have entailed a lawful breach of confidentiality to the very people who had fucked me up in the first place. This implement to supposedly "keep me safe" only ever ensured that I stayed silent. Silence was literally my only safe option—and unhealthy, unsafe communities, for most of my life, the only places I could confide in because the only ones who did not just parrot an empty "Talk to your parents or another adult you trust!" were other abused and mentally ill teens who needed just as much help as I did, yet were failed just as much as I was.

This is why I find it so gobsmacking when "mental health advocates" center openness with parents, or (in this case) when gender-criticals claim they want to protect dysphoric youth whilst also blindly advocating for parental inclusion in every nitty gritty detail of the child's mental health experience, or even when therapists claim to be creating a "safe space" for teenagers at all, period—because how can a space or a person be "safe" when we actively cater to the wishes of potentially unsafe people? When we are legally mandated, some of us, to do so? The message being communicated in this practice and belief system is, "You have the right to discretion until you are too mentally ill"—and if a mentally ill person feels like they have to toe a fine line, walk on eggshells, dumb down their feelings or experiences just so that whistles aren't blown to their abusers, the practice and belief system is set up for the abuser to benefit, whether deliberately or incidentally.

People cannot heal when they cannot even feel, or express what they are feeling, freely. By pushing for the rights of the parent to be considered above all else, we create an environment where youth cannot do any of this. We cannot claim to be supporting (or even caring about) this population at all when we play a direct role in why they are so vulnerable in the first place. Abuse victims—and especially abused youth—are way too often redirected back to their abuse by the very people who are supposed to help them grow from it under this idea that parents have an innate right of disclosure just by virtue of being a parent.

[vypridae]

in ur fft au, who deals with rude customers who throw a fit :o?

sun typically does! he does everything in terms of dealing with customers, and this unfortunately includes the ones that are... maybe less than pleased with his service (which, by the way, they shouldn't be; they're just picky, sun's customer service is impeccable!). he tends to deal with pissy customers a bit often, considering the fact he's a robot and a lot of people don't think he's truly sentient. that, though, is more just a vague disgust seeing a robot behind the counter of a cafe. there's always those customers that are worse, though, and sometimes dealing with them overwhelms him. moon will jump in when that does happen and make sure sun is alright to deal with other customers. (if not, moon has sun sit in the break room to calm down while he mans the front desk. he might not enjoy it, but he'd rather not sun stress himself out or overthink something one of those awful customers says to him! moon has a sharp tongue and isn't scared to give them his own opinion, either.)

short drabble below the cut !! <3

You watch as the kitchen door slams open and the customer at the counter flinches at the loud noise, watching Moon exit the kitchen with irritation clear on his face. He glares at the customer, red eyes piercing like daggers, before looking at Sun with a gentle smile. “Sunny, how about you go sit in the back for a little bit, okay?” Moon hums, voice as gentle as he could possibly be in such fury.

Sun glances towards the customer—with his lack of pupils, you’re only able to tell because his head ever-so-subtly turned towards the customer—before he looks back at Moon and nods slowly, “Okay,” he says. Surprising, you think. Sun didn’t seem like the type of person—er, robot?—to let Moon take control in a social situation, especially one like this that requires delicacy to defuse the situation.

Moon gently places a hand on Sun’s arm, running it down until both of their hands are hidden from the counter where you’re sitting, and then Sun walks away, looking at the ground as he opens the kitchen door and disappears behind it.

Moon watches the door until Sun leaves, and even a few seconds afterwards. The customer hits the countertop with their palm, “So-”

“Don’t you dare start,” Moon snaps, head turning so fast towards them you hear several clicks at once, “What goes through your head to talk to someone in such a way?”

“You’re just robots,” the customer begins, “why should I try to be nice to-”

“We are serving you,” Moon interrupts, “by choice. You are not obligated to anything at our location, and you most certainly can’t treat us like your own personal slaves just because we’re ‘just robots’.” He leans forward slightly, and the customer backs up. “We are not required to provide you service, and quite frankly, Sun should have kicked you out the moment you entered complaining. We do not accept such negativity in our cafe, nor do we accept mistreatment of workers and other customers.” He glances towards you briefly, catching your eye before he snaps his head back towards the customer, “So, I recommend leaving this establishment before we personally twist your limbs in ways you can’t even comprehend them turning, and dangling you from the ceiling to ignore your cries of protest.”

This, along with Moon’s sudden change in demeanor, eyes flickering in what you’re deciding is pure irritation, seems to have thrown the customer off, and they scramble to throw a twenty at Moon and bolt out of the doors. You watch them through the window scramble into their car. It slides on the ice in the parking lot as they try to get the hell out of there.

You look towards Moon. “Threats, huh?”

“They work,” Moon shrugs, slumping back into his nonchalant demeanor once again, “and I would never do such a thing. Do you think you could go check on Sunny for me while I manage any future customers? He should be in the break room.”

You glance at the glass double-doors of the building before you stand, shutting your laptop. “Watch my laptop and yeah.”

“No one will steal it,” Moon hums with a smirk, “but myself? Can’t say much.”

“Moon.”

[cryptidsurveys]

Friday, July 26th, 2024.

Do you ever worry about your future? (i.e.: college, marriage, kids, etc) I try not to dwell on it too much because it feels so daunting and hopeless, but yes, I do have a lot of fears about my future (finances, independence, living situation, deaths of loved ones, general survival…). I lost most of my teens and 20s to what I guess could be considered pretty severe mental illness, so I'm waaay behind where I should be for someone my age. It's only been over the past year or so that I feel like I've made real progress toward getting it together.

Does your family use coasters? Is anyone in your family excessively tidy? I use folded paper towels for drinks at my computer desk, but otherwise, no. Also, no one is excessively tidy, but I do try to keep things reasonably neat.

What’s your least favorite chore to do around the house? Do you have to do this often? Probably anything involving dusting. Idk why. It's not like I don't do the same damn thing at the animal shelter, and a whole heck of a lot more of it.

If you went to your mom/dad or whoever you live with and said “hey, I’ll clean the whole house if you give me 20 bucks” would they go for it? Would you raise the price? My dad and I share our incomes and expenses, so there wouldn't really be any point to that.

Are you usually late, early or right on time? Early.

If you wrote a journal entry about your last date, what would it say? Hmm.

On a scale of 1 to 5 how organized are you? Maybe 2-3.

Name a movie you can watch over and over again and not be bored with? I'm actually not the type of person to repeatedly rewatch movies. Once I know what's going to happen, no matter how much I might love a film, it just makes me feel somewhat bored and restless.

Do you wear pajamas to places other than at your house? Sometimes shopping. They aren't like pajama pajamas, though; it's usually something like sweatpants and a hoodie.

Do you take showers in the morning or at night more? I take them in the mornings, then again when I get home from the shelter.

What is the wallpaper on your cellphone? It's a photo of a dark and cloudy sunrise from yeeears ago.

Do you still have your tonsils? I do.

What is the worst thing someone has ever done to you? Idk.

Have you ever gone nude/streaked in public? No.

Do you snore? Steal the covers? Roll around in your sleep? I've never been told that I snore. Idk if I steal the covers. And my sleep style could be compared to a rotisserie chicken.

Why aren’t you with the person you love? I'm not in love with anyone.

Could you go out in public looking like you do now? Aside from the hoodie, which I put on when I got home, I just returned from a fundraising event for the shelter. You know how I was saying I was socially/emotionally worn out in the last survey? Well, I feel rather rejuvenated now. It was a really nice time. :') Also, maybe I'm too hard on myself when it comes to feeling like I don't belong. Like, there was a speech honoring staff, volunteers, sponsors, etc, and when it got to the staff part, I was clapping for some workers nearby and Marissa was like, "don't clap for me like you don't work here too!" ;D I'll try to post some pictures tomorrow. I'm too tired/lazy to bother with that now.

Do you like the rain? Yesss.

What is your mom listed under in your phone? Mom.

Do you like going to the dentist? No.

Are you afraid of speaking to large audiences? Yeah.

Are you afraid to tell the truth sometimes? Yeah, or to say what I really think/feel. It'd be honest, but probably not productive.

What’s one quality about yourself that you feel sets you back but also helps you? People-pleasing. I feel like it leads to people really liking me in a superficial way, but never really knowing me because I'm just sort of one-dimensional in that regard. I'm always happy/trying to make others happy, refraining from saying anything too real, deep, or controversial, etc. I'm starting to see how it keeps people at a distance and how it's probably part of the reason I have trouble truly connecting with others, but then I'm afraid that if I let my real personality show through, people wouldn't like that either. At least if I remain a people-pleaser, I can blame my defense mechanism. But if I let my guard down and people don't like me, well then what do I do…?!

Was anyone who had been in your company today in a bad mood? Maybe slightly.

The last time you felt sick what exactly was wrong? Migraine.

What did you do today? I was at the animal shelter from around 7am-12pm. Got home, showered, had lunch, took a survey, passed the time with some trash YouTube, had a snack at some point, and went to the event mentioned above.

[nickgerlich]

Who’s In?

Fast fashion has become one of the most criticized marketing trends of the century. It targets women (especially Gen-Z), who buy far more clothes and shoes than men do, and preys upon consumer desire to be fashionable and trendy. If you can speed up the process, as in have a continuous drip irrigation system of new styles, colors, etc., you can get people to buy more.

Oh, and it helps to sell at jaw-dropping prices, quality be damned. These items aren’t meant to make it to next year anyway. Who says that clothing has to be sustainable? Make more, sell more, and keep the cycle going.

As for the gender targeting, we need look no farther than Shein (pronounced “She In”), the Chinese clothing giant that has taken the world by storm. Available only online, they sell from their own website, as well as a store on Amazon. To be fair, Shein does sell a few men’s items, but you can tell by the name who their target audience is.

And Shein just found itself in the middle of a firestorm, thanks to a promotional stunt they just pulled.

No stranger to social media and the power that some users have there, Shein invited a group of American influencers for a free junket to China to view its model factory. As you might expect, all the happy, smiling workers and absolutely perfect working conditions wowed the influencers, who then gushed about it on their socials.

The only problem is that it backfired on the influencers, who then had to endure an onslaught of hate. Shein, you see, is alleged to rely on a slew of unethical business practices, from forced labor to unsafe working conditions. The model factory, critics argue, was a prop, and the influencers were unwitting dupes.

At least they got to go to China.

If this were during the 1950s, it would be like the USSR inviting Americans over to check out their premier forced labor camp, where all the inmates would be grinning from ear to ear and extolling the virtues of their employer. Except those labor camps were true, and thus far, all the flack about Shein is just rumors and speculation.

You know, just like the rumors about TikTok as well as Chinese retail newcomer Temu. If you can’t prove something, just start some nasty rumors.

We are left with an odd situation. The influencers may very well have been duped. I’ve been to China a few times, and I know all about the window dressing. Western hotels have air conditioning and heat, and commonly accept credit cards. But if you get a little bit out of the business districts of Beijing, Shanghai, etc., it is very different. I remember all too well touring an orphanage in 2002, and you could hang beef there. It was February, and the nannies and infants were bundled up like Eskimos (and I use that word in a non-racist kind of way). Our hotel down the street, though, was like being in any other major US city.

And then there are the critics, who are inciting the wrath of the entire social landscape. They may also be a tad bit jealous that they weren’t chosen to go on this trip. Either way, alleging unethical practices of any Chinese company is about as convenient as buying a new dress online for this weekend’s holiday party.

Well, as long as they can get it delivered in time. Otherwise, you may just have to wear last year’s garment, if you still have it. Oh, the tragedy. But that’s a consumer behavior issue, yet another wrinkle in this mess. There are plenty of things I understand, but that’s not one of them.

I’ll just stick to the business of it all.

Dr “I’m In” Gerlich

Audio Blog

[mental-health-advice]

I feel so incredibly broken inside my older sister is incredibly cruel to me she threatened to kill my cat just last night she intimidates and once attacked me she’s 20 and i’m 16

my parents don’t do anything about it they just stand by and let it happen occasionally telling her to go away and calm down and me to shut up and that i’m wrong and that it’s both our fault or my fault for provoking her ever since i got diagnosed as autistic and came out it’s just gotten worse so much worse i feel so dead we got in a fight and she wanted me to be arrested because i fought back when she was beating me

i love my parents but i don’t love her i am scared and don’t want her around i’m told it’s just normal sibling stuff but it’s definitely not

i don’t know if this counts for mental health

Hey there,

I am so sorry that your sister is so aggressive when around you and also towards you. Your sister’s behaviour towards you is definitely not ‘normal’ sibling rivalry and nor is her behaviour OK in the slightest. I am so sorry that you are facing all of this and that your parents do very little about it and especially when she threatens or hurts you in anyway.

I know that you mentioned that she wanted you arrested for defending yourself against her, and I am wondering if things are at the stage where intervention needs to be put in place from someone of some kind of authority? At the very least I feel as though someone from outside of your family, someone like a social worker perhaps, to help to put specific boundaries in place to make sure that everyone is safe and feels safe within the family environment. Usually if someone from the outside comes into the picture, then the adults in the situation (so in this case your parents) may be better able to see what is happening before their very eyes and how it is affecting not only you but everyone else in your household. Is this something that may sound like it could be helpful for you? Reaching out to someone that can put such things in place?

Sometimes it can also be helpful to talk to a counsellor or therapist about what you are feeling/ going through as they too may be able to help you with what is going on and getting the right people involved (like a social worker) to help make things better for all!

I really hope that this has helped a bit and please do let us know if we can help to support you in any other way!

I’m thinking of you and hope that you are going well!

Take care,

Lauren

[blastdamage]

oh hey my tags are here. this is an excellent addition from OP and all of it is true, but here's a wobbly insider secret:

we have a ton of members in our branch that are way behind on their dues and literally no one cares. yes dues are important, we couldn't fund our activities without them, and members who aren't up to date on their dues miss out on certain privileges but i promise nobody gives a shit. we're just happy to have you around. there are plenty of ways to help out and get involved that don't require you to pay dues or be a talky sort of person or even dedicate a huge amount of time and effort. your branch can help you cover your dues if you're in a tough spot financially, mine has done this for many fellow workers over the years.

for example we have a guy we never see at all except for the 1 time out of the year that he makes our mayday banner. that's his "only" contribution but it makes a huge difference. if you're an artist you, too, could be your branch's banner guy. other people just write articles for the blog. if you own a car your contribution can be to just bring merch, banners, signs, tables etc to events. (i live in a place where nobody drives so people like this are a godsend) some people just show up to hold signs at a picket line and that's all they do.

i don't know if they do this in other branches but in the one i'm in a program was set up to help people get their stolen wages back through direct action. non-members get involved all the time: they come to us when their bosses owe them money, and they show up for their fellow workers too. participating in a review bomb or just sharing the news on social media that some asshole can't be bothered to pay his staff costs zero dollars, requires no talking whatsoever and it can be done from the comfort of your living room. yet it can make a huge difference in someone's life when they're missing the paycheck they were relying on to pay their rent. (and yes it actually works!!)

i'm barely scratching the surface here but you get the point, which is, there are essentially no barriers to getting involved with the IWW. just email your nearest branch, tell them about your situation at work (as a sidenote unemployed people are still 100% welcome), any limitations you might have or accessibility needs or whatnot and they'll figure something out with you i promise

Hey US friends! Ok, so obviously the voting discourse on here is vile. We don't know who's a psyop, who's a bot etc. Also people are legitimately pissed at the failures of the system to actually represent us in any meaningful way, and livid about the myriad ongoing genocides being committed with our money, in our name.

So, I'm not going to tell you what to do in November.

Before November, after November, NOW, for the love of God, please fucking organize at your jobs. That is probably the only place you can actually exercise real, direct power.

Voting is one very very small way to exercise indirect power. It's saying, "ok I am giving power to you, other person/people, now please do what you said you would that enticed me to give you this power in the first place."

Direct power is saying "Fuck you, no. We're doing this." and then doing that.

Organizing is hard and it takes time and you have to learn how to do it well, or it doesn't work. But when it works it works really fucking well. And when we organize a lot of us, we can win everything.

Y'all know I'm in the IWW. Right now the union is struggling with some administrative bs, same old story it's always been a messy organization. Doesn't matter. Branches and Unions in the IWW are autonomous to organize how they want to. It's a structure you can use if you want, to organize well. That's the route I'm taking because I trust and respect the people in my local, and I desperately want to help build worker power in my city and I'll do anything to help that.

You don't have to join an org, but please take a training on organizing and start organizing. The IWW has an intensive, 16 hour training that is free called the OT101. We feed you 4 meals and teach you how to organize to win. The training is even fun!

If there are unions in your area, or a labor council, reach out to them too, they regularly have organizing trainings! Theirs are more geared to getting contract negotiations, which in my opinion isn't the main goal, but training is always good and helpful.

But please please please, you have to organize your jobs. That's where we have them by the balls. They need us to run this shit, everything runs because we make it run.

Yes, they can fire you if you organize or get uppity. Yeah, right now that's illegal but probably won't be for long. Guess what, they have to hire someone to replace you! If that worker is also organizing, the bosses are fucked and we win!

The other thing is everyone can organize! My ass is disabled, decrepit, a major depressive and I can do it! You can too! You're not alone! That's the whole point! We can't do shit alone, we need each other and when we have each others' backs we can get shit done.

We all can see with our own eyes that shit is bad, it's been bad forever and it's going to get worse before it gets better and the only way it gets better is us making it better.

If you're in Milwaukee, or Wisconsin, or fuck generally the Midwest feel free to reach out to me and I will personally get you set up in an OT101 here. Get yourself here and we'll put you up somewhere, feed you, train you, get your connected to people in your area who are also organizing and build through from there.

Solidarity is where we have power, so let's use it.

[andhumanslovedstories]

I'll put my bias right up front: I'm someone who loved The Sandman ten years ago in high school where it was tremendously influential and meaningful to me, but I haven't read it in the intervening years. So all interaction I have with the show is a combination of nostalgia, overanalysis of my youth's media that I haven't thought about in a while, half-remembered recognition of story elements that blasted my tits off a decade ago, and a constant questioning attitude of "wait did they change that or did I not remember it correctly".

