#virtual background office

[natsaffection]

Ohh an idea 💡 in my head and I know you are perfect to write this, basically reader is working at a company that is run by bad guys but doesn't know it, so natasha is sent on a mission to get close to her and gather Intel, so couple weeks pass and reader finds out in the most distraught way which causes her to end everything with Natasha but still have a good heart decides to give everything natasha needs to take down the company, (happy ending or sad ending either works) 💝

Showing everything. | N.R

Warnings: Just Angst?

Word count: 8,4k

A/n: I'm so grateful every time I finish a Ask that's been on my list for weeks. So thank you for your patience each time. 🫶🏼

You had always dreamed of finding a job where you could make a difference in the world, but you never thought it would come in the form of an elegant office in the heart of New York City. The building, a towering glass structure shimmering in the sunlight, housed one of the city's most prestigious companies. Kinetica Industries. They were known for their groundbreaking technology and humanitarian efforts, advancing medical equipment and energy supply that had revolutionized the industry. It was a dream job, almost impossible to turn down.

You stumbled upon the opportunity by chance. A late night scrolling through endless job listings led you to Kinetica's website. The company was looking for someone with your exact skills: data analysis and project management. The job description was vague but intriguing. Analyzing trends, managing large datasets, coordinating with various departments. It sounded challenging yet rewarding, the kind of opportunity you needed to prove yourself. The application process was quick, almost too quick. A few online assessments, a virtual interview with a charming man who headed your department, and within a week, you were offered the job. They said they were impressed by your resume, your background in bioinformatics, and your impeccable reputation. The salary was more than generous, with benefits that seemed almost too good to be true. But eager to start fresh and leave the stagnation of your previous job behind, you didn't question it further. You accepted immediately.

Your first day was a whirlwind of activity. The office itself was as impressive as the building's exterior. Elegant, modern, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a panoramic view of the city. The air buzzed with innovation, with teams of people tirelessly working on the next big thing. You were given a tour, introduced to your colleagues. Bright, motivated people who all seemed to share your enthusiasm for the work. Your role was exactly as described, but with a small twist. You were part of a special project they called "The Initiative." It involved collecting and analyzing data from various sources to create predictive models that could be used for everything from disease prevention to energy distribution. It sounded noble, and you were thrilled to be part of something that could change the world.

But as you settled into your new role, you couldn't help but notice the layers of secrecy surrounding certain aspects of your work. Some files were restricted, accessible only with special clearance. Occasionally, your requests for specific datasets were met with vague answers or outright refusal. But whenever doubts arose, you reminded yourself that every company had its secrets, especially one as influential as Kinetica.

Meanwhile, in a dimly lit office in the underground levels of S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters, Natasha Fury sat across from you, the tension in the air almost palpable. "Romanoff," Fury began, his single eye piercing through the twilight, "we have a problem. Kinetica Industries." Natasha leaned back in her chair, arms crossed. "The tech company? They've been on our radar for a while, haven't they?"

"They have." Fury confirmed. "But new intel suggests they're more than just a tech company. We believe they're a front for something far more dangerous. We suspect they're involved in illegal arms trading, possibly even human experimentation. But we need proof." Natasha nodded, understanding where this was going. "And that's where I come in."

"Exactly. We've identified someone on the inside, Y/N Y/L/N. She's new, only started about a week ago. As far as we can tell, she's clean. No criminal record, no ties to any organizations. She's the perfect target to infiltrate." Natasha leaned forward, studying the file Fury slid across the table. Your face stared back at her from the photo clipped to the top of the file, a bright smile, eyes full of hope. Natasha couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt, but she pushed it aside. This was a mission, and she had a job to do.

"What's the plan?" she asked, flipping through the file. "You'll go undercover as someone with a similar background, a data analyst, someone they might hire if the current employee doesn't work out. Your task is to gain her trust, find out what Y/n knows. If she's innocent, she might unknowingly be sitting on crucial information. If not.."

"I'll find out," Natasha finished, her voice cold and determined. Fury nodded, satisfied. "We need to act fast. Every day we wait is another day Kinetica could move their operations. I'm counting on you, Romanoff." Natasha stood up, tucking the file under her arm. "I won't let you down."

As she left Fury's office, her thoughts were already spinning with possibilities, strategies, and the cool detachment that came with every undercover mission. She knew this wouldn't be easy. You were innocent, or at least you seemed to be. But Natasha had learned the hard way that appearances could be deceiving. Her mission was clear: get close to you, gather the information, and expose Kinetica for what they really were. But as she prepared to step into your world, Natasha couldn't shake the feeling that this mission would become more complicated than she anticipated.

Your first weeks at Kinetica Industries were a whirlwind of new faces, complex datasets, and an overwhelming amount of information. You were slowly getting used to the office routine when you heard about the new hire. Natalie Rushman, as she was introduced, joined the team on a bright Monday morning. You first heard about her during the daily briefing. Your department head mentioned that Natalie was hired to assist with data analysis, given the increasing workload from "The Initiative."

"I want you to show her the ropes." Your boss said, his tone implying it was not a request. "She has a similar background to you, and I think you two will work well together." You nodded, trying to hide the concern you felt about being responsible for training someone so soon after starting yourself. You hadn't fully mastered your own tasks yet, and now you were supposed to mentor someone else? But you forced a smile and agreed, hoping that Natalie would be as easygoing as she seemed in her brief introduction.

It wasn't until later in the morning that you finally met her. You were in the office kitchen, struggling with the intricate espresso machine that seemed designed to torment anyone who wasn't a seasoned barista. You had managed to spill coffee grounds everywhere when you heard someone clear their throat behind you.

You turned around and saw Natalie standing there, a slight smile on her lips. Her red hair was tied back in a neat ponytail, and she wore a white blouse and tailored black pants that made her look effortlessly professional. "Need some help?" Natalie asked, her voice warm and slightly amused. You laughed, embarrassed to be caught in the middle of your coffee disaster. "I think this machine was designed by someone who hates caffeine addicts."

Natalie stepped forward, gently nudging you aside. "Mind if I give it a try? I've had my fair share of battles with these things."

"Be my guest." you replied gratefully, stepping back. Natalie moved with practiced ease, quickly coaxing the machine into cooperation and brewing two perfect cups of espresso. She handed you one, which you accepted with a wide grin. "You're a lifesaver." you said, taking a sip. The coffee was perfectm. Rich, smooth, and exactly what you needed to get through the rest of the day. "I'm Y/n, by the way. I'm supposed to show you around today."

"Natalie." she replied, her smile deepening. "And I appreciate the help. The first days are always a bit overwhelming."

"Don't I know it.." you said, rolling your eyes playfully. "I'm still trying to figure out where half the supplies are kept around here." Natalie laughed, a genuine but slightly guarded sound, as if she was still feeling out her new environment. "I'm sure we'll figure it out together. So, what exactly are we working on?" You began explaining the project to her, giving her an overview of "The Initiative" and what your roles would be. As you spoke, you noticed that Natalie was a good listener, nodding at the right moments and asking insightful questions. It was clear she knew what she was talking about, and you felt a little more at ease, knowing you weren't dealing with a complete novice.

"So," Natalie said as you walked back to the office with your coffees in hand, "what made you decide to work here?" You shrugged, trying to put your thoughts into words. "I guess I wanted to be part of something bigger, you know? Kinetica is doing some amazing things..or at least that's what they tell us. It's nice to think that the work we're doing here might actually make a difference."

Natalie nodded thoughtfully, as if considering her own reasons for being here. "I can understand that. It's nice to feel like what you're doing matters." You arrived at your desk, which was temporarily doubling as Natalie's workspace until hers was ready. You showed her how to log into the system, where to find the files she needed, and how to navigate the company's complex database. As you worked together, you noticed how quickly Natalie picked everything up. She seemed almost too proficient, as if she knew the system better than someone on their first day should. But you brushed the thought aside, some people were just quick learners, you thought.

The day passed smoothly, with the two of you working side by side and getting to know each other in small increments between tasks. Natalie was friendly but reserved, sharing just enough about herself to seem open without giving too much away. You found that you liked your new colleague, appreciating her calm demeanor and quick mind.

By the end of the day, you had made significant progress on your tasks, and you were starting to feel a sense of camaraderie with Natalie. As you prepared to leave, you turned to her with a smile. “Thanks for today, Natalie. You made my job a lot easier.” Natalie returned the smile, her green eyes sparkling in the fading daylight. “The feeling is mutual. I think we’re going to make a great team.” You nodded, feeling a warmth in your chest that you hadn’t expected. Maybe this new job wouldn’t be so overwhelming after all..