For me, the main problem of The Sandman TV show is that while the show is quite good at depicting the supernatural world, I don't like the plotlines with the straight up humans because I do not recognize their characterization as based in the real world. And unfortunately since Rose is our primary outsider to the magic world we spend time with, she becomes the crux of my issues. (I dislike Lyta and her plotline a lot more, but her characterization is not nearly as important to making the entire back half of the story work.)

Neither Rose nor Jed seem to react to their situations in a way that makes sense to me. Rose reacts to everything from "I have a long lost 118 year old great grandmother who gave birth while in a coma?" to "my friend is pregnant with her dead husband's dream baby" to "my brother who has disappeared from a house where his foster family has been murdered and now I'm getting a call from a man who just randomly has him and is driving him out of state" with the same level of like "huh. well that was weird." It makes sense when Abel reacts nonchalantly to his own murder because he's a mythological figure endlessly reenacting his own story. It doesn't make sense when Rose is as emotionally blasé about seeing a guy murder someone in front of her and then offer her a hotel room, because despite her role as a vortex, she's also a human being and we more or less know how humans generally react to things. You can (and should!) have characters act counter to our expectations, but you need to do the narrative character work.

But also part of this is the fault of the conceit. Like ROSE GIRL your ability to fall asleep at the drop of a hat no matter happened last scene or the current emotional stakes? Undercuts narrative tension. I think the show could do a much better job with Rose's characterization over all because the cumulative effect of her scenes and her character decisions are of someone barely invested in the strangeness and stakes of what's going on around her.

(I'm also struggling to articulate how race fits into this and I hope someone smarter can better explore that or dispute me, but the change of Rose from a blonde white woman to a dark skinned black woman with relatively little changes to her story leaves some scenes feeling...unresolved? Like Rose, a black woman, raising her voice to the social worker who won't tell her about her brother, and then Lyta, a white woman, comes back privately to apologize for Rose's anger, at which point the social worker goes to check on this black child being fostered by two white people, in a room where the vibes are so rancid, and the social worker is like "I don't need to talk to the child privately, this is a good placement and I'm a good social worker"--there's something there! I don't know if the tv show should have pointed at that and gone "hey this is racism" but it feels underdeveloped in a way that undercuts the story line. It feels almost inorganic, or like a wasted opportunity to place Rose concretely in her surroundings in the waking world. But like I said, I am still thinking about this and would very much welcome other people's thoughts.)

I don't love being bothered by these things! It's very boring to watch an epic sprawling mythology like The Sandman and to be distracted by thoughts like "ummm actually it's wild that two people can just steal badges and sneak into the serial killer convention, is this one pedophile the only security at this function." Because if Rose was not there, I wouldn't be thinking that! It would be this surreal atmosphere unmoored from our reality. I'd be like sure! A serial killer convention! I love this! (And I really did love it in the comics, and might be misremembering its execution because it is such a dope idea for a setting. Such a dope idea can transcend issues of execution.) But instead, we have two outsiders, two human characters interacting with this convention, and instead of their presence grounding the scene with horrible reality, it's still so dreamlike. It feels neither magical enough to transcend nitpicks about logistics nor grounded enough to provide a contrast to the magical world and dreaming.

Anyway, genuinely looking forward to season two.

[nothing-more-than-hot-leaf-juice]

We don’t talk enough about “The Beach” in terms of Azula (long essay) 

Okay so, I have not stopped thinking about this episode and how it reveals Azula’s entire self image and how it foreshadows her breakdown. So here’s a deep dive: 

We start the episode off with this premise: for the first time in the series we get to see Azula as a normal teenager. We’ve seen her in combat, we’ve seen her as a political force to be reckoned with, and we’ve seen her within her messed-up family. But in this episode we’re seeing her on vacation. From the beginning of the episode, we think that it’s going to be Zuko on edge (”doing nothing is a waste of time, we’re being sent away on a forced vacation”) and Azula enjoying her time off (”lighten up, so dad wants to meet with his advisors alone, without anyone else around. Don’t take it so personally”). But that doesn’t exactly happen. While by no means does Zuko have an easy time on their ‘forced vacation,’ the episode reveals Azula’s weakness and hidden insecurities and foreshadows her breakdown in the series finale. 

The first thing to consider is what we already know about Azula: we know she’s dangerous, a protegee at firebending, politically charismatic, and ruthless. We know that people will side with her if she wants them to (Ty Lee chooses her over the circus, Mai chooses her over her family, the Dai Li choose her over Long Feng, and Zuko chooses her over Iroh). From her introduction, we know she’s the preferred sibling under Ozai and that she knows that. She’s confident because of that. She knows that she’s chosen over Zuko because she wasn’t banished or burned. And in season 3, she’s still winning because if the Avatar’s alive, then Zuko will be the one to suffer the consequences. She’s playing the game of Fire Nation politics and she’s winning. 

But in The Beach, all fire nation politics are cast aside from the first minute of the episode. While we think that Azula will be competent and charismatic here as she is everywhere else, that ends up not being the case and it reveals her hidden vulnerabilities. 

Another thing we know about Azula is that she’s competitive. Her whole life she was conditioned to think in these terms as her father schemed his way onto the throne and constantly compared her and Zuko (and when Zuko got banished it signified to her that she had firmly won that competition and she was worthy of her father’s ‘love’). And in previous episodes, this competitive streak has  worked in her favor. Her ‘eyes on the prize’ approach let her conquer Ba Sing Se, defeat Aang, and convince Zuko to side with her. But The Beach offers a new territory: one entirely dependent on her personality. And she still views it as a competition, but this time she’s not the clear winner. 

They arrive at the beach and for the first time in the series, people aren’t praising her as royalty or fearing her as an adversary, instead she’s treated like a normal person. We saw this with Zuko in season 2 when he was masquerading as an anonymous Earth Kingdom refugee in The Cave of Two Lovers or Zuko Alone (where people offered him their home and food when all they knew him for was his actions) and when he was masquerading as Lee/Li (where he was offered a position as a Freedom Fighter, treated as a normal tea shop worker, and went on a date with a girl all on the basis of his personality), but we’ve never seen this with Azula. In this episode, she’s relying entirely on her personality to navigate this teenage social world and she doesn’t get the results she expects. 

From her perspective, her friends and brother are succeeding in this environment way more than she is and that makes her extremely uncomfortable. From her perpsecive, Mai and Zuko are completely fine spending time with each other and Ty Lee is getting the attention of half a dozen guys at once. But Azula doesn’t fit in. She sees this whole ‘Being a Teenager Thing’ as a competition that she’s loosing.Ty Lee and Mai are invited to a party and she’s cast aside. Ty Lee attracts the attention of half a dozen guys and the guy she complimented just ignores her. People at the party leave her alone when in reality, she wanted to come in order to see what it would be like for people to treat them as normal. And in a normal setting, she’s rejected. 

Azula has her comfort zone and that comfort zone is winning. There are four instances in the episode where we see her comfortable and confident that reveal how she depends on her combat and political skills for her self image. The first is when she’s being ignore while her friends acclimate to the beach social scene. She demands that they play in a game of volleyball because one, she needs to be in charge in order to feel in control of the situation and two, she thinks that there’s a clear path from winning the volleyball game to gaining social acceptance. This is a thing she can do. She knows she’s physically capable and thinks if she can do this, then she’s succeeding at the whole ‘Being a Teenager’ thing. And she does succeed. We see the victory make her feel better about herself because she winning (”yes, we have defeated you for all time, you will never rise from the ashes of your shame and humiliation... well that was fun”).

The second time we see her comfortable is after she kisses Chan. From her perspective, part of succeeding at the whole ‘Being a Teenager Thing’ is attracting guys, like Ty Lee, and being in a relationship, like Mai and Zuko. This isn’t necessarily something she actually wants, but it’s something that she perceives as an element of winning. So she plays the part of ‘pretty girl who laughs at unfunny jokes’ and kisses the guy she wants to kiss. This is a win in her books and she has her moment of comfort: 

“Together, you and I will be the strongest couple in Fire Nation history. We will dominate the earth!” 

From the offset, this is just a joke at Azula’s expense like the previous one was, but it says a lot about how she views her self-worth. Her default comfort zone is ambitious, political, militaristic. This is her ‘normal’ and when she thinks she’s finally figured out this whole ‘Being a Teenager Thing’ by kissing this guy, she tries to branch over this false persona she’s constructed to please this guy to her actual self and when that happens, she’s rejected and it hurts her. 

The third moment of comfort is during the campfire scene where Azula sees that, no, unlike what she originally thought, her friends are actually dealing with their own issues and aren’t doing so well. What this means to her is that maybe she is winning. Maybe they’re better at the whole ‘Being a Teenager Thing,’ but they have these other issues: neglect, insecurity, and self-hatred and she tells herself ‘I don’t have those problems, so clearly I’m the one winning here.’ She drags out the issues of her friends because she wants to know that no, they aren’t doing as well as she thought they were. She slow claps and says “well, those were wonderful performances everyone” and we see that she feels better in this small group where she’s the one not screaming and crying about her problems. And this is mean, but it’s undeniably rooted in insecurity. Azula needs to feel like the most competent person in the room. She needs to feel in control because she’s grown up in an environment where being the ‘weak one’ meant getting your face burned off and banished. Azula can’t afford vulnerability. She’s never been able to afford vulnerability, so she surrounds herself by people she can control. And so long as she holds the reigns, so long as she’s perceived as the strong one, it means she’s okay. 

But the thing is she does have those problems. Because after those first two moments of comfort, she gets rejected for who she is. She’s not invited to the party because people think she’s intimidating and weird. Chan leaves after he kisses her because she reveals her true colors. There’s only one other episode where we’ve seen someone actively reject Azula’s personality and there’s a moment of vulnerability where she reveals how that rejection shaped her self-image: 

“I could sit here and complain about how our mom liked Zuko more than me, but I don’t really care. My own mother thought I was a monster. She was right of course, but it still hurt.” 

Azula hasn’t had to think of herself in terms of her personality in years because the last person who valued her as a person, not as royalty or a weapon, was her mother. And her mother saw faults in her. Her mother wondered aloud what was wrong with her. Her mother didn’t like her as much as she liked Zuko and that’s something Azula internalized, even if she was able to mask it up with apathy and cruelty. After Ursa left, she was the unequivocal favorite child. She was the talented one. She wasn’t dishonored or banished like Zuko and she held onto that victory because ‘winning’ the competition of ‘favored sibling’ was the closest thing to love that she got. It didn’t matter who she was as a person, it only mattered that she got results, so she focused all her energy there and came out victorious. Her friends stayed loyal to her out of fear for the most part and she knew it, that’s why she had the circus set Ty Lee’s net on fire and why she guilted Mai into not trading her brother for Bumi. She’s convinced herself that “fear is the only reliable way” because she’s never been shown that people can love her for herself. 

The fourth moment of comfort is when she’s commanding the destruction of Chan’s party. In this moment she said ‘screw these people, I’m superior and I know it. I’m the princess of the Fire Nation, I’m stronger, and they are nothing in comparison to me.” 

This is the mentality she’s been conditioned with for years and by the end of the episode, she defaults to it because it makes her feel strong whereas in reality, she failed at the whole ‘Being a Teenager Thing.’ People didn’t like her. She was rejected for the first time in a long time.

And her greatest fear is this rejection. We see it in the Zuko Alone flashbacks, we see it when Mai and Ty Lee betray her in The Boiling Rock, and we see it when she banishes everyone closest to her in Sozin’s Comet. She anticipates rejection and she acts to snip out the people who can reject her before it happens. 

And the tragedy is, it ends up not being enough. Mai and Ty Lee don’t choose her. Ozai decides to leave her out of the invasion. Zuko takes the throne. There’s no longer her father there to please and no more commands to give. For years she was confident and charismatic because she was in control and in the game of Fire Nation politics, she was winning. For Azula’s entire life, winning that game meant you were worth something and losing it meant that you were thrown away. While she was in control of those around her, while they feared and worshiped her, it meant she was winning. 

But the rejection she faces in The Beach foreshadowed her ultimate downfall because when all her influence and control was stripped away, she was all alone. 

[disasterfandoms]

This is Your Home Now ~ The Ryders x teen!reader imagine

@atjafshelby​ requested: “Okay so I was thinking maybe a teenage reader who was like Judd as a child, gets in trouble and needs help and stuff. But maybe she lives on her own so Grace and Judd take her in and try to help her? No rush though, thank you!!❤️”

A/N: I appreciate you sending me a complex ask. I’ll be honest, I had no idea how i was going to write this one when I first saw it. I tweaked it a tiny bit, and instead of being on their own the reader is in a group home. This may be part 1 if anyone is interested in part 2?

TW: foster care, mentions of violence, mentions of therapy.

Your POV:

Sitting in the principal’s office, you began to take in the various lame quotes around the room. “You miss 100% of the chances you don’t take” sure, whatever.

“You have to look through the rain to see the rainbow” this has to be the worst one of all. What rainbow? and why go through hell to be able to see a prism of light in the sky?

The door shuts loudly, pulling you from your thoughts. You roll your eyes when you see your social worker walking in with the principal.

“So, Y/N, you’ve been getting into more fights recently, including earlier today when you struck another student in the face for saying something about your family,” your principal read from the file, then looked up at you, “Anything you’d like to say for yourself?”

”yeah, they deserved it,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes at him again. Everyone here should know by now the topic of your parents is off limits, especially what he said about them. 

“Just because someone says something you don’t like doesn’t mean you can assault them.” Your social worker scolded, probably hating her life for having to deal with you. 

They went on lecturing you for another 20 minutes, but at that point you zoned out, focusing on the view out the window behind your principal. It was sunny outside, the trees on the outskirts of school grounds blowing slightly with the wind. You could see people walking out there, and instantly wanted to be anywhere but here, supposedly listening to how you’re a screw-up and if you “don’t get your act together” you’ll “never have a future.”

“Y/n, what do you think about the compromise?”

You snapped your head to the principal, trying to figure out what all you missed in the last few minutes so you could figure out to answer appropriately. You studied his face, before deciding agreeing would be the quickest road. How wrong you were, you wouldn’t have the faintest idea until an hour later.

“Sounds good to me, as long as I can go back to class. Ms. Neal is teaching about the wage gap and I want to see conservative boys lose their ever-loving mind.” you smiled, hoping they buy it for now. They both nod their heads, then you stand up to leave. 

“I’ll see you after school, Y/N,” your social worker spoke confidently, seemingly proud of herself for her part in the supposed compromise. With that, you left the two adults to work out the details amongst themselves.

Going to Ms. Neal’s class quickly, you started to wonder what you agreed to. It had to be something significant if you weren’t getting in trouble for giving the star of the baseball team a black eye, which he deserved, by the way. 

Class went by as a blur, your attention focusing in and out on class, except when it came time to debate your stance on the issue of the class. You loved to argue, especially with privileged, snotty teens who don’t know how well they had it. You were good at it too, you could be a lawyer if you had any shot of a successful life.

Sooner than you’d like, class was over, and you started to get up and leave. You were too occupied with making sure you had everything that you didn’t realize you were making a beeline into your social worker.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!”

“Hey, watch it!” You both say simultaneously, backing up and looking at who ran into you.

“Oh, there you are Y/N! Come on, I’m driving you back to the home to pack up your things” She signaled with her hand to come with her, and you obliged, confused.

“Pack my things? Why?” You asked while walking to your car. You know you’ve been in trouble recently, but being kicked out of the group home seemed a little extreme.

“Did you listen to the compromise at all when were talking about it? Before you agreed to it?” She asked, already knowing the answer.

“Not really, just figured agreeing would get me in the least trouble,” you replied, and you could see her smile a little as she shook her head at you.

“This last fight isn’t going on your permanent record, as long as you get anger management classes, and move out of the group home and into a foster situation with two loving people who know how to handle situations like yours,” 

“Crap, I really should listen more.” You sighed and leaned your head on the window. You didn’t see how moving you out of the group home would help at all, it’s more change and more adjustment, and you were tired of both.

“Want to know about the couple?” You social worker asked you, but you barely heard her. You shook your head and put a headphone in, hoping this wasn’t a mistake.

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Judd’s POV:

“Are we sure about this, Gracie?” Judd asks, pacing between the living room and the kitchen, pausing every now and then to look at his wife. He stopped, turned to her, and rubbed his face before putting both hands behind his head, cradling it as he thinks about everything that could go wrong with this.

He knew they both wanted kids, and adoption seemed to be their only hope due to ther infertility troubles. But still, he argued to himself, a teenager? With this kid’s anger management issues, stubbornness, and troubled past, this isn’t what he necessarily had in mind.

“Yes, Judd, we’re sure. This kid needs our help, and a stable home to thrive. I understand you’re nervous, I am too, but we’ve been doing our research and interviewing with child protective services for months, and now they’re gracing us with a child that needs us.” Grace had walked over to him at this point, and taken his hands into hers. He looked into those beautiful, rust colored eyes of hers and took a deep breath. He knew she was right, she usually is, but he was still nervous.

He wrapped his arms around her, leaned down to kiss her on the cheek. “I love you,” he whispered. She looked up at him, grabbed the nape of his neck, and kissed him lovingly. After a few seconds, she broke away, and whispered, “I love you too, handsome.”

Before anything could further along, the doorbell rang. The two looked at each other, took a deep breath, and walked to the door. Grace opened the door, and they both saw the social worker, Malia, with a teenager that looked less than happy to be on their doorstep.

Judd quickly scanned the teen, noticing the frown on their face and the bruised knuckles they were sporting on their right hand. They had a suitcase in the other hand, and looked short in stature. Everyone looks short to Judd, though. 

“Hi Malia, Y/N, please come in.” Grace states, welcoming their guest and their now-forster child into their home. Once the social worker guided Y/N in, the pair sat on the couch while Judd and Grace sat on the other, clasping their hands together and looking at the child who’ll be staying with them, being nurtured by them, for next couple years.

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Your POV:

The house is nice, you thought to yourself as you sit on the couch, waiting for someone to speak to you. You look at them, whose names you aren’t aware of yet, and study their features. The man was tall, and you can tell he’s been working for a while due to his build and the scratches and burns on his hands. The woman is much smaller, and seems softer, but you can tell they love each other just by the way they can’t keep their hands off each other.