In the weeks that followed, the bond between you and Natalie deepened, evolving from a close friendship into something more intense, something charged. There was a tension between you that neither of you could ignore, a pull that grew stronger with every shared glance, every lingering touch. You had danced around your feelings for each other for a while, but the unspoken words were becoming harder to bear.

One evening, after another long day at the office, you found yourselves alone in the break room once again. The city lights cast a soft glow through the windows, the hum of the air conditioning the only sound breaking the silence. You sat closer than usual, your shoulders touching as you picked at the remnants of a shared dinner. Your heart raced, the proximity making it difficult to focus on anything other than the warmth of Natalie’s body next to yours.

“Natalie..” you began hesitantly, “I need to tell you something.” Natalie looked up from her food, her green eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that took your breath away. “What is it?”

You took a deep breath, gathering your courage. “I..I’ve been trying to understand these feelings I have for you.. I never thought I’d feel this way about someone I work with, but I can’t keep pretending it’s not there. I care about you, Natalie. More than just as a friend.” The words hung heavy in the air between you, filled with the weight of their honesty. You watched Natalie closely, searching her face for any sign of rejection or discomfort. But what you saw instead was a softening in her expression, a warmth that she hadn’t fully shown before.

“Y/n,” Natalie said softly, reaching out to take your hand, “I feel the same way. I’ve tried to keep my distance, to stay professional, but..I can’t help it. I love you.” Your heart leaped at her confession, your pulse quickening as the truth settled between you. “You.. you love me?”

Natalie nodded, her thumb gently stroking the back of your hand. “Yes, I do. And I’ve been so scared of what that means, but I can’t deny it any longer. I love you, Y/n.” The relief that washed over you was almost overwhelming, and without thinking, you leaned in and pressed your lips to Natalie’s in a kiss that was soft, tentative, and filled with all the emotions you had both been holding back.

Natalie responded immediately, her hand coming up to cup your cheek as she deepened the kiss, letting all her unspoken feelings flow into it. It was a moment of pure connection, where nothing else existed but the two of you and the love you shared. When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathless, your foreheads resting against each other as you tried to process what had just happened.

“I can’t believe this is real..” you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion. “It is,” Natalie murmured, her eyes shining with affection. “I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

For a moment, everything felt perfect. But as the warmth of the moment began to fade, a sharp pang of guilt pierced Natasha’s heart. She had just confessed her love to you, but the truth was far more complicated than she could admit. She wasn’t just Natalie Rushman, a data analyst who had fallen for her colleague..she was Natasha Romanoff, a spy sent to gather information from the woman she had just professed her love to.

As you sat there, your hand still in hers, Natasha knew she was at a crossroads. She had sworn to get the information she needed, to complete the mission no matter what. But now, with the thought of betraying you, her stomach twisted with guilt. “Y/n,” Natasha began, her voice heavy with what she was about to say, “I want us to be completely honest with each other. Totally honest. I need to know..is there anything about our project, about Kinetica, that seems strange to you? Anything that doesn’t add up?”

You frowned slightly, confused by the sudden change in topic. “What do you mean?” Natasha hesitated, hating herself for what she had to do, but knowing she had no choice. “I’ve just..noticed a few things that don’t quite fit. Some files that are restricted, some data that doesn’t quite match up. I thought maybe you’d noticed it too.” Your brow furrowed as you thought back over the past few months. “Well, there have been a few things that seemed odd, but I just figured it was part of working at such a high-level company. Why do you ask?”

Natasha swallowed hard, forcing herself to keep up the pretense. “I’m just worried, that’s all. I want to make sure we’re not missing anything important.” You nodded slowly, still puzzled but trusting Natalie’s concern. “I’ll keep an eye out, and if I notice anything, I’ll let you know. But..can we not talk about work right now? I just want to enjoy this moment with you.”

Natasha’s heart clenched at your words, the guilt threatening to overwhelm her. She had just used your moment of vulnerability to fish for information, and the realization made her feel sick. But she forced herself to push the guilt aside, to focus on the mission, even as it tore her apart inside. “Of course.” Natasha said softly, pulling you closer and kissing you again, trying to lose herself in the warmth and love she felt for you.

Weeks passed, and the bond between you and Natalie grew even deeper. Your relationship had blossomed into something beautiful, a refuge in the midst of the high-pressure jobs at Kinetica Industries. You spent as much time together as possible..dinners, quiet nights with movies, and long walks through the city. For you, it felt like you had finally found someone who understood you, someone you could trust completely. But for Natasha, the lines between her mission and her feelings for you were becoming increasingly blurred.

The guilt Natasha felt was a constant companion, gnawing at her whenever she saw your trusting smile or felt the warmth of your hand in hers. Natasha knew she was deceiving you, but every time she considered telling you the truth, the weight of her duty as an agent held her back. She had a job to do, and despite her feelings, she couldn’t abandon it.

One evening, after a particularly long day at the office, you invited Natasha to your place. You were behind on some work and needed to finish a report for the next day, but you didn’t want to miss out on spending time with Natalie. Natasha agreed, glad for any excuse to spend more time with you.

Your apartment was cozy and inviting, filled with the little details Natasha had come to love. Bookshelves overflowing with novels, a small collection of plants by the window, and a few framed photos of you with your family. You settled together on the couch, you with your laptop and Natasha with a book she had picked from your shelf. “I’m sorry I have to work tonight..” you said, giving Natasha an apologetic smile. “I just need to finish this report, and then I’m all yours.”

“Don’t worry.” Natasha replied with a smile of her own. “I’m just happy to be here with you. Take your time.” As you focused on your work, Natasha found herself watching you more than reading the book in her hands. The way your brow furrowed slightly when you were deep in thought, the absent-minded way you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. All of it made Natasha’s heart ache with affection and guilt. But as much as she wanted to lose herself in these feelings, Natasha couldn’t forget why she was there. This was an opportunity she couldn’t pass up. Your work might hold the key to the information S.H.I.E.L.D. needed, and Natasha had to take advantage of it, no matter how much it tore her up inside.

After about an hour, you stood up and stretched, yawning. “I need to make some tea. Want anything?”

Natasha nodded her head, giving you a reassuring smile. “This would be grate.” As you disappeared into the kitchen, Natasha’s heart pounded in her chest. This was her chance. She had to act quickly. She set the book aside and moved quietly to your laptop. The screen was still on, showing the report you were working on, but Natasha’s focus was on the folders and files scattered across the desktop. She opened one labeled “Project Data” her hands trembling slightly as she navigated through the documents.

Natasha scanned the files, her sharp eyes searching for anything that stood out or seemed significant. Most of the documents were routine. Xatasets, project reports, emails. But then she found something: a file titled “Confidential Research Notes.”

Her heart raced as she opened it and found a series of notes detailing experiments and datasets that she hadn’t seen before. It was more detailed than anything you had shown her at work, and as Natasha read through it, she realized it contained the kind of information S.H.I.E.L.D. had been looking for..details about Kinetica’s involvement in potentially illegal research, experiments that crossed ethical boundaries.

She heard the clink of a teacup in the kitchen, and panic surged through her. Quickly, Natasha copied the file onto a USB stick she had hidden in her bag. She had just closed the file when you returned, carrying twocups of tea. “Here you go.” you said with a smile, handing one of the cups to Natasha. “Thanks.” Natasha replied, taking the cup with slightly trembling hands and praying that you hadn’t noticed anything unusual.

You settled back down on the couch, taking a sip of your tea and letting out a contented sigh. “The report is almost done. After that, we can watch the movie you mentioned.” Natasha forced a smile, trying to push down the gnawing guilt and the tight knot in her stomach. “That sounds great.”

As you returned to your work, Natasha tried to relax, but the weight of what she had just done loomed over her. She had gathered the information she needed, but at the cost of betraying your trust. For the rest of the evening, Natasha was distant, her mind racing with thoughts of what would happen next.

You noticed the change in her demeanor and reached out to touch her arm, concern evident in your eyes. “Hey, is everything okay?” Natasha looked into your eyes, feeling her heart ache. “Yeah, I’m just..tired, I guess. It’s been a long day.”

You smiled gently and squeezed her arm. “I get it. We’ve both been working so hard lately. Let’s just relax tonight, okay? No more work, just us.” Natasha nodded, but her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Just us.” she repeated, her voice hollow. As you both snuggled up on the couch to watch the movie, Natasha tried to focus on the moment, to lose herself in the warmth of your presence. But no matter how hard she tried, the guilt and the knowledge of what she had done weighed heavily on her.