“Judd, Grace, this is Y/N. Now, I know the department have given you their file, but do you have any questions about their history, or anything I can answer?” Malia asked, putting her hands in her lap. At least you know their names now, you thought to yourself.

“I don’t think so, ma’am. You’re welcome to stay for supper, though. Y?N, is there any allergies or diet restrictions we need to know about?” The woman, Grace, you remind yourself, asks. She smiles at you as she asks, and she has a pretty smile. You start to wonder why they wanted to take in someone like you.

“No ma’am, thank you for asking though. Can one of y’all show me to my room, though? I’d like to unpack and start on homework before supper.” You try to be polite, not knowing who they are once the social worker. Better to be safe than sorry, right?

“Of course, I’ll show you up there, and let you get settled.” Judd offers, standing up to guide you to where you’ll sleep.

You go up the stairs, and are impressed by what you see. This is better than the group home, at the very least. You head down the corridor he’s taking you through, and walk into a moderately sized room that had a full-sized bed, two nightstands, a dresser, closet, desk with a chair, and a door to what you assume is a bathroom.

“Take all the time you need to settle in. This weekend we’ll all go shopping and you can buy decorations for your room. Once supper is ready, we’ll call you downstairs to eat, get to know each other better. Alright?” He asked, looking as if he expected you to answer. You quickly nodded, and got to putting away your things and taking in the space. Maybe you actually belong here.

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Once supper was ready, you were called down, you stumbled down the kitchen, washed your hands, and then took a seat at the table. Malia had left, hopefully to bother another kid and leave you alone, and you sat there quietly, eating the dinner they prepared.

“So, Y/N, is there any hobbies you enjoy? Anything we can look into getting you, like an easel or a video game?” Grace asks, making conversation.

“Why do you care? It’s not like I’m your kid,” You rolled your eyes, then looked down and played with your food. You wouldn’t let yourself get attached to the idea of having people truly care about you, especially not now.

“Hey, you-” Judd started to raise his voice, but Grace cut him off with holding her index finger up to him, then spoke.

“Y/N, I know this is all too new for you still. You don’t know us, you do not know our intentions, and you’re past makes it especially hard for you to believe anyone would love you and care for you. But, and I mean this, this is your home now, Y/N, and we will not abandon you, no matter the obstacles ahead,” she paused, and looked to her husband. Judd nodded, and took a deep breath.

“Y/N, I was just like you when I was your age. I was going through somethin’, and it left me violent and not knowing who to trust. We want you here so we can help you through the hurt you’ve been through, and make you into the young adult we can already see inside you. We have two rules, don’t disrespect us, and be honest with us. Got it?”

“Got it,” you spoke quietly. The rest of the dinner was quiet, and afterwards you went upstairs to your room, lying on the bed, thinking about how this is going to be good for you. Maybe, just maybe, everything will be okay.

[automaticneon]

Clouds

Chapter 1: Automatic Love (NSFT)

Baron Helmut Zemo x Reader

Summary: “When desires go unfulfilled, they turn into needs”

Clouds is the most technologically advanced dollhouse in Madripoor. It’s a void for people to escape into, or at least the lucky few that can afford to visit. 

And Zemo is very lucky.

The reader meets a strange new client, a man of mystery and poetic language and when she uncovers a secret most valuable to Helmut Zemo, their relationship goes from professional to something much more profound.

A/N: It’s essentially a Cyberpunk AU, but you don’t need to know a thing about the game! I’ve just borrowed the names of locations and the concept of Clouds. The reader is essentially a high clas s*x worker, if that isn’t your cup of tea, this probably isn’t the fic for you!

If this was high-end, there was no way to tell.

At least that’s what Zemo thinks as his car pulls up outside the mega-building. It’s an unsightly structure but not uncommon for this area of Madripoor, about fifty-storey’s tall and covered in vibrant LED screens.

For a minute he considers instructing his driver to take him back to his apartment in high-town so he can pretend this never happened. He had been averse to this idea already, but a friend from his military days had been convinced he should try coming here. “It’s cutting-edge” is what he had been told, but what exactly cutting-edge meant was a mystery to Zemo.

“Would you like me to wait for you, Sir?” the driver asks, snapping Zemo out of his thoughts.

The baron swipes his hand over his face, taking one last look at the building outside the window before responding.

“No, I’ll call when I’m done.”

He reckons his driver knows what he’s doing here. Mega-building H8 was known for only one thing, its position on the layline between high and low town meant it was frequented by all wealthy inhabitants of Madripoor. Mobsters and politicians alike congregated at this monster of architecture, hopeful of its contents and desperate to go unrecognised.

And now they can add a Baron to that list of unfortunates, Zemo thinks with resignation.

He leaves the car before the embarrassment can fester in his chest.

 The building is worse up close than at a distance.

Climbing the flight of concrete stairs Zemo is transported from the sidewalk and into the belly of the beast. The entrance to the megabuilding is a low-ceilinged sprawl of street-vendors and food stalls. It’s loud and busy, but Zemo has no problem blending into the crowd. He weaves through the stream of people, illuminated by neon signs that grow increasingly vulgar in their images the deeper into the building he moves.

Eventually, towards the back of the building, he finds the metal gates of an industrial-style elevator. He slides the grate open and steps inside to find the space is lit by multiple illuminated advertisement screens rotating through various commercials, each more obscene than the last. For a moment Zemo takes the moral high ground, musing with distaste about the sort of men these adverts are geared towards. He takes the moral high ground until he remembers what he has come here to do. Defeatedly he admits to himself he has no right to feel lofty.

The illuminated keypad flashes at him, and he reaches out to input his destination.

 Floor 12 – CLOUDS

 The elevator is slow as it climbs past the levels of cheap apartments and eventually comes to stop at level 12. As Zemo goes to open the grate again, he wonders if he’ll be greeted by some of that high-class sophistication he was promised.

He is not.

This floor is much like the entrance hall, only this time it’s a balcony that wraps around the interior of the mega-building and faces down into an open-air atrium. Zemo notices that the elevator he steps out of does not go any higher than this level, the floors above must be the luxury apartments and must have their own entrance.  He begins to follow the neon signs again.

“I don’t get why you’re so hung up about this?” A man near him says to his friend. Zemo bristles at the strong American accent, but carefully allows himself to eavesdrop.

“I don’t know, man,” The friend responds “It just feels wrong, you know? Like I’ll be cheating on my girl with one of these dolls”

“But that’s just it! These girls are dolls, man. They’re not real. It’s like sleeping with a blow-up-doll. No difference”

“You know that’s not true; the difference is they’re real. They’re made of flesh.”

“That’s what makes them great though. They’re dolls made of flesh.”

Zemo moves on before he can hear anymore.

He follows the signs until he reaches a wide hallway into the building, and there at the end is the rather simple looking entrance to Clouds dollhouse. The low ceiling of the hallway allows for little decoration, but he supposes a place with such an infamous reputation needs little in terms of advertisement. Soft pink neon signs flash the name of the establishment, and beside the double glass doors a glitchy hologram of a woman dances away. As he approaches, a pre-recorded voice rings out from a speaker at the base of the hologram.

“Looks like you could use a little automatic love.”

He refuses to acknowledge the projection.

Inside clouds is arguably worse than outside. The hallway is lined with tattered posters and it smells of something cheap and artificial. When Zemo enters the small, empty reception the lady behind the desk looks up with a smile.

“Welcome to clouds, where we always know what you’re looking for.”

  -

 None of you can hear a thing from the changing room.

“Do you think he’ll fire her?”

“I’m not sure. Depends how angry the client was,”

“Shut up I’m trying to hear,”

The room falls silent as Divine presses her ear to the door.

Moments ago the dressing room had been full of the usual chatter as you and the other dolls prepared for the evening shift. There was nothing to indicate the night would be anything but normal, that was until a few minutes ago when Woodman, the caretaker of dolls, had knocked furiously at the door and demanded that Azure come to his office down the hall for an immediate meeting.

“Is it just Woodman?” you ask. Azure could be abrasive at times, but she was certainly one of you favourite colleagues and you desperately wanted her to avoid being fired by management.

“I think so. I can’t hear anyone else.” Divine says, leaning back from the door.

“She’ll be fine, I’m sure,” one of the other dolls assures the room “She’s been here the longest. If they haven’t fired her yet, I doubt they ever will.”

“True. We can’t let this ruin a good Friday night. Five minutes until we need to be out in the booths, girls” Divine announces, and promptly returns to her table to finish her makeup.

Moments before the timer goes off the dressing room door flies open, and Azure stalks back to her table in silence. She’s not upset, but you can see the frustration hidden behind a poor attempt at offhand indifference. You want to ask if she’s alright, but the aggressive way she’s searching through her desk drawer makes you think it’s better to leave her be. The other girls do the same, cautiously looking over at her but making no attempt at conversation.

When the timer rings out you take one final sip of water and head to the door, grabbing the key-card for booth three as you leave.

 - 

“Welcome to clouds, where we always know what you’re looking for.”

The pink light of the glowing reception desk illuminates her face from below. That, combined with her uncomfortably bright smile makes the receptionist look like some sort of robot from a sci-fi film. Zemo lets out an amused huff at the very ambitious welcome promise.

“With all due respect, how could you know exactly what it is I want.”

“Clouds always knows. Your deepest desire – we find it. You’ll have your needs fulfilled – and maybe much more. ‘Less’ is not a word we use around here.” The receptionist replies.

“And how is that supposed to work then,” Zemo questions with a tilt of his head.

“Our algorithm searches your social media. With your permission it will create a personal profile based on any information if can gather, including personal preferences for you partners appearance. The algorithm will then select a doll for you, and create an experience based off that information.,” She slides a form across the desk “of course we ensure this is entirely confidential, this form confirms our promise.”

“I’ll admit I’m impressed. However I do not have a social media presence I’m afraid.” Zemo responds.

He couldn’t lie, the process seemed interesting. It was obviously a successfully programmed algorithm if the establishment had such a strong reputation. He found himself for the first time tonight not entirely doubting his choice to come here. He was interested to see what they would do for his situation.

“In that case I’ll have to ask you a few general questions to select a doll for you. If you are unsatisfied with their performance, you’ll be entitled to a refund at the end of the session.”

The receptionist begins to read a series of questions from her computer screen, gender preferences, what sort of experience he’s looking for. She concludes with organising payment, and the price is eyewatering even with the slight discount she applies since they cannot use the algorithm. When all is paid and signed for, the receptionist asks for a safe word. Admittedly it throws Zemo for a minute.

“It’s company policy” she says.

“Pontiac” he says bluntly, after a moment of thought.

“Fantastic.” The receptionist enters his response to the computer “Welcome to clouds. Serenity will be waiting for you in booth three.”

Zemo passes through another set of double doors and finds himself in a labyrinth of pink lights. The walls are lined with black, opaque glass and every so often a blue neon number protrudes from the wall indicates the booth behind it.

It doesn’t take long for him to find booth three, but he pauses before pressing the button to open the door. He takes a breath, collects his thoughts and lets his head and shoulders drop. He doesn’t want to look at his reflection in the tinted glass. Five years ago the thought of coming to a place like this would never have touched his mind, even in his questionable youth he had always been opposed these places. The risk that they were run unethically was far too great for his conscience. But he was not the man he was five years ago. Since Sokovia he wondered if he had a conscience at all anymore.

He presses the button, and the glass panel slides open.

It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust to the room. It’s dimly lit, faint blue and purple lights shine against the walls that are lined with the same dark, opaque glass as outside. There’s a chic, white sofa against the left wall, and against the right is a simple bed.

Sat atop it, kneeling with her thighs spread and covered by a short black night dress is the prettiest girl he’s seen in years.

 - 

He’s handsome, is the first thing you think when the glass door slides open.

It’s rare that you ever receive a client you’re inclined to call attractive, even the most conventionally attractive men that come here bring with them such a foul soul that it taints their appearance. Not this man, though.

He’s smartly dressed in dark trousers and a well-fitting grey jumper. His hair is styled nicely, it’s either brown or very dark blond (you can’t tell in the coloured lighting). He carries himself well, but after a year of working here you’ve grown accustomed to seeing through the façade’s of your clients. He’s apprehensive. Unsure if he belongs here. Hesitant.

“You must be Helmut. It’s nice to meet you,”

You try to make your voice sound soft and gentle, cocking your head to one side to beckon him in. You get the sense he wants something authentic, or at least that’s what his profile had said when it was sent through from reception moments ago. No porn-star moans or obscene pick-up lines tonight.

He collects himself, and the harsh line his lips have been pressed into relaxes as he enters the room. The glass panel slides shut, trapping the two of you in the bubble of the booth. It’s tranquil. You think he must need that.

“And you must be ‘Serenity’” He responds, crossing the room to sit on the sofa. His eyes don’t leave you as your ‘name’ rolls of his tongue with amusement. You can hear the next question in your head before he even opens his mouth again.

“So what’s your real name?”

They always ask you that. They ask every doll that. The clients are desperate to form a connection with you. To brag to their friends that they have a special relationship with a doll at clouds. You’ve never told anyone your real name before, it’s against company policy. Clouds attracts the rich of Madripoor, and rich in Madripoor usually means dangerous. It’s for your own protection more than anything else, you really don’t need work following you home.

You picked a name the day you were hired and that’s the name every client has known you by. This man will be no different. You begin your usual response:

“A name is a name, Helmut. A title. An advertisement of who you are. I want my name to tell you exactly who I am, so that you can know everything about me. I want to bring you peace.”

He adjusts his hips and rests his arms across the back of the sofa. He regards you quietly, and you’re positive he can tell that your response was a deflection. His eyes squint slightly, and a flash of humour appears in his dark pupils.

“Well I hardly think that’s fair. You get to call me by my name, but I don’t get to know yours?” He lets out a huff of laughter “Actually, I don’t think I’ll let you use my name. We should be equals, should we not?”

You admit you’re enjoying this. The smooth accent and playful tone of his voice keeps you interested. You swing your feet around so that you’re sat facing him on the bed, reclining back on your palms to match his casual stance.

“What should I call you then?”

“You said a name is just a title. So then my title can become my name. You can call be Baron, Serenity” He says your name like it’s some sort of inside joke, taunting you to give up and tell him who you really are. You won’t be so easily swayed.

“So what’s a Baron doing in Madripoor then?” You say with genuine curiosity. If it weren’t for the NDA’s you’re forced to sign you would be buzzing to tell the other girls who you’re spending the night with. You can’t imagine that aristocracy visits this place frequently. “And do you drink?”

“I do, thank you” he says, and you hop down from the bed and walk to the low table in front of the sofa that carries a few glasses and a bottle of expensive-looking alcohol. You know he’s looking at the satin hem of the night dress as it tickles to top of your thighs, and when you bend down to pour him a glass, you make sure he gets a tasteful peak at your cleavage.

“I’m here to work, actually.”

Did aristocrats work? You thought they were just for show.

“I’m… translating some documents. It’s taking me a very long time,” He continues, watching intently as you finish preparing his drink.

“A Baron and a translator? Sounds like you’ve got a lot on your plate” You loop around the table, perching beside him on the sofa and handing him his drink.

“It’s more of a personal project I suppose, but a very important one” he says, accepting the drink with his free hand. The one that rests behind you on the back of the sofa comes up to rest between your shoulder blades. It’s a very gentle touch, just the tips of his fingers making contact with yours skin and moving in a tiny little circle. He’s testing the waters with you, seeing how receptive you are. It’s almost gentlemanly.

“It must mean a great deal to you. We could talk about it, if you like? We can talk about anything you want to,” You reach up to play with the hair at the nape of his neck, enjoying how he melts into the action.

“Anything but your name?” He shoots you teasing look from the corner of his eye, and you give a little strand of his hair a small playful tug in response.

“Anything but that, Baron”

“Tell me something else about you. Like why you came to Madripoor, I can tell you weren’t born here.”

Jesus you can’t tell if this man is a pest or just being polite. It’s unusual for him to be asking these questions of you, most men would usually have you on your knees by now. You hum and give him one last stroke down the back of his neck, before climbing off the sofa and walking back towards the bed.

“Very perceptive. I’m not from Madripoor, no,” you crawl onto the bed, taking your time so that the baron can take a good look at where the night dress rides up over the curve of your ass “but we’ve only just met, and only my friends get to know my life story.”

You settle yourself comfortably at the top of the bed, lying down and propped up on your elbows so you can maintain the measured look he’s giving you.

“Perhaps I should come over there and get to know you better” he says calmly, with the barest hint of a suggestive undertone.

Thank god he’s dropped the topic of your true identity. You can handle sex; you don’t need an interrogation tonight. Slipping into character you drop your voice to a low whisper and cock your eyebrow.

“Perhaps you should”

The corner of his mouth twitches into a smile as he accepts your little challenge. In one fluid motion he downs the rest of his drink, places the empty glass back on the table, and rises to walk towards the bed. No, he stalks towards the bed with a natural swagger that admittedly makes your chest squeeze tight.

Within a second he’s onto you, slotting himself between your parted thighs and pressing his lips to yours. Your baron kisses well, is the only thing you’re capable of thinking as he uses his body to push you down into the cushions. One of his hands slides up your body, skimming across your neck before coming to rest below your jaw. He doesn’t squeeze, just gently holds you in place so that he can kiss you how he pleases.

After a moment he tilts your head up slightly, pausing the kiss so he can look down at you. You reckon you look a picture of arousal, pupils blown and cheeks flushes as you catch your breath. Your baron seems to agree; he’s looking at you like the cat that caught the canary, and you shiver when his grip gets just a fraction tighter on your jaw.

“So pretty,” he praises quietly as he dips down to skim his lips over your pulse.

The tender pressure makes you whine and arch up beneath him and he acknowledges you with a hum and a hand on your breast. As he continues his assault on your neck, the free hand on your chest squeezes the flesh softly, finding your nipple beneath the silky fabric and circling it with his thumb.

When it pebbles to his satisfaction he pulls away and you keen at the loss of contact. He tuts, pulling down the straps of your nightgown and peeling it down below your chest, shuffling down slightly so that his face is level with your now exposed torso.

He breathes out against your nipple before latching onto it, with one hand he squeezes your neglected breast and the other slides from its place on your jaw to the base of your neck. Again he doesn’t squeeze, just exerts a level of control that lets you know where he wants you. If you wanted to you could break free, but why would you want that? The way his thumb begins to circle your pulse point has you practically melting into the bed, the thought of telling him to stop can barely manifest in your mind.