The following days were filled with an unbearable tension for Natasha. She knew she had to pass the information to S.H.I.E.L.D., but she dreaded what would happen when the truth came out. The time she spent with you, the smiles, the laughter, all felt tainted by the lie she was living. Finally, the day came when Natasha couldn’t put it off any longer. She knew she had to deliver the USB drive to S.H.I.E.L.D. The mission needed to be completed, but the thought of what that would mean for your relationship was almost too much to bear.

That evening, as you sat together at your kitchen table, your laptop open in front of you as you worked on another report, Natasha made her decision. She had to do this, even though it meant risking everything with you. But before she could leave, something happened that changed everything.

You called Natasha over, a confused look on your face. “Nat, can you look at something for me? This report doesn’t make sense.” Natasha’s heart skipped a beat, but she kept her expression neutral. “Sure, what’s going on?” she asked, walking over to the table.

You pointed at the screen, your brow furrowed in confusion. “I just got this email from my boss, and he attached this report. It’s about a security breach at Kinetica. They’re trying to figure out who accessed some confidential files..” Natasha’s blood ran cold, but she kept her voice steady. “A security breach? What files are they talking about?”

You scrolled through the report, your frown deepening. “It doesn’t say exactly, but it has something to do with our project. They’ve narrowed down the list of suspects, but I don’t recognize most of the names..except for one.”

You paused, your eyes widening as you focused on a name in the list: Natasha Romanoff.

“Natasha Romanoff?” you whispered, confusion and disbelief clear in your voice. You looked up at Natasha, searching her face for answers. “Wait, is that you? Is this some kind of mistake?”

Natasha felt the walls closing in on her. There was no more hiding, no more pretending. The truth was out, and there was no going back. “Y/n,” she began, her voice trembling, “I need you to listen to me.” You took a step back, fear and suspicion creeping into your eyes. “What do you mean?” you asked, your voice shaking.

Natasha’s heart broke at the sight of the fear in your eyes. “I’m still the same person, Y/n. I’m still me. But..I haven’t been honest with you.” Your hands shook as you hugged yourself, desperately trying to understand what was happening. “Who are you? Have you been lying to me this whole time?”

Tears welled up in Natasha’s eyes as she took a hesitant step toward you, but you flinched and stepped back. “Please, let me explain..” Natasha pleaded, her voice breaking. “My real name is Natasha Romanoff. I’m an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. I was sent here to gather information on Kinetica. But everything else..everything between us..it was real. My feelings for you, Y/n, are real.”

Your eyes darted around the room as if searching for something familiar, something to hold onto. But everything felt wrong. The woman you loved, the woman you trusted, was a stranger. “You used me?” you asked, your voice trembling with anger and fear. “You used me the whole time?”

“No!” Natasha said quickly, desperation creeping into her voice. “It started as a mission, yes, but I never meant to fall in love with you. I never wanted to hurt you. Please, Y/n, you have to believe me.” You shook your head, backing away until you hit the wall. “I don’t know what to believe anymore. I don’t even know who you are. Natasha Romanoff, S.H.I.E.L.D.… it sounds like something out of a Movie..”

Natasha’s heart shattered as she watched you crumble before her. She took a tentative step closer, her hands shaking. “I’m still the person you fell in love with, Y/n. I’m still the person who loves you more than anything. Please, let me explain everything.” You stared at Natasha, your heart breaking all over again. “You should have told me the truth from the beginning! But you didn’t. You lied to me, and now..now I don’t even know who you are..”

Natasha took another step forward, reaching out tentatively. “I’m so sorry, Y/n. I know I’ve hurt you, and I’ll never forgive myself for that. But I’m begging you, please give me a chance to make it right.” You looked down at Natasha’s outstretched hand, but the fear and betrayal in your heart were too overwhelming. You couldn’t bring yourself to take it. “I can’t..” you whispered, your voice breaking. “I can’t do this. I need you to leave.”

Natasha’s heart broke at your words, but she knew she had no right to ask for forgiveness, not now. “Y/n, I-”

“Just go!” you cried, your voice filled with agony. “Please, just go. I can’t look at you right now.” Natasha’s hands fell to her sides, her shoulders slumping as the weight of what she had done crashed down on her. She had lost you, and there was nothing she could do to fix it. But as much as it hurt, she knew she had to respect your wishes.

“I’m so sorry..” Natasha whispered, tears streaming down her face. “I love you, Y/n. I’ll always love you.” Without another word, Natasha turned and left your apartment, the door closing behind her with a finality that echoed through the empty space. You stood there, frozen, your heart shattered into a thousand pieces as the truth of Natasha’s betrayal washed over you. The apartment that once felt like a safe haven now felt cold and empty, the warmth of Natasha’s presence gone, replaced by a suffocating sense of loss. You slid down the wall, pulling your knees to your chest as your body shook with sobs. The woman you loved, the woman you trusted, was a lie, and you didn’t know if you could ever trust anyone again.

Hours passed, and eventually, your tears dried up, leaving you with a hollow feeling inside. But despite the pain, you couldn’t ignore the truth that Natasha had revealed. Kinetica was involved in something dangerous, something that needed to be stopped. And despite everything, you knew you couldn’t just walk away.

Slowly, you got to your feet, your resolve hardening. You would do what needed to be done, not for Natasha, but because it was the right thing to do. You walked over to your laptop and opened the files you had been working on. With a heavy heart, you gathered everything you knew about Kinetica’s activities, your hands shaking as you worked. The information you collected could help bring the company down, but it came at the cost of everything you believed in, everything you felt.

When you finished, you copied the files onto a USB stick and set it on the table. You stared at it for a long time, your thoughts filled with memories of the woman you thought you knew, the woman you loved. Finally, you took a deep breath and reached for your phone. You hesitated for a moment before dialing the number Natasha had given you, the one you were supposed to use only in an emergency.

Natasha answered on the first ring, her voice thick with emotion. “Y/n?”

“I have the information you need.” you said, your voice firm despite the storm of emotions raging inside you. “It’s on a USB stick. I’ll leave it at the café near my apartment tomorrow morning. You can pick it up there.”

“Y/n, please, can we talk-” Natasha began, but you cut her off.

“There’s nothing more to say.” you said quietly. "That's it, Natasha. After this, we're done. Don't contact me again."

A long silence followed on the other end of the line, and you could hear the pain in Natasha's voice when she finally spoke. "Thank you. I'm so sorry. For everything."

You swallowed the lump in your throat and tried to keep your emotions under control. "Goodbye, Natasha."

The mission was over. Kinetica Industries had been exposed, its leaders arrested, and the illegal activities shut down. Natasha had completed her assignment, but the victory felt hollow. As the dust settled, she could only think about you, how she had lost you and how desperate she was to make things right.

Days turned into weeks, and the absence of you in Natasha's life became unbearable. The empty silence in her apartment echoed the emptiness in her heart. She replayed the last conversation she had with you over and over in her mind, haunted by the pain in your voice, the cold finality of your words. Natasha knew she had no right to ask for forgiveness, but she couldn't live with the thought that you hated her, that the love you had shared was now just a memory tainted by lies. After much deliberation, Natasha decided she had to try one last time to explain herself and apologize in person. She knew it was a long shot..you had made it clear you didn't want to see her again but Natasha couldn't leave things the way they were. She had to try.

One evening, just as the sun was setting, Natasha made her way to your apartment. The familiar building loomed before her, but this time it felt different..colder, more intimidating. She hesitated at the entrance, her heart pounding in her chest. What if you refused to listen? What if you called the police before she even had a chance to say anything? But she knew she couldn't turn back now. She took a deep breath, entered the building, and walked to your door. She stood there for a long moment, gathering her thoughts before she finally raised her hand and knocked softly.

There was a long pause, and Natasha's heart sank as she imagined you ignoring her, refusing to even open the door. But then she heard footsteps approaching, and the door opened a crack, revealing your wary eyes. Your expression shifted from surprise to anger as soon as you saw Natasha. Your hand tightened around the doorknob, and you narrowed your eyes. "What are you doing here?" you asked, your voice cold and hard.

"Y/n, please, I just want to talk." Natasha said quickly, raising her hands in a gesture of surrender. "I know I don't deserve it, but I need to explain-" You cut her off, your voice sharp with anger. "Explain? There's nothing left to explain, Natasha. You lied to me, used me, and now you have the nerve to show up at my door?"