You reach down to dig your fingers into the baron’s back, instead only making contact with his expensive-feeling jumper. You huff in disappointment and pull him from where he’s entertaining himself with your tits, meeting his hazy eyes that are riddled with confusion.

“I thought we were trying to get familiar with one another?” you ask, and his eyebrows pinch in confusion “How are we supposed to do that when you’ve got so much between us?”

The baron’s face melts in amusement, and he reluctantly pulls himself away from you to pull the jumper off and start undressing fully. You take a moment to catch your breath, watching him peel away his clothes to reveal his impressive body. He’s slender but impeccably well-toned, his torso is covered by a light dusting of hair that leads your eyes down to the impressive bulge in his underwear.

Tonight should be very entertaining.

Your sit up, reaching out to run your hand down his chest but before you can begin to pull at the waistband of his underwear, his hand shoots out to grab your wrist.

“I don’t know where you think you were going, but I was quite enjoying myself” he says roguishly. He gathers both of your wrists into one hand and pins you pack against the bed, with both hands restrained you have no choice but to let him bury hid face into your neck again.

This time he uses his free hand to skim along the inside of your thigh, getting high enough that you think he’ll reach the apex between your legs but instead he trails his fingers back down towards your knee again.

You whine in frustration as he continues his cycle of teasing up and down your leg, he ignores you until you tug against his grip on your wrists. He makes a low noise and quickly tightens his hold on you. The sudden movement sends a chill down your spine, and for the first time in a long while, you feel genuinely inclined to beg a man.

“Please-” you breathe out shakily “I want-”

Your voice cuts off suddenly as his hand moves boldly to cup your pussy. You can hear how embarrassingly wet you are as his fingers move through your folds, and he hums happily when he finds your clit with his thumb. Slowly he circles it, applying just the right amount of pressure to have you wriggling in his grip.

“This? Is this what you want?” he asks, and his voice has dropped at least another octave.

You shake your head furiously. Right now this is just not enough, you can feel his dick rubbing against your leg and you’re beyond desperate to have him fuck you open with it.

“No?” he says with feigned innocence “What is it that you want then?”

“More” is all you can get out “I want you in me. I’m wet enough, see?”

Your baron seems unconvinced. He circles a finger around your entrance before pushing in, rocking it gently inside you as he tries to decide if he thinks you’re really ready. He continues for a moment more before adding a second finger, now with two fingers stuffed in you and his thumb still working on your clit you’re almost ready to cum. It’s making you desperate, and it doesn’t help at all when he buries his face in your tits again.

Finally he lets your wrists go and immediately your hands grab at whatever part of him they can, eventually you settle with gripping his shoulder and hair as you try desperately to urge him to fuck you. He gets you right to the edge, literal moments away from finishing on his fingers when he pulls them away from you with an obscenely wet noise.

You let out a frustrated, desperate whine as he separates from you. He looks down at you with satisfaction as he takes in your flustered state.

“Stay still, you’ll get what you want” he says, and he reaches for his pants to retrieve a condom. It takes him a minute to pull himself free of his underwear and put the condom on. In your desperate state it feels like an eternity.

He positions himself between your legs, lifting the hem of the nightdress so he can get a good view of your pussy whilst he lines himself up. He pauses before he presses forward, looking up at you for any last-minute hesitation.

You nod your consent instantly, not trusting yourself to get any words out.

When he pushes in you think you might cum from that alone. He’s a perfect size, long enough that you feel as though you could feel him in your belly. When he finally bottoms out you can’t help but squeeze him tight, and he slumps over you, his face tucked into the side of your neck and swears in a language you don’t recognise. He nudges his hips forward as if to get deeper than he already is. The both of you gasp out at the sensation and he repeats it a few times, just the tiniest movements of his hips that causes him to rub against something deep inside you.

He pushes himself up on his forearms so that he can get a good look at you. In turn, you get to see the state of him as well – his eyes are impossibly dark and glazed over with something wildly lustful, his once pristine hair hangs dishevelled over his reddened forehead. Your baron’s lip curls wickedly as he sets a punishing pace, pushing you deeper into the sheets. It feels like he’s trying to fuck you through the bed.

His previous teasing had done a real number on you, and within minutes you’re moments away from cumming. You don’t think you could get much out of your mouth other than pathetic little whimpers right now, instead you reach up and pull the baron down for a deep kiss, one that he melts into fully.

When you do cum it’s fucking incredible. You’d never use a word that strong to describe a client before, but your baron brings with him many firsts for you. You cry out into his mouth as he picks up the pace to ride you through your high, your fingers dig into his shoulder so tightly you wonder if you’ve drawn blood. If you have, he doesn’t seem to mind. If anything it spurs him on as he fucks you to the point of oversensitivity.

He finishes just as you think you can’t handle anymore. His hips stutter momentarily, and tremors run down his spine in waves. The entire time he’s rambling in a foreign tongue against your skin until his pants of exhaustion overtake his ability to speak.

Your baron collapses on top of you but you hardly have the brainpower to care that he’s crushing you. Instead you reach up to run your fingers through his hair, listening to him as he catches his breath against your chest.

You yourself are struggling to even out your breathing, it feels as though you’ve run a marathon and the man on top of you seems thoroughly amused by that.

“Come now,” he says as he smooths a hand up your side “I wasn’t that good.”

You can hardly help the genuine laugh that escapes you.

“Humility doesn’t look good on you baron.”

The man in question huffs out a laugh before peeling himself away from your sweat-slicked body.

“I suppose I should make myself scarce. I imagine you have other, much more interesting clients to see tonight” he says, moving to sit on the side of the bed.

“You can stay and talk if you want, it’s entirely up to you. You paid for this, after all.” You say, secretly hoping he’ll stay for just a minute longer. You don’t intend to entertain anyone else tonight, but part of you is quite intrigued by your newest client.

“Well in that case I have one final question I’d like to ask” he says as he slowly begins to dress himself again.

“Ask away.”

Once his trousers are securely over his hips he pauses to look at you. There’s a soft expression on his face, as if he already knows he’s not going to get the answer he wants.

“What’s your real name?”

You really shouldn’t be surprised that he’s asked again. Truthfully, it’s not the question itself that’s thrown you, it’s how tempted you are to answer it. His voice is so compelling at the moment that your name nearly springs from your tongue without you noticing.

“Oh baron,” you say quietly “you know I can’t tell you that.”

His lips press together in acceptance, and for a second his eyes leave yours. As he begins to get ready again, he gives his response.

“It was worth a shot.”

[reidandweep]

No Better Outcome

Spencer Reid x Reader (female)

A/N- I had a request for a Spencer imagine where the reader was held at gun point by the unsub and Spencer had to talk them down. I said it would be finished last week and posted, but to be honest, I hated how it was so I re-wrote the whole thing. I ca’t remember who requested it either.

Word Count- 2336 words

Warnings- Angst, Fluff, mentions of guns and murder.

“What do we know about this guy?”

Y/N glanced at Reid as she continued to drive to their destination. The team had been called to Baltimore on a case the morning before. Four couples had been found brutally murdered in their homes; located across the city. The team had quickly learnt that all the couples were newly engaged and had very healthy, happy relationships.

“Landon Reeves, aged 24. Garcia looked into each of the couples lives and found that Landon works at the local auto repair shop. Each of the males have visited the shop in the past three months, all complaining about the same problem with their cars; faulty breaks. Landon was the one that handled all the bookings.”

Y/N nodded her head as Reid spoke, taking in the information.

“So, we’ve got a 24-year-old, Caucasian, male who has fixed all four male victims’ vehicles in the last 90 days, which they all coincidentally needed the same job doing. Sounds like to me; Landon might have had his eye on them before they entered the shop. There’s too much coincidence between the couples for him not to have.”

Pulling up to a red light, Y/N turned her head to look at Spencer.

“The murders looked disorganised but were actually very meticulous. All the women were mutilated in the bathroom, but their bodies were tucked into the beds. They were covered and their arms crossed; showing signs of remorse. But the male victims were splayed and left out for all to be seen. He hid the women’s modesty and treated the men like animals.”

Honking drew Y/N from her thought process. Swivelling her body to face the wheel once more, she continued to drive.

Spencer comprehended Y/N’s words.

“Maybe he lost a fiancée or girlfriend? Left him for someone else or even cheated.”

Spencer shook his head.

“Usually, if an unsub targets woman that remind him of an unfaithful partner, the attack towards them would be messy, violent, and have shown forms of sexual assault. This hasn’t occurred here. The women were shot clean through the heart. No signs of sexual assault or torture. Garcia already looked into any past relationships of Landon’s. No spousal deaths or even any signs of a partner from his social media. Ever.”

Y/N pulled up on the curb outside their desired location. They had already checked to see if Landon was at work before they travelled to his home. Speaking to his co-workers at the garage, they were more than sure he was their unsub.

“Well, let’s go do our job Dr Reid. All we can do is question for now.”

Spencer chuckled as Y/N opened the SUV door, sliding out and adjusting her appearance; making sure her gun was secure in her holster. Shaking his head, Spencer stepped out and walked to her side.

Walking side by side as they walked up the steps of the house, the pair stopped at the door; Y/N stepped forward and knocked on the wood.

They waited for any sign of an answer. Spencer looked through the window to see a figure walking towards the door.

The pair stood straight as Landon opened the door.

“Landon Reeves?”

“Speaking?”

Y/N glanced at Spencer as he spoke.

“I’m Dr Spencer Reid and this is SSA Y/F/N Y/L/N. Were from the FBI. We just wanted to ask you some questions.

Landon begun to shift uncomfortably in his stance.

“About what?”

Y/N stepped slightly as she spoke, noticing the increased edge of his tone of voice.

“We just want to ask about a few of your customers. Of course, only if it isn’t a waste of your time.”

Landon stood silently for a while before he allowed them into the house.

Insisting Y/N to go first Spencer kept his eye on Landon, just in case he tried to run for it as they walked inside. He didn’t.

Shutting the door behind Spencer, Landon ushered them into the living room; offering them to take a seat on his sofa.

He gave of waves of discomfort. Fidgeting with his hands, biting his lip, and avoiding eye contact. He was guilty of something. But murder? Y/N wasn’t how sure. Something would have had to make him snap.

Y/N allowed Spencer to take the lead in questioning as she discreetly surveyed the room.

“Mr Reeves, on a weekly basis, how many customers do you have come into the workshop?”

Landon shrugged his shoulders.

“It depends. Some weeks are better than others.”

Spencer nodded his head.

“On average, according to the week, how many cars do you repair which the fault concerns the brakes?”

Landon shuffled in his chair as he uncrossed and re-crossed his arms.

“Only about one or two. We mostly get broken taillight or problem with the exhaust.”

Y/N’s eyes caught the pictures on the fireplace as she pretended to write down Landon’s answers. She knew Spencer would remember what he said word for word, so she had no worry but to focus on surveying the area for any information that could help.

Above the mantel piece sat an array of pictures showing Landon with multiple different people. Pulling out her phone, Y/N texted Garcia requesting details on Landon’s family. Not more than two minutes later, she got a reply.

From the information Garcia found, it seemed Landon had a good family. No problems concerning abuse, abandonment, gambling, nothing. But the description of the family didn’t coincide with two pictures. Landon and his family were all brunette. But he had two pictures on the mantle of him and a young blonde woman; who looked eerily like the victims.

“What does me fixing a few brakes and taillights have to do with the FBI?”

Y/N looked up at Landon at the sound of his agitated question.

Spencer went to answer his question, but before he could, Y/N interrupted the young genius.

“How long have you and your girlfriend been together? You’re a very cute couple.”

Landon looked in the direction that Y/N was pointing. His body became tense for a short moment; his hands clenching in fists. Spencer noticed the change in his demeanour.

“She’s not my girlfriend. We’re just best friends.”

Y/N nodded her head.

“What’s her name?”

Landon licked his lips as his nerves spiked.

“Celeste.”

“Well, I think you and Celeste would make a cute couple. You should ask her out?”

Y/N walked to stand slightly closer to Landon to gage his reaction.

Landon continued to tense up as Y/N carried on talking and walking closer.

“Or is she already taken? Because she looks an awful lot like three women who have been murdered in the following months. All whom were customers of yours.”

Spencer went to step forward.

“Y/N-“

“Does she not call you back anymore Landon? Cancels your plans? Or doesn’t even bother to make them herself?”

“Shut up.”

Y/N took another step closer.

“Is it because she doesn’t love you back?”

Before another step could be taken, Landon suddenly pulled a gun out from the cushion of his sofa, pointing it towards Y/N.

Spencer quickly drew his gun, aiming it at Landon. He could tell by the look on Y/N’s face that she knew he had a gun the whole time.

“Landon put the gun down.”

Through his earpiece, her heard Hotch’s voice.

“Reid, we’re on our way. Y/N’s mobile is called through to Garcia. We can hear everything, so stay calm.”

Spencer kept his focus on Landon in front of him.

“Landon put the gun down and we can talk, okay? She didn’t mean what she said.”

“Yes, she did!”

Y/N flinched at the sudden raised voice from the unsub. She knew the risk when she began to ask him questions. But there had been lives lost, and she did not want to walk away from this suspect, and another life be taken. She would risk herself always. Spencer knew this and he hated that she would always risk herself to save everyone else.

Spencer glanced at Y/N as he saw her flinch. Looking back at Landon, he saw the boys hand shaking. Keeping his own arm locked and in position, Spencer tried to defuse the situation.

“I know how it feel. To be love someone for so long and so deeply that it rips you apart to know they don’t feel the same way back.”

Landon looked away from Y/N and towards Spencer; tears of frustration falling down his face.

“But just because they don’t love you back the same way doesn’t mean they don’t care.”

Y/N couldn’t tear her eyes away from Spencer as he spoke.

Landon shook his head, the gun shaking in his grasp, as he repositions it in his sweaty grip.

“She was the best thing about this place. Everyone said we were meant to be together. Everyone! But she left with him. Moved to a whole different fucking state after knowing him for 2 months. We’ve known each other for 14 years. I’ve loved her for 14 years and she left me for someone she’s known for 2 months!”

Reid licked his lips, preparing himself for what he was about to say. He knew this could change things between him and Y/N, but he couldn’t risk the thought of her getting hurt. Or even worse, dying.

“I was 25 when I met her. I’ve been in love with her for over ten years. Watching her with other men, listening to her date stories, being there to help mend her broken heart, and so much more. We’ve been side by side nearly every day. Spending holidays together and birthdays, even when we didn’t need to. I thought for a while she liked me back. But I couldn’t put her through all the issues and problems that I come with.”

Y/N looked at Spencer in disbelief.

“I knew I loved her approximately four months after I had known her. I accepted she didn’t love me back after two years of hoping that she did.”

Spencer to a cautious step towards Landon; watching as the boy’s grip on the gun loosened as he recognised himself in Spencer’s story.

“But I would rather have her in my life every day, in any other way, than to not have her there at all. Because I would miss having someone to watch Doctor Who with when we both can’t sleep. I would miss the lunch trips to the food trucks when work was quiet. I would miss the good morning texts and goodnight messages. I would miss so much that I get in a friendship, that I wouldn’t in strangers of unreciprocated feelings.”

Spencer took another step forward.

“You choose, Landon. But, if you drop your weapon, and let us take you in, Celeste will still see you as her best friend; who she loves dearly.”

Landon looked at Spencer with tears streaming down his cheeks; his lower lip wobbling. Slowly, he lowered his gun, letting Spencer take it from his hands.

Passing the gun behind him, Spencer focused on cuffing Landon as Y/N quietly stepped forward and grabbed the gun.

Just as he clicked the cuffs shut, the rest of the team walked through the door.

Hotch and Luke moved to take Landon from Spencer, as JJ and Tara moved to consult Y/N. Checking her over for any injuries, the women asked if she was okay. Y/N reassured the pair, but she could not waver her stare from Spencer as he watched Landon be escorted out and into the police vehicle.

Sensing the looming conversation, the team all walked outside, leaving Y/N and Spencer in the house alone.

Silence befell upon them.

Y/N walked towards Spencer, placing a hand on his shoulder as she spoke.

“Spencer I”

Spencer swivelled around in her grip.

Before Y/N could say anymore, Spencer pulled Y/N into a tight embrace. Quickly interlocking her arms around his neck, the pair basked in each other’s presence. Spencer was the first to pull apart.

“Never put yourself in a situation like that again. You realised he had a weapon and still antagonised him. What would you have done if he had fired? What do you think I would…”

Before Spencer could finish berating Y/N, she grabbed his face between her hands and pulled his lips against her own. Moving her hands to tangle into his hair, Y/N pushed her body flush against Spencer, gasping as his hands instantly moved to grip her hips. Pulling her impossibly closer, Spencer’s mouth moved against Y/N’s feverishly.

The pair slowly pulled apart as they both filled their lungs back with air. Spencer couldn’t help but blush under Y/N’s gaze.

Y/N giggled at the rising pink in his cheeks. Placing a quick peck on his lips, Y/N looked Spencer in the eyes.

“I love you Spence. I have for a really long time. That’s why those other guys never worked out because I was trying to get over you, and I couldn’t.”

Spencer couldn’t help but lean forward and kiss her again.

Once again pulling apart, Spencer rested his head against her own, and allowed for the smile to take over his face.

“I love you too. But please stop putting your life in danger.”

Y/N leaned back and laughed at Spencer’s words.

Glancing out the window, she could see the team almost ready to leave. Y/N pulled herself from Spencer’s embrace.

“Unfortunately, with the job we have, that’s one promise I can’t make.”

Spencer rolled his eyes with a smirk.

Y/N placed her hand in Spencer’s, interlocking the digits.

“Come on, Dr Reid. We got a case to officially close.”

The pair walked out the house hand in hand, as they walked towards their team. Giving Spencer’s hand a squeeze, she let his hand go and she continued to speak to Hotch and Luke, about the details of what occurred.

Spencer stood by her side, listening to her words and interjected when needed. While it wasn’t the exact outcome they expected the case to end with, it sure could not have ended any better.