"Please.." Natasha pleaded, her voice breaking. "Give me five minutes." Your eyes flashed with a mix of anger, pain, and something else that Natasha couldn't quite place. You hesitated, your hand still gripping the doorknob as if you were weighing whether to slam the door in her face. "If you don't leave right now." you said, your voice trembling with barely suppressed emotion, "I'll call the police."

Natasha felt her heart sink, but she didn't move. She knew you were serious, but she also knew that if she walked away now, she would never have another chance to make things right. "Do it." Natasha said quietly, "Call them if you want. But please, hear me out first. I need to show you how sorry I am. I know I can't undo what I've done, but I can't live with myself if I don't at least try to apologize."

You stared at Natasha, your hand shaking as you gripped the doorknob. The pain in your eyes was unmistakable, and it broke Natasha's heart to see how much she had hurt you. For a long moment, neither of you spoke, the tension between you thick and suffocating. Finally, you let out a shaky breath and loosened your grip on the doorknob. "You have five minutes," you said, "But if you lie to me again, I swear I'll call the police."

Natasha nodded, relief washing over her even though she knew this was only a small victory. "Thank you." she whispered, stepping back as you opened the door just enough to let her in. You led Natasha into the living room, a space that had once felt warm and inviting but now felt cold and distant. You gestured for Natasha to sit on the sofa, but you remained standing, arms crossed over your chest as you waited for her to speak.

"Okay," Natasha began, her voice trembling, "I know I've hurt you in a way I can never fully apologize for. I deceived you and betrayed your trust. But I need you to know that every moment I spent with you, every touch, every word I said to you, was real. My feelings for you are real." Your eyes flashed with anger, and you shook your head. "How am I supposed to believe that? You're a trained spy. Lying is part of your job."

"I know.." Natasha said, her voice breaking slightly. "And that's why I'm not asking for your forgiveness. I know I don't deserve it. But I couldn't leave things the way they were. I couldn't let you believe that everything between us was just part of the mission. It wasn't. You became the most important person in my life, and I was so scared of losing you."

"Then why didn't you tell me the truth?" you asked, your voice trembling with pent-up emotion. "Why did you wait until I had to find out this way?" Natasha swallowed hard, tears welling up in her eyes. "Because I was a coward. I didn't want to lose you, and I thought that if I could just finish the mission, maybe..just maybe we could have a life together afterward. But I was wrong. I should have been honest with you from the start."

You shook your head, tears filling your eyes as well. "You should have. But you didn't. And now I don't know if I can ever trust you again." A tear rolled down Natasha's cheek, but she made no move to wipe it away. "I understand." she said softly. "I know I've broken your trust, and I have to live with that. I just wanted you to know that I love you, Y/n. I will always love you. And if you never want to see me again, I'll respect that. But please don't think that I didn't care about you, because I do."

You looked away, blinking back tears. "You should go, Natasha. There's nothing more to say." Natasha nodded, her heart breaking all over again. "I'm sorry." she whispered, her voice barely audible. "For everything."

Without another word, Natasha turned and walked to the door, her steps heavy with the weight of the finality of the situation. She paused in the doorway, casting one last look at you, hoping to find something..anything that might suggest there was still a chance for you both. But your expression remained cold and distant, your eyes avoiding hers. With a heavy heart, Natasha opened the door and stepped out into the hallway. The door clicked shut behind her with a soft thud that echoed in the silence that followed. Natasha stood there for a moment, letting the reality of what had just happened sink in. She had tried, but it was over. You were right. There was nothing more to say.

Unknown to you, the case of Kinetica’s downfall was far from over. The company’s leaders were desperately trying to cover their tracks, attempting to salvage what they could. But amid the chaos, they discovered something alarming: You, one of their employees, had been the one to pass on the damning information that had led to their downfall. And now they wanted revenge.

You were alone in your apartment one evening, your thoughts drifting as you tried to focus on the book you were reading. The quiet was soothing, a respite from the whirlwind of emotions you had been grappling with. But that peace was abruptly shattered by a sudden, insistent knocking at your door. Frowning, you set the book aside and walked to the door, peering through the peephole. Your heart skipped a beat when you saw two men standing outside, men you didn’t recognize, but something about their presence immediately set off alarm bells in your head.

“Who is it?” you called out, trying to keep your voice steady despite the unease rising within you. “Delivery.” one of the men said, but there was no package in sight, and his tone was too cold, too rehearsed.