A/N- I hope you enjoy. I have a few ideas that I’m going to write. One in particular is going to be a more personal one so stay tuned.

Taglist- @danielleslegacy​

[tomtenadia]

A Little Braver  - Chapter 4

So, chapter 4 is finally here.

It has a few funny moments but it also has angst.

This fic has so much more angst that i originally planned. 

Anyway... enjoy it.

-----------

The drive to the hospital did not take long but once inside they noticed the waiting room was swamped.

“Whitethorn, this is pointless,” she said when he placed her on an empty chair “we’ll be here for hours.”

“I don’t care, we are getting that knee checked.” His tone did not admit any protest from her.

Aelin grunted “I hate you.”

“Is that news? Tell me something I don’t know.” Rowan took a seat on the empty seat beside her  then took her injured leg and lifted it on his lap. Aelin winced.

It was three hours later when Rowan started to loose his patience “that woman came after us and she went in already.” He protested a bit too loudly for Aelin’s taste. Why was he caring about her wellbeing all of a sudden?

“Maybe she is worse than a busted knee.” She shrugged but he glared at her.

“She walked into the A&E on her own two feet. You just dealt with that damn inferno with that busted knee.” He protested and the hint of pride in his voice moved something inside her.

“I don’t need the red carpet.”

“Some fucking attention for people who bust their asses to save other people lives would be appreciated.” His tone got a bit louder still. Rowan did not seem the type to cause a scene but he seemed a bit too annoyed and to be honest she did not know much about the guy. She just hoped his military training would kick in and restrain himself.

“Doctor save lives too.”

He grunted and stood and Aelin braced for the worst. She saw him walk with purpose to the reception desk with perfect military stride. She would have laughed if it wasn’t that she was scared of what he would do.

She saw him talk to one of the nurses behind the nurses station. A few times his arm pointed at her and she made herself small and invisible. 

Then she went back spying on him and studied his posture and gasped. The man was flirting with the nurse. Stick up in the arse captain was flirting with the nurse to get her in early. She was dumbfounded. She could not believe that he had it in him.

He came back five minutes later with a smug face “Someone will come for you soon.”

Aelin’s mouth fell open “Did you just flirt with the nurse to have me seen earlier?”

“I did not such thing,” and he looked away, scanning the waiting room.

“She is looking over here. I think she is interested in you and is now wondering how it would feel to bag an airforce captain.”

Rowan huffed “not interested.”

“She is pretty.”

“Not my type…”

“Oh come on grampa, she could even play sexy nurse with you.”

Rowan rolled his eyes “you really are a menace.”

She was about to add a snarky remark when a doctor stopped in front of them “Aelin Galathynius?”

Aelin’s head snapped up “I am here.”

“I am doctor Yrene Westfall. Follow me.”

Westfall? Was she Chaol’s wife?

“Did you say Westfall? Is Chaol your husband?”

“Yes. Do you know him?”

Aelin nodded “I am a firefighter, we work a lot with the police. He was at the embankment fire tonight.”

“He told me, apparently it was hell. His own words.”

“It was bad.” Aelin stood and swore as sharp pain shoot from her knee up her leg.

“Why did you do that?” Rowan protested and lifted her again in his arms.

“You are making the nurse jealous.”

“Shut up and let’s follow the nice doctor.”

“Put her down here,” Yrene pointed at an empty bed.

Rowan placed her gently on the bed and stepped at the bottom of it. His hands behind his back.

Yrene lifted the leg of her trousers and had a look at her knee “This look quite bad, why did you wait this long to come to the hospital?”

“I was going to… but then city emergency and all and it slipped my mind.”

Rowan snorted and Aelin glared at him.

“And you walked all day on it?”

“Kinda…”

“You might have made things much worse.”

Aelin leaned back on the pillow and sighed. She knew and with the performance review on its way it had been very stupid of her.

“How did it happen?”

“We were in the middle of a drill this morning. The explosion happened, the shockwave made me  loose my balance and I fell down the ladder face first and my left knee took the impact.”

“You might have broken your kneecap. I need to send you for an x-ray and see what is the situation.” She went away and came back five minutes later “Someone will come and get you soon. You captain, can wait here until she is back.”

Rowan nodded and pinched her big toe when he noticed her worried expression “Do you want me to come in and hold your hand?”

“Screw you, Whitethorn.”

He pinched the toe again and his lip quirked up in a tight attempt at a smile.

Aelin wondered if she’ll ever see him smile or even laugh.

The porter came and rolled her bed away. She snatched a last look at Rowan and saw him standing where her bed had been I’ll be here. She saw him mouth to her.

Rowan began pacing back and forth in a very nervous state. His phone pinged and saw a text from Lorcan asking for an update on behalf of her squad. He texted back saying she was getting an x-ray.

He sat down on the chair near where the bed was and took out his phone to scroll through the news of the fire at the warehouses. In one of the articles he saw a great picture of her. She was staring at the inferno in front of her and with her hand she was pointing at something, maybe giving an order. He saved the picture on his phone then went on reading the article flushing with pride at how the journalist had praised her for handling such an emergency with professionalism and doing a great jobs at keeping the victims to a very low level. Turned out they only had lost two workers. Considering what he had seen he was impressed because it could have been far, far worse. He read a few more articles and almost seethed with rage when a journalist had the courage to criticise the TFD for having a young girl in charge of such an emergency.

It was an hour later when Aelin and Yrene came back. Aelin’s face told him that the news was bad.

“Her kneecap is badly fractured. She will need surgery. I have contacted the orthopaedic surgeon to see if he can squeeze her in tomorrow.  Then she will have to stay in the hospital for a few days. Once she gets home she can move around with crutches but it might take up to a month before she will be able to do rehab. The whole thing should last around three months if she cooperates.”

Rowan stared at Aelin and he saw her heartbroken expression. 

Once Yrene excused herself saying she was going to get her a room, Rowan moved closer to her.

“Don’t. Don’t you even try and say what you are about to say. I do not need your pity.”

He knew that the idea of not being able to participate in the performance review was killing her. Gods he wanted to hug her again like in her office and offer comfort. But that was a skill he had always been bad at. 

“Do you need anything?”

“Yes, being less fucking stupid.” She growled through gritted teeth “I knew that explosion was coming. I knew we had fucked up the exercise and let it run longer than meant to. Aedion and I had planned that explosion. I knew it and I still let it knock me off like a blasted newbie.”

She breathed deeply “I am too stupid to be a captain.”

No, he was not having that.

“Now you are talking shite.” He snarled back. He was not having her accusing herself os something like that. He took out his phone and opened the first article he read. The one with the great picture.

“Captain Galathynius has showed nerves of steel while handling a double fire that could have had catastrophic consequences. She masterfully deployed two teams to tackle emergency after emergency without ever backing down from the constant challenge. And when it seemed that the situation was taking a turn for the worst, she pulled a rabbit out of the hat and convinced the stiff necked airforce posh boys to join and help tackle a raging fire, far too big for three fire engines. Captain Galathynius and the two teams deserve more recognition for their incredible job. Far more than a pat on the back.

All the firefighters involved tonight had showed great heroism and excellent skills. Every day these men and women place their lives on the line to keep our city safe. The government should keep it in mind at his next budget review and find in itself to invest in money in services the city deeply deserves like firefighters, the police and the health services instead of flushing it down the drain to fund fancy planes built for destruction.”

“Uh…. He really does not like you guys.”

“I don’t care,” said Rowan quickly “What matters is what she said about you. She doesn’t think you are stupid. And I don’t think it either. This stiff necked posh boy thinks you are amazing.”

“Liar.”

“I am not lying. Why would I? I agree with this woman. You were fucking amazing tonight. All of you. And yes, you deserve far more credit than what you will get.”

His eyes glistened with pride and his words had helped a bit ease her anger.

“So you think I am amazing?”

“I do.” His voice much softer all of a sudden.

Yrene came back in that moment and broke the spell. She had a feeling she and the captain were about to have a moment but the magic had passed.

“I have a room for you.” And she had a wheelchair with her.

Rowan grabbed Aelin again and lifted her into the wheelchair and offered to push her.

“Chaol was my saviour tonight,” she giggled while Rowan rolled the wheelchair along the corridor following the doctor.

“How so?”

“He knows I hate reporters. So as soon as he saw a few coming at me he came and saved me before I could punch them. Plus, he and his men did an outstanding job at crowd control. I know it doesn’t seem like a lot, but when you have people running terrified from a building on fire it can end badly. And they also kept an eye to all the curious monster who come and have a peek and film it to post it social media for a five minutes of glory. Police let us concentrate on the emergency without worrying about what’s happening in the background.”

“Thank you for telling me.” The woman smiled at her.

“Make sure you give him an extra cuddle tonight.”

Both Aelin and Yrene burst out laughing.

“I will reward him accordingly, captain.”

They finally reached the elevator and the three got in. Not long after they were in the room and Rowan lifted her in bed. Yrene left them to get her settled in.

“You need clothes, damn it.” He looked around him as if to find an answer in an hospital room.

“My house keys are at the station.”

“Fine I’ll go and get them and grab some clothes for you from your house. Give me the address.”

“No.”

His face turned confused “why? You can’t stay in your uniform.”

“I am not having you in my house, going through my drawers and my clothes.”

Rowan sighed “tell me where you keep t-shirts and shorts and I will just go straight to that one. I am not a creep I swear.”

“Fine.” She texted him the address “my keys are in the black messenger bag in my locker. There is a small pocket at the front. They are attached to the hook. Actually take the whole bag with you. I have a charger and other stuff in there that I might need.”

“Ok, I’ll be back as soon as possible.”

“Captain?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

He nodded and before leaving he turned once more “you could start calling me Rowan, by the way.”

“Thank you, Rowan.”

He left thinking that his name on her lips was the most beautiful sound ever.

He reached the fire station not long after. He met Ress in the corridor.

“Captain.”

“Ress, isn’t it?”

The man nodded.

“How’s Aelin? 

“She will need surgery. She is not happy as you could imagine.”

“Damn.”

A tall man joined them a moment later. His uniform was white.

“This is chief Havilliard.” Said Ress.

So that was the young Havilliard. 

“You must be captain Whitethorn.”

Rowan nodded.

“Thank you for your assistance tonight.”

Rowan shook his head “it was Aelin’s idea. The credit goes to her. I just follow orders.”

“How is she by the way?” And Rowan could see concern in the man’s eyes.

“She will need surgery. Her knee is busted pretty badly. They are trying to book her for tomorrow. I am heading to her place to get her some clothes.”

“I will update the squad.” Dorian said “I will also try and beg the board to postpone the review. Aedion will be home tomorrow but he will be off for a week and Aelin looks like she will be out of commission for a while. And I need them to train the team. They are my golden duo.”

Rowan took an immediate liking to the chief.

Once Dorian took his leave, Ress took Rowan to their changing rooms and pointed to Aelin’s locker.

“Tell her that the team is behind her and that she was awesome tonight. Also let us know where she is in the hospital so we can come and visit.”

“Room 252 in the orthopaedic ward.”

“Thank you sir.”

Ress left him. He grabbed Aelin’s bag and his eyes spotted the pictures attached to the door and the walls. He saw some pictures with a man and he had a feeling his face was familiar. The photos portrayed a couple in love and for a very brief instant a very strange emotion he could not decipher set into him and then it quickly went away with the same speed it came.

He ignored it. Slammed the locker shut and left the station.

Fifteen minutes later he reached her house and let himself in. The house was gorgeous and very modern. He stepped into the living room and noticed the wall were painted a light yellow giving the room much more brightness. He smiled at the insane number of bookcases bursting with books. So, she was a book worm. Good, something to talk about if they had a chance to have a conversation that contained less insults and vitriol.

He walked to the door she had indicated and reached her bedroom and froze for a moment. He knew he had her permission but for an instant he felt as if he was invading her privacy.

The room was painted a pastel blue and a huge bed was was in the middle. At one end he noticed the drawer and walked to it and froze when he noticed there were two middle drawers.

Shit, she had said the middle drawer but which one. Damn, he had promised.

He opened the top one and slammed it shut when he saw the content. That was her underwear drawer. He turned and leaned against the piece of furniture. Bras… 38A she had said and now his treacherous brain was picturing the piece of clothing filled by…

“Damn.”

He opened the other one and breathed relieved when he noticed t-shirts and shorts. Good. He grabbed a few of her TFD t-shirts and placed them in the duffel bag at the bottom of her bed.

His phone went off. It was Aelin.

“What?”

“Gee, you sound grumpy.”

“What do you need m’lady?” His voice dripping with fake pleasantness.

“I am giving you permission to open the second drawer from the top and grab me some underwear as well, please.”

“You are kidding me.” Aelin could clearly hear the panic in his voice.

“Ro, I am not. I have an emergency and I will soon need new knickers. So yes, get in that drawer and grab me my underwear.”

His hand ran through his hair in a nervous gesture.

“Also, there is a small convenience store around the corner, could you please buy me tampons?”

Rowan almost choked. 

“I am sorry what?”

“You heard me. I assume you had been with other women before. You know we get periods, right?”

“Fine, I will phone you back once I am in the shop. I have no idea what to buy.”

“Just don’t blush too much.”

And he could hear the grin in her voice.

He hung up and breathed deeply and opened the drawer. The selection was… incredible.

He picked a few sports bra thinking that for an hospital stay they would be the better option. Definitely the lacy one were not proper. He rummaged a bit and looked again for something more sober when all of a sudden he found in his hands something that had little or no use as underwear but his treacherous mind painted some very sexy pictures.

Damn, that was torture. He grabbed a nice selection of the sober pieces and closed the drawer from hell in relief. He stuffed everything in the bag and walked out, in desperate need of fresh air.

Next stop he drove to the convenience store and braced himself for the next task. He walked in and sneaked to the correct section feeling like a perv for lingering in a section where he clearly did not belong to. He looked at the boxes and he had no idea that there were so many choices. He phoned her.

“Oh, you are still alive.”

“I am in the shop. Which one do you need?” He almost growled.

“Tampons.” She said matter of factly.

“I am a bloke, Fireheart. I have no idea of what you are talking about.”

He heard her sigh “the ones that looks like bullets.”

“Ok, which type?”

“At the bottom they have guidelines with drops. One with two drops and one with three. Actually make it two each.”

“Does the brand matter?”

“I am not fussed.”

“Okay. I got it.”

“I owe you another one.”

“That’s two now.”

“Fine, fine, Buzzard.”

“What?”

“I’ll tell you later, get your arse back here.”

“So bossy.”

 He hang up and had a look at the brands. She had said she was not fussed but he had decided to get her the expensive ones, hoping it meant they were of a better quality as well.

He walked to the counter to pay “For my wife,” he muttered embarrassed, paid and got out quickly.

She owed him big time. Not for the water drop but for this.

When he got back to the hospital he went to her room and dumped the bag on her bed and moved away from her.

“Gee someone is on edge. Did my underwear scare you? The fearless pilot got frightened by lace.”

He scoffed an ignored her.

“Seriously man, never had a girlfriend or a date wearing sexy lingerie for you?”

“Of course.”

“Well, so what’s problem?”

He sat heavily on the chair “I was probably dating the person at the time, which implies other things.” She could still see the embarrassment in his features “you and I are just work partners. It was very weird.”

“Well, at least now you know how big is a 38A.”

The top of his ears turned red. She loved so much to rile him up.

She had look at what he had brought her and was very happy when she noticed he had picked sports bra. He had actually put some thought in it. Then her eyes caught the boxes of tampons “Rowan, these are very expensive.”

“I just thought… you know… better quality, perhaps? More comfortable? I don’t know. Again, I am a bloke.”

She wished she could stand and kiss him. He had been amazing. She never had put Sam through such torture. He would have probably died at the idea of buying her feminine products.

“I am very grateful. For everything.”

He gave her a smile. It never reached his eyes but the effort was there her heart fluttered at the precious little show of emotion.

He stood “I’ll let you change.” He made to walk away but stopped when he noticed her face.

“You need to use the facilities I guess.”

She nodded.

He lifted her in his arms and walked into the bathroom and deposited her on the loo.

“Let me know when you are done.” He left the room and walked to the corridor and sat on a chair. He took his phone and started browsing some old news about firefighters. He was still thinking about the man he saw in the picture in her locker. He had seen that face in the news.

He searched for a while until he found an article about a fireman called Sam Cortland. He opened and began to read. Shit. Sam and Aelin had been an item for five years and according to the article they had been engaged. He had been a captain at west station. He got killed while fighting a fire in a warehouse. Shit. His hands shook. They had in common more than just books. He pocketed the phone and walked back to the room.

“Are you okay?” He called through the door.

“Almost ready.”

He leaned against the wall and tried to calm down. It had been just over a year. Was she okay?

“I am ready.” He shoot off the wall and opened the door of the bathroom and saw her in her TFD t-shirt. He lifted her in his arms and he never would have wanted to let go of her.

“Back to your bed.”

Her arms were around his neck and it felt as if she lingered like that a bit longer on purpose. 

Or maybe he had just imagined.

“Do you need painkillers? Something to eat?”

Aelin shook her head “I am officially fasting. My surgery has been scheduled for tomorrow at 9.”

“That’s great.”

“I am a bit nervous.”

He sat down on the bed, just in front of her. Her hands were on her lap. He took her hand by grasping just the tip of the fingers “I can stay with you. I can be here when you wake up, or I can call someone else whose company you enjoy more.”

Aelin squeezed his hand back. She wished she had the strength to tell him that somehow she had enjoyed his company very much in the recent hours. But things were still very weird between them and she was positive he still did not like her.

Then she looked up and saw his eyes staring at her and realised that maybe she was wrong. In those beautiful green eyes of his she had noticed a spark of emotion, albeit for a fleeting moment.

“Keep me company, please.” He nodded and sat back on the chair.

They chatted amicably. She had told her about the station and her friends, then he reported that Lorcan was officially smitten by Elide and the two started making plans to set up the two of them.

At her first yawn, Rowan ordered her to go to bed. He tucked her in and went back to his seat.

When he woke up the next morning it was pretty early. He stood and stretched his back, sore from a night asleep on a chair. Aelin was still asleep so he sneaked out of the room and went in search of the cafeteria for a coffee. Then he had a look at himself in one of the doors and noticed he was still in uniform, now a mess, and a shadow of stubble on his face. His academy CO would have his head for walking around in such horrible state while in uniform. He shrugged, got his coffee and went back to the room. Jotted down a note for Aelin. He needed to go home, take a shower and get fresh clothes. He would be back by the time she returned from surgery.

On his way home he phoned Lorcan to give him an update on his whereabouts. He asked also for a few days off to help Aelin and the man agreed. Rowan snorted. Being in love was doing miracles on the old bastard.

He got home, relaxed, took quite a long shower and eventually he had breakfast and caught up with the news and saw that the big fire was still making the headlines. Then a photo caught his attention. Apparently the community had turned in support of the fire stations. They had flocked in front of the government building protesting in light of the new spending budget. Many of signs called for a cut in military spending and to give due value to corps such as firefighters and police. He realised that he would have probably been there as well if it wasn’t that his presence would guarantee him being kicked out of the force immediately. He had been disgusted when he saw how much the airforce got for the repairs. So much more than asked and then Aelin and the guys had to beg for a second engine. Yes, he was in the airforce but he did not agree with the amount of money that often got thrown at them. He eventually got dressed and headed back to the hospital but once he arrived he spotted a few reporters.

“Bloody leeches.”

He tried to walk unnoticed, but alas, his silver hair was not the most inconspicuous of traits.

One woman blocked his path and flung the microphone at him “Captain, how does it feel to save the day?”

Rowan looked at the woman puzzled. How on earth did they know who he was? He had been on a plane the night of the fire.

“You and your team stopped the fires. Without you, the firefighters would have failed.”

Anger. Fiery anger surged through him in a savage wave.

“I think you have read the news wrong.” He tried to calm down “The real heroes are the firefighters,” he shouted for all the reporters to hear “They are the ones who put their lives in danger. They are the ones who jumped into an inferno saving as many workers as possible.” He looked at all of them “over an hour. They were at it for over an hour, with no break, no one to cover for them or take their place. Captain Galathynius supervised the whole thing while injured and barely being able to stand. And you give all the credit to us?” He roared “We showed up because the captain had the amazing idea of using us. We swooped in at the end of the game, when one of the building was almost off. We just dropped some water and you call us heroes?” His hand were now in tight fists “I flew one of those planes and I do not want glory. I do not deserve glory. East and west station do. The police do.” And he walked away furious. Bastards. He hoped that someone passed the interview live, so his real words would pass on. He did not trust reporters.

He ran upstairs and when he arrived he noticed Aelin in bed and half asleep. He gave her a big smile.

“Hey you, tight-pants.”

He chuckled and sat beside her “how do you feel?”

“My hand moves funny.” She said moving her hand in front of her face and Rowan realised she was still quite drugged up from the surgery.

She was quite funny.

“Your hair is white.”

He brushed his hair with his hand “do you like it?”

She gave him a goofy smile “you are sooooo pretty.”

“Oh thank you. No one has called me pretty in a very long time.” He took her hand in his.

“I have a secret” she said and placed a finger in front of her mouth.

“Can I hear it?”

“Yes. But don’t tell the captain.” Who did she think she was talking to?

“I won’t, I promise.” He played along.

“I think  I like him. A lot.”

For a brief instant something flashed in her eyes and Rowan had a feeling she was quite lucid. 

He jumped off the bed in terror.

“I like him a lot, but he hates me.”

Sadness. That was definitely sadness in her voice. He took a step back.

She turned her head to the side.

“I really, really do.” And he saw her close her eyes.

He took another step back and walked out of the room. Once outside he ran to the car and leaned against it closing his eyes. Her words kept ringing in his ears. And her voice. It had changed so much when she uttered those words. It was her. She was fully lucid when she said it. He placed a hand on his heart and found it racing. He wanted to go back to her and say that he did not hated her. That he… he had no idea what he felt. He groaned and jumped in the car and decided to go for a drive. He had to clear his head.

Lysandra found Aelin with her head turned to the window and she thought she had heard her friend crying.

“Hey you…” Lysandra sat at her side and caressed her friend’s head “what’s wrong?”

Aelin sniffled loudly “I think I have said something stupid.”

“More than usual?” But when Aelin did not laugh she realised it must have been real and bad.

“I woke up from surgery and I felt funny for a while. I think captain Whitethorn was here. I am not sure. And I think…” she stopped, sobbing a bit more “I think I told him I like him.” She finally turned her face to Lysandra “I remember his terror and then he left.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I think the drugs were wearing off and I felt a bit more lucid. I think it was him.”

“Oh darling.”

“He hates me so much that he ran away.” Aelin resumed sobbing heavily “am I such a horrible person?”

Lysandra hugged Aelin tightly and cursed the man. If she got her hands on him he would be a dead man. Or she could unleash Aedion on him. He was just as protective of Aelin. 

“He is an idiot. A big tall idiot.” Lys brushed Aelin’s cheek “you need to rest now. You just had surgery.”

“How’s Aedion?”

“At home. Sore and bored already. The doctor gave him a week off but he is not happy. Well, you know him.”

“I heard Dorian mentioning that he might try to get the review postponed. It’s not fair on you guys.”

Aelin sighed “I will still be out.”

“I know, but at least Aedion will be there. One of you at least.” Lysandra reassured her.

Aelin put the tv on and gasped when the tv showed Rowan. It was just outside the hospital.

“What the fuck?”

“Put the volume up,” said Lysandra.

“They were at it for over an hour, with no break, no one to cover for them or take their place. Captain Galathynius supervised the whole thing while injured and barely being able to stand. And you give all the credit to us?” She heard him raise his voice“We showed up because the captain had the amazing idea of using us. We swooped in at the end of the game, when one of the building was almost off. We just dropped some water and you call us heroes?” His hand were not in tight fists “I flew one of those planes and I do not want glory. I do not deserve glory. East and West station do. The police do.” Aelin saw him walk away and she had a feeling that it was when he came back to her. He had normal clothes on. When he took her at the hospital he still had the uniform on.

“That is definitely not the speech of a man who hates you.”

“Lys, not helping.”

Aelin flipped through the channels to see the interview again.

“Don’t think too much about him.”

“Yeah,” Aelin stared at the tv “no worth it, right?”

“Totally.”

Lys kissed her head “Babe I need to go home and tend to Aedion. I don’t want to leave him alone for too long. I know the guys are planning to come as soon as they are off shift, which will be tomorrow morning.”

“Go, I will be fine.” She patted her hand and gave her a tight smile “go and look after Aedion.”

Once Lysandra was out of the room she grabbed her phone and texted Rowan. She waited an hour and tried to phone and realised his phone was off.

“Fine, message received.”

Rowan had driven all the way to the coast to Ilium. It had taken him two hours but it had been worth it. He had spent the afternoon sitting on the beach, his phone switched off. He lay down in the sand and closed the eyes, enjoying the peace of the beach. He almost thought that he’d love to take Aelin there but as soon as his brain said the name he had been ignoring for the past two hours his mood was soured again.

He had fled. Like a coward. She just had surgery and he had left her on her own because he had an issue dealing with his feelings. He was the worst human being ever existed.

Was it so wrong if she was in love with him?

His mind flashed him a name. A name he had tried to bury in the depths of his mind.

He groaned in frustration and stood and started walking on the sand along the beach. The place was beautiful.

He wandered until it was late then decided to go and find a room for the night. He was not in the mood to go back to Orynth. Then he went for dinner and finally dragged himself to a pub. Alcohol. He definitely needed a drink. Something that he hadn’t enjoyed in a very long time. Damn he was so boring. How could anyone be in love with him?

He had a few whiskies in one shot and the liquor burned his throat. He was not used anymore and the booze already started spreading a welcomed numbness through his body and mind. Good, oblivion is what he wanted.

He ordered two more whiskies and chugged them down again in one single motion. 

He looked at the tv behind the counter and he discovered the news were passing his interview. He lowered his head and realised straight away it was a stupid idea. His silver hair stood out like a sore thumb. 

“I think you look prettier in person.” Said a voice at his side, then he felt a pair of hands on his arm.

He turned his head and there was a woman at his side. Smiling sensually at him.

“Well, you need glasses.” He turned his head again and kept watching the tv ignoring the woman.

“I am Remelle.”

“Good for you.” He ate a couple of the peanuts on the small plate on the counter.

“Why is such a good looking man all alone in a place like this, drinking whisky shots?”

“None of your business.” She moved closer and her hand traced the length of his arm. He had a t-shirt on and his tattoo was on display.

“I love your tattoo.” Her fingers traced the lines of it.

Rowan got off the chair “I am sorry, but I am not interested. Not in the mood and you are being very rude.”

“I can help you make forget about her. You look like pining about some mysterious woman”

Rowan had enough. He stormed out of the pub and ran all the way back to the beach and fell on his knees. He looked up at the dark sky and then closed his eyes.

He had feelings for Aelin. Somehow his treacherous heart had decided to play tricks on him and make him feel again. Something he had forbidden himself from doing for a while. But Aelin had struck him dumb since day one with her big mouth, her defiance. The woman had fire in her and a part of him felt irremediably pulled to her, no matter how much he tried to deny it. He confessed to himself that he had enjoyed fussing over her, looking after her and even try to cheer her up when she had been down. He had told her the truth, he was in awe of her, of what she had done  and he hadn’t been in awe of anyone in a very long time. 

He had feelings for her, big damn feelings and all he could do was flee instead of facing them. But he was not ready yet. That was his biggest fear. That’s why he had ran out of the room, because her admission had touched a part of him that hadn’t healed yet. Just like her he had loved and lost everything. His feelings were just budding. He had better repress them before it got worse. It was better for both of them. He was positive she deserved someone better than him.

Rowan sighed and sat in the sand in silence, staring at the sky until the fog in his mind started to clear. Eventually he dragged his pitiful arse back to his hotel and crashed in bed fully clothed.

TAGS:

@rowaelinismyotp

@jlinez

@swankii-art-teacher

[1528-miles-away]

It's been like seven years since I even looked at this feed. It's crazy how time flies and how people change. Or, more accurately, how your perceptions of people change. We were nineteen when we got married, and even then I knew that it was a mistake, but I thought that I could change how I felt. I thought that loving you hard enough would make up for all the faults. But time went on, and you showed your true self. You were lazy, selfish, manipulative, and a relentless gossip. You refused to take care of yourself, so I had to pick up the slack. I bent over backwards for you for years. I drove you to and from work every day, sacrificing sleep and social time to do so. I made every meal, cleaned up every mess, took care of every animal that you adopted despite my continued protestation. I listened to every bit of drivel and gossip about your co-workers, friends, and Facebook groups. I took you to the hospital and stayed with you for hours every time you landed yourself there through your complete and unending negligence of your own health.

And yet I was the bad guy? Because I had a short temper from constantly holding back what I really wanted to say? Because I was stoned all the time to hide from my feelings? Because I dove deeper and deeper into my role-playing group because it was the only escape I had from my hellish reality? I will be the first to admit that none of those were healthy coping mechanisms, but I saw no other way out. I had no home to return to, no support systems, no idea how to live life without you. So I carried on, despite your complete lack of Independence, despite you planning out our whole lives, children and all, without actually giving a shit what I thought.

And don't even get me started on kids. The fact that you kept your pregnancy and miscarriage a secret from me for nearly a year was cowardly and wrong. You robbed me of the chance to grieve, and you shattered my trust, though I wouldn't realize that until much later. How was I supposed to feel? I was fucking 19 years old. I didn't want a kid, and you knew that. But rather than tell me when it happened and giving me the chance to understand the situation and feel my emotions as they came, you dropped a bomb on me. When you told me you lost Jamie, my first reaction wasn't sadness, it was relief. But how could I possibly say that to you when you were so devastated? So what did I do? I swallowed that and gave you the support I thought you needed. And boy fucking howdy did you milk that for every single drop it was worth. I get that you wanted kids, and a miscarriage is a trauma that I will never understand as a man. But maybe you could have dealt with it better if you had any sort of ambition or goal in your life than pumping out a baby that you would have inevitably neglected and foisted responsibility onto me, just like all your pets.

And how did it all end? Did we find a way to see that we had lost where we started and didn't have the love for each other that we thought we had? Was there anything in those last months that wasn't a fucking travesty? No. You fucked my best friend -on Christmas Eve - and didn't tell me until we'd spent all of Christmas Day with your family, playing the happy couple we always were. Then, even better, you say you want an open relationship! Oh, wait, no, you opened with that! You fucked him, pretended like nothing happened, and came to ask my permission for something you already fucking did?? Fuck you. You absolute fucking coward. And then after everything crumbled and I asked you why you did it, you told me it was a "cry for help." Bullshit. A cry for help would have been talking to me. Sacking up and telling me that you don't want to be with me anymore. And I would have said the same. We hated each other for so long. We could have ended this in a way that traumatized neither of us. But that's not how it happened. And on the off chance that you see this one day, I am sorry for what I did that night. I have no excuse and I still regret it. Regardless of everything that happened, you didn't deserve that.

But I'll tell you what. Despite all the pain, despite all the resentment, despite all the lost friendships and the lost family, I'm glad things happened the way they did. I learned a lot about myself through all of this. I learned what I want and don't want, what I will and will not tolerate; I learned how to be happy with being alone, and how to recognize my codependent tendencies; I rediscovered my love for music, and I've found a life that Phil in 2019 could only have dreamt of. I have friends who see me and love me for who I am. I have a girlfriend who treats me like an actual person and not a slave. I have a band that I'm going to take over the damn world with. And I have a self image that I've lacked my whole life. I know myself, and I have to thank you for that. I only hope that you have grown as much as I have. I may never know if you have, and I'm fine with that. Seeing your face makes me nauseous, as I'm sure mine does to you. So please, live your best life. Have those kids you've always wanted. Raise them well. You deserve to live a better life than you had with me. I don't resent you anymore. I just want you to be as happy as I am.

And I know that last paragraph seems pretty phony after the novel I just wrote, but that was just the story from my point of view, with the feelings I had at the time. Like I said, I don't hate you. I just don't think about you much. And I'm much better for it.

Anyways, this has gone on far too long. I'm sorry to anybody who actually read through this shit. It's pretty rambly. I just had a lot of things come up when I found this blog again. This will probably be the last thing that ever shows up on this blog anyway, so yeah. Bye I guess.

[iamtheblondestblonde]

The Clark Kent Effect

Part Three

AN: Imma be honest, I’m not happy with this part. I feel like my brain isn’t entirely ready for writing yet, it’s still wired to argue cases so please bear with me as I get my shit together. I still wanted to give the people who follow this story something though (you have no idea how happy I am about every single one of you) and I sincerely hope that this is good enough, apologies if not :) 

Song: Catching Feelings - Drax Project (this will be a thing from now on)

Word Count: 4,6k 

Warnings: explicit language I’m pretty sure but thats it

Masterlist / Part One / Part Two

You felt foolish really. It was as if your entire life had turned into a soap opera overnight. You wouldn’t call yourself cynical by all means, you loved love and everything that came along with it far too much for that, but you would’ve at least described yourself as rational.

Up until now.

Up until now you’d been convinced that if people really wanted to, they would be together. Up until now you’d been a believer of where there’s a will, there will be a way - relationships that would classify as statutory rape excluded of course, age was a bit more than just a number in those cases - but you, you, you had been stopped by the Bro-Code, which was just absolutely ridiculous.

Imagine telling that to your parents: Hey mom, so I met this great guy but I can’t do anything about it because he’s friends with my ex. Your grandma would straight up laugh in your face if you told her, the badass bitch had married her former lover’s rich best friend after she’d gotten the news that her fiancé hadn’t survived the war. Without needing to call her you knew that she’d tell you to go for Mat in a second, no matter how much she’d adored Tito back then.

But you weren’t your grandma and Tito hadn’t died in a war so here you were, pining over a guy you couldn’t have and practically living out a tragic romance novel. Technically you didn’t even know if Tito would have anything negative to say about the entire situation, it may all be water under the bridge by now, but you also couldn’t just casually ask him without giving anything away.

The only good thing about this situation was that Tito had brought a great group of people along with him into your life. He’d always been good at making friends, that certainly hadn’t changed from when he was younger and since the two of you had hit it up again your friend groups had seemingly merged without issue. It sure made for an interesting dynamic. You’d had some explaining to do whenever you initiated someone new into a group that also included your ex, but the result was definitely worth it.

Spending time with Tito was just as easy as it used to be, back before feelings complicated everything. Somehow you’d managed to fall back into a completely platonic relationship, one that worked just as well when the two of you were alone as it did with others around.

You’d missed having him around the years before, his view on things and the way he’d always managed to make decisions easy by providing simple solutions.

Should you get a puppy right now? - No, your apartment is too small for a big dog right now and no, you also shouldn’t settle for a purse-sized dog because you’ve always wanted a big one since you were little.

Maybe a cat instead? - No, you are allergic to cats, don’t be stupid.

What about one of those naked ones? - Also no, you need to bathe those frequently because of the built up oils on their skin and you don’t even have a bathtub in your apartment.

(You really had to bathe those from time to time, you’d looked it up. Apparently they could still trigger allergies as well, which straight up sucked.)

Should we grab Thai or Chinese? – Chinese, you told me about this new place you wanted to try out like three days ago.

What can I do to stop this one coworker from belittling and making fun of me? - I’ll help you make her jealous, how about some courtside seats to watch the Nets since she likes basketball?

The last idea had actually come from Mat (since Tito didn’t know shit about basketball), who had also pulled some strings to get four tickets so you could attend the game with Dana, Tito and him. Mat had even taken some pictures of Dana and you in your jerseys and at the game so you could post about your night excessively on your social media, making sure that said co-worker would see it. They’d also given you a tour of the building and you were surprised to say that their locker didn’t smell as bad as you’d expected.

Said coworker hadn’t said anything ever since by the way, but you could still see her lurking on your Instagram.

For all the advice Tito provided you with, you still hadn’t asked him the one thing you needed an answer to:

Is Mat off limits?

But you couldn’t do that and therefore it somehow became a normal thing for Mat and you to walk on eggshells around each other after the “incident” at the bar.

From time to time there were moments that made it blatantly obvious how good things could be – the time he’d excitedly side hugged-you after the Nets turned the game that one night before realizing what he’d just done and quickly letting go, how he’d found you in the crowd and looked straight at you after scoring a goal at one of his games before being swept away by his teammates or simply how you could see him looking around until he found you whenever your group met up – but they never lasted more than a few seconds.

The two of you were stuck, neither of you wanting to hurt Tito’s feelings. At least with your big group moments with Mat alone were rare. They still happened from time to time though, especially since the majority of your friends wasn’t even aware of your dilemma, which was why you found yourself in the passenger seat of his car on a Friday night.

Emily’s boyfriend Rafael had finally returned from a two-month-long work trip to Spain and was dead set on making an authentic recipe he’d been taught over there for everyone. Unfortunately he’d made the mistake of putting Emily in charge of getting the needed groceries and in true Emily fashion she’d forgotten to buy tomatoes. Something neither of them had noticed until Rafael had wanted to start cooking as soon as everyone arrived at their place. Maybe Emily had done it on purpose or maybe she hadn’t been thinking properly in that moment, too caught up in the fact that her lover was with her again, but she’d tasked Mat and you with a last-minute errand run to the store.

You couödn’t stop yourself from checking out the wine aisle though, leaving him waiting behind, dutifully holding a bag of fresh tomatoes and checking his phone while you inspected the options. Rafael had asked you to bring some wine as well but the one he’d requested was apparently out of stock.

“Barzal”, you called for his attention, inspecting a label to try and figure out if it was a suitable replacement, “you think Rafael would like this one?”

As you turned around with the bottle in your hand you were taken by surprise by Mat’s proximity. You hadn’t even noticed how close he’d moved until now and for a couple of seconds you were caught up in your daydreams again. He seemed to struggle with the same thing, his pupils blown and his breathing growing uneven while the two of you just stared at each other. His lips were so close and so incredibly inviting, his mouth slightly agape.

If I leaned up on my tippy toes right now I could-

You quickly stopped yourself from finishing that thought, looking down so you had a couple of seconds to gather your thoughts, thoughts Mat seemed to infiltrate constantly. By the time you dared to look up again he was running his hand across his face in frustration before slowly breathing out and returning to his cool and collected regular self.

“I’m the wrong person to ask this, he was drinking some red wine earlier and the one you picked out is obviously red but that’s about it. Wine culture is definitely lost on me, sorry. I prefer beer.”

“Stereotypical hockey player through and through, I see.” Later on you’d tell yourself that the smirk that followed made your brain short-circuit, because there was no other way to explain why you’d keep on flirting otherwise.

“Maybe one day I’ll teach you, only if you’re nice to me though”, you teased, maybe in an effort to take control over the situation, maybe because you simply couldn’t stop yourself but his laugh made your heart soar for one second, until you remembered why this shouldn’t be happening.

Maybe you simply were an undiscovered masochist because even though you knew you should stay away from him you kept finding yourself in situations like this one way too many times. Deciding that you’d simply drink the wine by yourself if anyone had an issue with it - drowning your sorrows seemed like a great idea either way right now - you handed him a second bottle before moving to leave the aisle and in turn his personal space.

Making eye contact with Colin standing a couple of meters away from you got you to do a full 180 though, almost smacking into Mat in the process, who had obviously followed you towards the cashiers.

What was it with Mat and you?!

While a collision was thankfully avoided, Colin’s presence could cause other problems, since he hadn’t exactly appreciated you breaking off things over a month ago. Because you hadn’t known him for long it had taken you longer than you liked to admit to realize that he was a manipulative bastard, you weren’t proud of that, and you had no idea how he’d act right now.

“What’s wrong?”

“My ex is over there and I don’t want to talk to him. Is he walking in our direction?”

Mat lifted his concerned glance from you to look over your shoulder so he could be on the lookout.

“If he’s the one wearing a Gucci hoodie that is so obviously fake then yes, he is walking in our direction.”

You let out a snort at the casual burn but you weren’t too happy about having to face Colin right now. He hadn’t even crossed your mind in these past few weeks but for him to cross paths with you while you were with Mat of all people seemed to be yet another one of these odd twists of fate your life seemed to attract lately. Maybe your guardian angel had decided to start a meth lab instead sometime recently, there was no other way to explain what was going on instead.

“Uh.. you look good, don’t worry, he’s definitely the one that missed out. Do- do you want me to pretend to be your boyfriend or something?”, Mat stuttered out nervously, probably noticing your anxious shifting and you couldn’t help but smile at his words, despite him being wrong about the reason behind your nervousness.

“Thanks for the offer”, you gave him a gentle smile of reassurance before continuing, “but no, it’s not about the way I look or anything like that, I don’t give a fuck what he thinks of me because he’s an idiot. I just don’t want him to cause any problems and if I could I’d just run away from him forever so he doesn’t have the chance to ever ruin my night again.”

“Well I’m no expert on forever, but I’m here right now and I say fuck that guy”, he responded and with that he grabbed your hand and started running towards the cashiers, leaving you with no other choice but to run along with him so he wouldn’t rip your arm out of its socket.

Oh how you wished you had a picture of the expression on Colin’s face as Mat and you ran past him, hand in hand and cackling like maniacs.

He was apparently too stunned to follow you as you fought over who would pay for the stuff - Mat ultimately winning - but you didn’t let that stop you from running all the way to this car as well. Of course hand in hand.

Masochist.

Somehow the weird tension between the two of you seemed to lift sometime during your little sprint but you weren’t sure if this would be permanent or if it was a spur of the moment thing. You’d be damned if you didn’t enjoy it while it lasted though.  

The entire ride back you couldn’t stop thinking about the way his hand had felt in yours and what a perfect fit it had been, desperately wanting to feel it again as the two of you sang along to the songs playing over the speakers, perfectly happy in your little bubble.

-

As Christmas approached Emily roped everyone in to accompany her on her mission to make Rafael appreciate the cold that taken over New York. According to her he dearly missed sunny Spain but all you could see was a man who was happy to be home again. You weren’t about to tell her that though, you’d long figured out that whenever she’d set her mind to something it was best to simply follow along. Everyone else had apparently come to the same realization because no one objected to her plans.

Emily wanted to take Rafael ice skating and since the Rockefeller Center apparently wasn’t good enough and too crowded, she told everyone to meet at Pier 17. Dana and Mariah were on board of course and you’d managed to convince Tito to come along, who had in turn invited Mat.

In a ridiculous attempt to not get spotted, both Mat and Tito had donned a pair of glasses and while you were used to seeing them on Tito by now, seeing Mat with them again knocked the breath out of your lungs for a second.

It had been almost two months since you’d last seen him like this and the fact that you hadn’t recognized him that night seemed impossible to you now. Maybe it was because you’d gotten to know him since, seeing him in real life instead of only on pictures and memorizing his handsome features in the process but as you tried to get a good glance at him without anyone noticing you realized that he’d never be Clark Kent to you again.

Whether that was a good or a bad thing was still left to decide though.

“Need help with those?”, Mat’s voice ripped you out of your thoughts. You’d been so lost in them that you hadn’t even noticed that everyone else had already laced up their skates and walked out onto the ice while you’d been staring at your hands for who knows how long, laces wrapped around your fingers but not doing anything. Tito and him had brought their own skates while everyone else had to rely on rentals and his were already laced up perfectly of course.

You nodded, despite full well knowing how to do it yourself but you weren’t about to stop Mat from pulling your leg into his lap so he had better access. Besides, you’d stupidly forgotten to bring gloves and you’d gladly take any chance to leave your hands stuffed inside the pockets of your jacket as you rapidly got colder.

His fingers worked quickly, tightening the laces with expertise and you watched his hand moving in awe.

If hockey ever wasn’t an option for him anymore, hand modeling definitely was. He had such nice hands, strong and big and perfect. For a quick second your thoughts drifted to what else they could be capable of, before you reeled them back in, mentally scolding yourself. It really wasn’t your fault, not thinking of him seemed impossible these days.

His eyes were mostly focused on his work but from time to time he’d lift his gaze and give you a small smile, one you happily returned despite the mess inside your head. He had just finished tying the second one when someone banged on the glass, making the both of you jump a little.

“Ayo Barzy get your filthy paws off Y/N!”, Tito yelled before zooming away again laughing loudly, leaving an awkward silence behind.

Was this just Tito being his usual little-shit-self or was he actually serious?

For a couple of seconds you couldn’t do anything but stare at Mat as he looked down onto his hands, one of them still loosely wrapped around your ankle. Carefully you pulled your leg off his lap, set both feet on the ground and got up.

It was apparently time to face reality again.

You waited until there was a break in the throngs of people circling around the rink before stepping onto the ice, muscle memory from your childhood kicking in immediately. Once you were convinced that you weren’t going to fall on your ass you did a couple of little spins until you were facing Mat again, who had followed you. He looked at you with a slack jaw and you laughed at his expression.

“You can skate?!”, he asked bewildered and you laughed again, moving so the both of you could skate beside each other at a relaxed pace.

“Obviously. Sorry to ruin your late night fantasies of teaching me how to skate but I’m a good Canadian girl and I did some figure skating when I was younger. I actually used to be pretty fast.”

That caught his attention and you smiled at the way he looked down at you with a conspiring grin.

“Oh yeah? Show me what you got then”, after a couple of seconds of contemplation he continued, “last one to reach the others owes the winner coffee.”

You looked around to find the rest of your group, spotting them on the other side messing around. Of course.

“You’re on, Barzy. I hope you’re ready to lose though”, you winked at him before racing towards your friends, leaving him and his exclamations about you being a cheater behind, now definitely not cold anymore.

-

Something in your relationship seemed to shift after that, at least whenever you were alone with him. Things were still difficult around others, especially with the way Emily kept prodding you for updates and Tito constantly disturbing the few moments you had alone with him. You weren’t sure yet if he did it on purpose or if he simply had awful timing but it wasn’t like it made a difference.

Christmas came and passed just as fast, the team leaving for a roadtrip shortly after. You’d celebrated New Year’s Eve with your friends in a club, unable to kiss the person you wanted to either way so your lips had stayed untouched as the fireworks went off at midnight and the days following.

Tito had announced that the guys would return later in the day though, already making plans in the groupchat to meet up tomorrow. While you wondered where he got all this energy from you suspected it was a way to distract himself as the trip hadn’t been successful - to put it mildly. In reality they’d ate shit, losing all of their games, some to teams that should have been an easy win.

It was hard to watch on TV but even harder to talk to the guys afterwards.

A couple of hours later you sat on the couch, a book in hand that you’d meant to read for weeks and enjoying staying in on a Friday for once. You were so lost in the story that it took you a couple of seconds to realize that someone had knocked on your door.

Who could that be?

Tito or Emily were most likely to show up unannounced at your day but you knew that Tito would be on his way to his home so he could sulk by himself and Emily was away on a ski trip with Rafael. Unwrapping yourself from your fuzzy blanket you padded towards the door, taken aback by who was waiting on the other side.

“What..”, you trailed of questionably, not even sure what you were going to say in the first place.

Mat looked so out of place in the dimly lit hallway, dressed in a suit that fit him so nicely, bag set on the ground next to him.

“Can I come in?”, was all he said and you nodded, unable to bring yourself to say anything else.

How could you even refuse him?

You didn’t move from your spot beside the door and after taking off his shoes he took a couple of steps inside your apartment, hanging up his coat before turning back around to face you.

“You’re probably wondering why I’m here but if I’m honest I can’t even tell you. I just didn’t want to be alone tonight and since you seem to constantly be on my mind either way..”, he trailed off, seemingly gathering his thoughts before continuing, “I don’t know if you watched the games or-“

“I did and you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to”, you said softly as you interrupted him, sensing his apprehension. You decided that you weren’t about to touch his admission of thinking of you all the time with a ten-foot-pole, instead focusing on the rest of his sentence. He looked so broken and lost standing there so you couldn’t help but take the few steps it took to reach him, wrapping your arms around him in a tight hug.

You knew from personal experience with Tito that athletes tended to take losses personal and if you had to take a guess you were pretty sure that Mat was one of those guys that blamed himself for them as well.

At first he seemed surprised about your bold move – it was the most the two of you had ever touched so far – but he quickly caught himself, hugging you even tighter to his body. For a couple of seconds you stood just like that, simply basking in each other’s proximity.

It was as if your bodies were made for each other, your head resting perfectly in the crook of his neck. Despite probably just getting off a plane he smelled so good and you were trying to figure out if you could take a deep breath without raising any suspicions. Before you’d managed to make a decision however, he pulled away and you unfortunately had to untangle yourself from him.

“Feel free to stay as long as you want to”, you said to fill the silence, leaving out the part where you hoped he’d stay for the night as well. He simply nodded before asking where he could change into more comfortable clothes. While you were sad to see the suit go you directed him to your bedroom, glad to have taken those thirty minutes earlier to tidy up.

He returned in a pair of grey sweatpants and a hoodie and it took every last remaining bit of your willpower not to drool at the sight of him. Somehow he managed to look even better in sweats than he did in his custom suit, which really wasn’t fair at all.

You had to admit it was a little weird to see him in your apartment though. He’d been over a couple of times to pregame etc. but he’d never been here alone. Somehow it felt strangely intimate to have him over by himself on this Friday night. To prevent your thoughts from going to a direction they definitely shouldn’t, you asked:

“Do you want some tea? I know technically you still owe me that coffee but I’ll be generous and let you off easy this time.”

For good measure you even threw in a wink at the end and your words had the desired effect, breaking the loaded tension completely.

“You cheated! I would’ve won if you hadn’t started early”, he exclaimed but the way he was laughing showed that he was anything but butthurt about the situation.

“Mmm keep telling yourself that, it’s okay”, you kept on teasing as he followed you into your small kitchen that was definitely at maximum capacity with two people in it. You’d be lying if you said that you didn’t enjoy the closeness the tight space prompted though.

With a steaming mug of tea the both of you settled onto your couch shortly after, also small enough to keep you close together. You’d been wanting to buy a bigger one for weeks, but right now you certainly didn’t mind its size.

Masochist.

“Oh I love that one, the chimpanzees are so cute”, Mat said to your surprise as he finally realized what was playing on your tv and you looked at him in utter disbelief. You certainly hadn’t pegged him for a guy that liked to watch nature documentaries but yet here he was, constantly surprising you.

“What? Documentaries are very soothing”, he defended himself and you had to laugh at the way he looked like a little kid with his floppy hair and the cute way his eyebrows had scrunched up.

“I know. That’s why I love watching them as well.”

You hadn’t exactly pictured yourself watching documentaries with him on a Friday night, something that felt way too domestic if you were being honest, but yet here you were.

As the hour grew later both Mat and you sunk further in the cushions and while you had no recollection of how exactly it had happened, your head apparently ended up on his shoulder somehow. Your only regret was that now it wasn’t as easy to sneak glances at him from time to time without him noticing. At one point he’d even wrapped his arm around you, moving both of you into a more comfortable position before covering your bodies with the fuzzy blanket and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat lulled you to sleep before you even knew it.

The soft sound of your name woke you up sometime later, you weren’t exactly sure how much time had passed but the credits of the second documentary you’d started were already rolling and you were pretty sure you’d only caught the first half of it. In your sleep you’d cuddled up even closer, your arm wrapped around Mat’s midriff and you quickly sat up, embarrassed about turning into a koala in your sleep. Maybe you could blame it on the documentary?

“Sorry for waking you but I should probably head home. Otherwise my back is going to kill me tomorrow.” His voice was a little hoarse and it was obvious that he’d fallen asleep as well, his hair now sticking up in multiple directions. You suppressed a giggle at the disheveled sight of him, instead appreciating that he let down his guard enough for you to see him that way.

“Yeah of course. I’ll show you out.”

“Thank you for tonight. It means a lot to me”, he said quietly as he stood by the door, ready to leave.

“Anytime Mat. Get home safe.” It was the first time you’d called him by his first name, after months of first calling him Barzal then Barzy and he must have noticed as well because his smile could probably make glaciers melt at this point. You weren’t even sure why you’d given up your pathetic way of distancing yourself from him – despite the fact that it was very much obvious that it wasn’t working – but to not call him Mat would feel wrong after this evening.

“Have a good night, Y/N”, he simply said, still smiling as he leaned down to kiss you on the forehead before walking out the door, leaving you speechless.

 -

Tagging: @jamiedrysdales​ @nazdaddy​ @itrocksmysocks​ @yeeehaw-hockey​ @whitesummerx​ @teenagekook​ 

[inkandpen22]

Time is Irrelevant (1/?): The Mystery of Psychology

Pairing: Eleventh Doctor x Female!Reader 

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1.7k 

Part Summary: Y/N is an undergraduate student double majoring in history and English. While she’s cramming away at her research paper she’s approached by a rather peculiar man. 

Masterlist

“History, like love, is so apt to surround her heroes with an atmosphere of imaginary brightness.” 

                                            - James Fenimore Cooper, The Last of the Mohicans

I’ve never imagined myself as one of the greats. They’ve lived before my time and their legacies will outlive me long after I’m gone. The greatest task I can accomplish is do them justice by telling their stories. I must immerse myself in their lives and hope to influence others with their work. I’m merely the surface that the puzzle of history rests upon. Over time, I’ve collected facts from as many historical periods as possible and have memorized them.

I’ve always found history easy to retain. I believe it to be a blessing. Once I’ve heard, read, or watched any kind of information about history I’ll remember it for the rest of my life. My gift made the subject easy for me in school. I also excelled in English. Words resonate with people for generations, they’re needed to retell history. A simple sentence or everyday speech may end up in every history book across the country. Words are equally as influential to our history as our actions. Hence why I’m a history and English double-major. With history comes life lessons, valuable lessons that can only be learned from past experiences. English, words, can impact an entire generation or many, thus influencing history. By telling the stories of the past, I hope to better the future.

___________________________________________________ 

As I review the archives on the Crusades in front of me, my fingers tap against the table to the beat of the music coming from my earbuds in the otherwise silent archives. Many of my friends have never understood how I’m able to read and listen to music at the same time. What can I say? I’m talented. Disregard the fact that I’ve read this book fifty times over so I could practically recite it from memory. I’m kinda mixing wars here by listening to Hamilton while reading about the French and Indian War. Oh well, there are no rules against the action. 

Suddenly, there is a tap on my shoulder. I assume someone must be able to hear my music and is asking for me to turn it down. I close my book as I remove one of my earbuds and peer over my shoulder. I lift my eyes and meet the gaze of a rather handsome individual. 

“I’m sorry is it too loud?” I apologize. 

“Not at all,” he assures me with a gentle smile and I take note of his accent. “I was wondering if you could point me in the direction of information on the French Revolution?” 

The gentleman is lucky, an average person wouldn’t know the archives by heart. I’ve spent nearly every day up here since the early days of freshman year. 

“You’re on the right floor so good job.” I joke and point my finger towards the proper section in the middle of the room near me. “Most of the books on the French Revolution that I’ve been able to find are over there but there are more throughout the library upstairs. Nonetheless, those should be a good start.” 

He grins, pausing for a moment as he stares me in the eye.  “Thank you.” His focus travels to my book sitting on the table. “The Last of The Mohicans, good choice.” 

He leaves, as quickly as he appeared, towards the section I suggested. That man is something else entirely. He’s likely a professor considering he’s down here and his considerably formal attire. Only a professor would wear a bow tie. Then again, he appears awfully young. A TA perhaps? That wouldn’t explain his accent though. He could be a visiting professor. Plus, oddly enough, he knows of my book, not many people I know do. 

I pop my earbud back in and dive back into reading. The whole interaction was short but interesting nonetheless. I’m not sure what it was about him but he was different than most. It could be that he had this awkward charm and I’m not used to people being so polite. For a young man, he seemed old fashioned. His wording was more articulate, could be because he’s British. Normally a guy would say ‘uh hey so like, could you…. um…  show me where the books are for the French Revolution or whatever it’s called? If they have an audiobook or DVD that’s cool too!’ 

Okay, that’s it, I can’t focus after that guy talked to me. I’ve read the same sentence five times over. It’s best just head home, it’s getting late anyway. 

The sun is setting as I make my way back to the apartment. I take the more scenic route by the original brick buildings from the colonial era. Mainly because I like the brick path, especially now that it’s fall and the leaves coat the ground. I’m not surprised to see some boys playing football on the lawn in the center of campus. My first thought is how American they appear, with the crisp leaves scattering the ground, everyone in their duck boots, and playing football. I feel as if I’m in a Lands End catalog.

On the way home, I stop by the student union to fetch a late dinner to take home. I shuffle through the music on my phone, trying to find the perfect playlist for the walk back. I approach the door to the building and the person ahead of me holds it for me as I stare down at my phone. 

“Thank you” I mumble absentmindedly. 

“Oh well hello again!” 

I look up and believe it or not it’s the same man from before. I take notice of his exquisite eyes, their long lashes, and his multicolored uniqueness. I’ve never seen anything like them before. They’re like marbles. A warm chestnut shade toward the cornea but then fades into a ring of emerald that transitions into a deep ocean blue. He has every possibility in one. 

“Oh hey!” I respond politely, “did you find the book you were looking for?” 

He shows me the hardcover book in his hand. “Yeah, thank you so much for your help earlier!” He holds out his hand for me to shake, “it’s nice to meet you...” 

“Y/N,” I answer, accepting his hand. “It’s nice to meet you too!” 

I’m not the kind for such formal introductions. In this day and age, there are rarely introductions just frequent run-ins until everyone becomes acquainted. 

The gentleman stares at me for a second, visibly deep in thought. He continues to hold my hand, but I’m too awkward to remove it. Then, snaps himself out of it, parting from my hand. “Beautiful name,” he compliments, charmingly.

Normally, I would imagine girls swoon over a compliment from a man with his foreign accent. American girls love a pretty English accent. Yet, his attention makes me feel on display. I’ve never been fond of physical compliments. I never know how to respond to them. 

“Are you meeting someone?” I ask.

He looks confused but realizes I’m referring to the building. “Oh! No, no I’m here to get something to eat.” 

 This was nice, but now I’m over being polite because I’m starving. Plus, I’ve been in the archives practically all day working on my research paper for Medieval History for I’m beyond tired. 

“Oh okay…” I stumble over my words, “well, it was nice to you!” I nod, preparing to walk away.

“Would you like to join me?” He asks abruptly before I’m able to escape. 

It’s ironic, I’m a mess and he’s wanting my company. The image of me schlepping around this ten-pound backpack wasn’t off-putting to him, really? 

 “Awesome!” He declares, not giving me the chance to decline his offer before he ushers me inside. “I’ll meet you over there after you get your food!” He adds, pointing over to a specific table. 

I was really looking forward to eating in my bed at home, but I can’t decline anyone and risk hurting their feelings. Sticking to my word, I head over to where he instructed after I grab my usual sushi order. Sure enough, he’s already seated at the table. I notice the fact we’re in the far back corner separated from the workers or the other few eaters this time of night. I place my bag next to me on the floor as I get situated. 

“You like sushi?” He inquires. 

I sway my head from side to side, “Americanized sushi. The traditional raw fish I’ve never tried.” 

He chuckles lightly, “one day you’ll have to try it. It’s surprisingly not as bad as one might assume.”He speaks so smoothly. Does it come naturally or does he have to work at it? 

“One day,” I sigh with a smile. I would love to see the world and experience everything it has to offer. Yet, I’m a poor college student with responsibilities. 

“What’s your major?” He asks, creating casual conversation. 

“I’m a double major, English, and history,” I nod. 

He raises his eyebrows, appearing amazed. “Impressive!” 

“What about you? What do you do?” I’m purposefully vague enough with my questions because I still don’t know whether he’s a student or a professor. He could pass as a graduate student and that’s what has me stumped. 

“Oh uh...” he stammers, rubbing his hands together in his lap. “I’m a doctor.” 

He’s a professor then. I’m having a social dinner with a professor... is this allowed? “Oh okay,” I try to remain unfazed. “What is it that you teach?” 

I’m assuming he must teach history considering the search for the French Revolution book. Then again, I don’t know of any English professors in the department. The topic isn’t really one for some light reading. He could be required to take a history course, though I doubt it. 

“Psychology,” he rushes out an answer. 

Do I ask or is that too bold? Then again, I’ve never really cared about superficial social standards. 

I lean forward in my chair, resting my arms on the table as curiosity appears on my face. “If you don’t mind me asking, why were you looking for books on the French Revolution earlier?” 

He hesitates as if he’s evaluating my question. His features go blank then shift to sternness. Did I say something wrong? Was I not being polite when I asked that? 

“I was picking it up for a friend,” he answers plainly, questionably. 

I don’t believe him, not for a second. I’m no expert in psychology but his eyes glanced to his right while his voice went up a little at the end of his sentence. He’s lying. My heart quickens and I do everything in my power to remain calm. I’m going to play along and act oblivious. Perhaps, he has a good reason for lying.

“I was just wondering because you said you were in Psychology,” I say light-heartedly, waving my hand to dismiss the matter. 

He sighs deeply, placing his napkin on the table. “They said you’d be hard to fool.” His eyes meet mine with a smirk as he leans back in his chair. “You don’t miss a thing do you?” He snickers. 

His words are so ominous they make my breathing hitch as I drop my chopsticks. 

“What?” I calmly question, reaching for my back slowly. 

In a swift movement, he grabs my hand on the table and points a metal shiny thing at my face. I attempt to yank myself free, but he just squeezes tighter. I look into the light radiating from the buzzing object. Then, suddenly, my sight goes dark. This can’t be good.

_____________________________

Masterlist

[blackcherrykiss]

BLOOD BOUNDARIES - Enhypen OT7 Fanfic (ch.6)

[CH.1] [CH.2] [CH.3] [CH.4] [CH.5] previous chapters

[CH.7] next chapter (unavailable, check back or follow for updates!)

genre: vampire au, romance, drama, mystery, thriller

note: written inspired by enhypen's storyline, given-taken lyrics & teasers. please keep in mind all members are apart of this fanfic and the main theme is mystery/drama!

*P.S swear words are used (i try not to use them often lol but i feel they added to the emotion in the dialogue) the beginning lowkey not proofread sorry happy readings!

"I sensed you were here." He commented sternly as he stood up from the piano bench.

You stepped back, "Y-you just play really well... Didn't mean to be a creep." You get shy with shivers after realizing he knew you were around. From what you recall, you were absolutely silent.

His wordless response was a cold signal to leave. And so you did. Whipping your head back behind you to see people begin to exit their rehearsal rooms. You left Jay alone as he probably wished, mindlessly waiting for your roommates to storm out. The doors along the hall were now wide open so that you could search the rooms. Like a scavenger hunt, you went in and out of each music room, clueless as to which one you would find your friends in.

"Y/N?" You hear Hyesun before you could even step foot into one of the larger sized rooms along the hall. You slung your head up in surprise to see your roommates chatting with faces you were tired of seeing.

"Long time no see." Heeseung visibly bit down on the tip of his tongue causing your emotions to run wild. You were irked to see Nana, Hyesun and Dahee (in case you forgot these are the names of y/n's dormmates) with Jaeyun, Heeseung and Sunghoon.

"Haha..." You laugh uncomfortably at the overwhelming mixture of people.

"We were just thinking about having a party before the upcoming long weekend," Sunghoon plastered a dark smile that you found strangely annoying. He had some corrupt aura and every bit of your gut felt alarmed by him.

"Jungwon is in the next room over, you should ask him to come here," Dahee said calmly and reassuringly. If anything all of your roommates looked unexpectedly comfortable and relaxed in the presence of some of the school's hottest boys. You imagined your friends to be flustered since they had secretly fangirled to you about them during late-night girl talks. It seemed they had become genuine friends instead of fangirls. It made you question your intuition and trust issues. Maybe it was just you overreacting and these boys were friends, not threats.

Nodding your head, you run off to where Dahee had mentioned Jungwon was. Chasing until you met a closed door with a dim light shining through its' crystallized glass. Listening close you could hear Jungwon sing softly through the door, making your heart rate rise a bit. Like a fool, your heart was going in circles. You focus your eyes through the bits of glass that didn't distort your vision to see Jungwon in pure grace.

"He sings pretty well doesn't he?" You felt a whisper brush the conch of your ear. Not even bothering to see who the whisper belonged to, you agreed.

"Yeah... I've never heard him sing before." You blush at yourself, finally taking a look to see who you were even talking to.

Your gaze met a pair of sharp cut out eyes, "If I heard a person sing like that, I'd be convinced I'm in love with them." Kim Sunoo taunted, trying to make it obvious that your feelings of interest were on full display, even to a stranger. "You might get hurt though, being in love with Jungwon." His voice was a deep frequency that hummed in the bloodstream of your ears.

"Why would it hurt?" Your curiosity getting the best of you.

"He's capable of things you don't want to imagine," Sunoo fakely sighed, his breath hitting the side of your neck. "Jungwon's truly a bad boy. Playing around such a delicate flower." And with that said, Sunoo swung the door right open.

Jungwon abruptly stopped mid sentence, startlement creating a pale cast over his face, "Y/N? What are you doing here?" Jungwon laughed a bit to himself, a little embarrassed after the fact you had probably heard him sing.

"She was standing outside since the beginning of the song." Sunoo smiled smugly before walking out, leaving you in the icy room alone with Jungwon.

"I didn't want to interrupt... That's not even the point... I came to tell you that my dormmates are in the other room talking with the guys."

"The guys?"

"You know... Sunghoon and them... I-I'd really appreciate if you were just there Jungwon." You were sincere because, for some reason, he looked lonely. You would also really feel more at ease with Jungwon around and you hoped your sincerity reached him.

Jungwon had put on a concerned face before dropping it, realizing he was overreacting."Oh. Alright... I'll be there in a few minutes." Jungwon got up, shuffling his sheet music stand into a neat stack that hid in the corner. He had responded in a way that was much calmer than you expected. Perhaps you were expecting him to lash out about being around his friends?

"But Jungwon I want to ask you something..." You hated the secrets between the two of you, it was a mystery game you didn't want to play anymore, "Can you just explain what your relationship with Sunoo... Not even Sunoo, the rest of the guys."

He stopped in his tracks, knowing you were tired of his lies. "We're all orphans from the same orphanage. We just never got adopted." He spoke bluntly in a cold and rushed tone. His answer was enough to have you not ask any more questions about their relationship as it seemed too personal and insensitive of you to keep asking. "Since we were all too old to stay at the orphanage, some social workers came and took us to live in a house together. The house is just on the outskirts of the school but we only go there for long weekends and breaks when there is nobody on campus..." The realization of when Jungwon had said Heeseung was his dormmate came back to you. "They're like my brothers. But, some bad things happened to them in an incident we had a couple of years back at this carnival.. We were never the same after that." Jungwon had gotten somewhat emotional blurting it all out. He had choked up as you heard his words full of frustration built up in his throat. When you looked deeper into him, you found your heartache as his eyes glittered with tears.

"I-I trust you Jungwon. I'm so sorry I must've put you in an uncomfortable situation." You felt like an awful human being hearing his story.

"No, I'm sorry. I'm being too protective with you over those guys. I'm sorry about that. I just see you and get worried. They've become bad people..." He slid his fingertips from his forehead up until they tangled with the roots of his hair, closing his eyes to conceal his emotions.

You could've just hugged him right then seeing him in the midst of crying but your mind was a haze, foggy with not wanting to cross the unspoken boundaries between the two of you. The skinship of hugging was still considered too much for your friendship and you weren't openly ready to have the feelings of endearment that come with carrying out such an intimate gesture. You knew by being in such close distance with him would make you a fool for love.

"I think we should go to the others." You darted with a sudden wall forming between the both of you. You shuddered in pain with your cold remark after Jungwon had just revealed something so deep and vulnerable to you. Even if Jungwon had just told you an intimate part of his identity it was like he became more of a stranger to you. It seemed everything Jungwon was saying was quite true but still Sunoo's words had scarred your subconscious of falling in love with him or even merely liking him. Jungwon had said the boys were bad people but what excluded him from them?

You made your way back, leaving Jungwon to be alone and cool down from whatever you had just made him think of. Every second, regretting you didn't just wrap your arms around him and comfort him. Had it not been for Sunoo, maybe you would've trusted there was nothing more to what Jungwon than what he had just said.

"Did you find Jungwon?" Dahee lifted her eyes off of Sunghoon to yours. You got deja vu when you saw Sunghoon staring at Dahee with the same eyes he used during the commotion at the library.

"Yeah, I think he's just packing up his stuff right now..." You gulp awkwardly as everyone had settled into smaller groups. You think your eyes were deceiving you when you noticed Sunoo now in the room, being quick to withdraw from the conversation he was having with Hyesun and Nana to approach you.

"You don't look well. Something happen between you and Jungwon?" A wicked bubble of laughter rising in his chest.

"Not at all..." It was half true half not. Nothing had really happened mentally or physically but emotionally, there was something.

"Interesting because I was just asking those two girls about you and Jungwon. It seems you two are a lot closer than I anticipated."

"We're just friends, we're just getting closer these days."

"Sweetheart, he's not really trying to be your friend, right? He's just using you like how these boys are doing with your girl friends right now."

"Using us? Using me? Our relationship isn't that shallow. Maybe your dimwit friends would do that but I know Jungwon." You were offended by his assumption, who was Sunoo to claim such an idea?

"What makes you think you know him?" Sunoo laughed gravely at your statement. "I've heard a lot about you from Heeseung and Jaeyun, Y/N." Sunoo used your name. It seemed you both knew each other's names without having to directly say it or formally introduce yourselves.

"I'm flattered I'm that pretty enough to them that they would talk about me, Kim Sunoo." You used his name in the same power he had used yours in a sentence.

"More than just pretty, you should watch yourself. The pretty girls of this school don't last very long in this school."

"And why is that?"

"I think you'll find out soon enough." Sunoo snickered while swaying himself up and away after looking at the doorway.

"It looks like a party in here." Jay had entered with an arm hanging around Jungwon. You hadn't realized how packed the room was until Jay mentioned it.

"Yeah and we're planning one right now." Heeseung spat in a jokingly annoyed tone at Jay.

"A party???" He laughed, "If the school finds girls with us outside school grounds or even near the dorm we'll all be fucking expelled." Jay raised his scratched brow in interest as to Heeseung's response.

"Yeah as if the teachers are even awake super late at night. Literally, no one monitors the halls at night." Heeseung let out an airy scoff from across the room. You and your roommates were all flustered at the plan of a party so late at night. You were embarrassed your mind was even in that direction. "Our place is not far from here Jay, calm the fuck down."

"H-hey I think us girls will head off to eat, we'll settle the plans another time." Nana made eye contact with all the girls as a signal to exit. It seemed the mood took a bitter turn when Jay had entered.

It was an awkward scurry out the door as Nana pulled Hyesun with her. You shortly followed, looking behind you to see Jungwon give a lifeless stare at the ground. Your eyes focusing in on Sunghoon who whispers ever-so closely to Dahee. Whatever he told her, it tinted her face a plush pink.

"Dahee let's go." You glared at Sunghoon before putting on a sweet smile toward Dahee. You couldn't just watch Sunghoon act like such a flirt to Dahee, not when you knew something was also going on between him and Kyungeun.

...

Dahee hums beside you as Nana and Hyesun walk in front. The four of you were quiet, not one of you bringing up the encounter with the boys.

"Do you guys actually want to have a party with them?" You interrupt the silence.

"Y/N they are the hottest guys at our school, do you think we're going to pass on the opportunity?" Hyesun answers.

"Jaeyun told me he and Heeseung could get a couple of drinks from the town over the weekend." Nana added.

"Drinks?! How? Were literally all minors?!" You freaked out like a child.

"Not sure... I do admit though... I'm scared we'll get caught." Nana admitted making you feel reassured knowing she was leaning more toward not having a party.

"What else did you guys already discuss about the party?" You asked, hungry for the details.

"Apparently they've got a place really close by to here. I guess they live together?" The thought of what Jungwon had said to you earlier about the boys all being orphans came back to you.

"Where exactly is there place?"

"Somewhere in the woods of school." _________ author here lol just want to check in and make sure everyone remembers everything from the very first chapter :-) i told you guys that stuff mentioned in early chapters have big significance in the later chapters! Also feel so bad there are so many characters to keep track of LOL I will make a profile of all the characters once everyone is introduced.

Please leave feedback if you have any and thank you for being patient!