Your instincts kicked in, and you stepped away from the door, your heart racing. These weren’t delivery men..they were here for something else, something far more sinister. Panic gripped you as you realized that Kinetica must have found out what you had done. Just as you were about to reach for your phone, the door burst open with a loud crash, the two men forcing their way in. You screamed and stumbled back, your thoughts racing with fear and desperation. But before they could reach you, another figure appeared in the doorway, moving with deadly precision. Natasha.

She had been keeping an eye on your apartment since your last conversation, knowing that Kinetica might try something. When she saw the men approaching your building, she knew immediately what their target was and she wasn’t going to let them harm you. “Get away from her.” Natasha snarled, her voice cold and dangerous.

The men turned to face Natasha, but they barely had time to react before she was on them. In a blur of motion, she disarmed the first man, sending his weapon skittering across the floor. The second man lunged at her, but she easily dodged and delivered a powerful kick to his stomach, sending him crashing into the wall. You watched in stunned silence as Natasha took down the men with brutal efficiency, her movements fluid and controlled. The fight was over in seconds, the two men lying unconscious on the floor as Natasha stood over them, breathing heavily.

For a moment, the apartment was eerily silent, the only sound the ragged breaths of the two women. Your heart pounded in your chest, your mind struggling to process what had just happened. Natasha turned to you, her expression a mixture of concern and relief. “Are you okay?” she asked, her voice softer now, laced with the fear she had tried to suppress.

You nodded slowly, your eyes wide as you stared at Natasha. “I..I think so..” you stammered, still trying to grasp everything. “What..what are you doing here?”

“I couldn’t leave you unprotected.” Natasha said, stepping closer, her eyes full of guilt and love. “I knew Kinetica might come after you. I couldn’t let that happen.” Your gaze flickered to the unconscious men on the floor, then back to Natasha. “You..you saved me.”

Natasha nodded, her heart aching at the vulnerability in your voice. “I will always protect you. No matter what’s happened between us, I’ll always be here for you.” Tears welled up in your eyes as you looked at Natasha, the woman who had lied to you, who had betrayed you, but who had also just saved your life. The fear and anger you had been holding onto began to waver, replaced by a deep, conflicting emotion you couldn’t fully understand. “Why?” you whispered, your voice trembling. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I love you.” Natasha said, her voice heavy with emotion. “I know I’ve hurt you, and I know you may never forgive me, but I had to make sure you were safe. You mean everything to me, Y/n.”

Your heart broke at the sincerity in Natasha’s voice. Despite everything, despite the lies and betrayal, Natasha’s love for you was real. And in that moment, you realized that your own feelings were just as complicated. You were angry, you were hurt, but you still loved her..more than you wanted to admit.

The two of you stood in silence, the weight of your emotions heavy in the air. Your mind raced with conflicting thoughts, torn between the betrayal you felt and the undeniable connection that still existed between you. Finally, you took a shaky breath. “I don’t know if I can forgive you, Natasha..” you said quietly. “But I can’t ignore what you just did for me. You saved my life. And..and I still care about you. I don’t know what that means, but I need time to figure it out.”

Natasha nodded, tears glistening in her eyes as she looked at you. “Take all the time you need.” she whispered. “I’ll be here, no matter what you decide.” You nodded hesitantly, the storm of emotions inside you beginning to calm. “Thank you.” you said softly, your voice barely audible.

Natasha stepped back, giving you the space you needed. “I’ll take care of this.” she said, gesturing to the unconscious men on the floor. “And then I’ll go, if that’s what you want.” You looked at Natasha, your heart heavy with everything that had happened between you. “I don’t know what I want..” you admitted, your voice trembling. “But I think..I think I need to be alone right now.”

Natasha nodded, her eyes reflecting the understanding she felt, even though the pain was clear. “I understand.” she said quietly. “Just know that if you ever need anything, anything at all, I’m here.”

You didn’t respond, but the look in your eyes said enough. You stood there, watching as Natasha efficiently secured the two men, ensuring they wouldn’t pose any further threat. She worked in silence, the weight of the situation pressing down on both of you. When Natasha was finished, she stood by the door, hesitating for a moment as if searching for the right words, but then deciding against saying anything more. With one last, sorrowful glance in your direction, she turned and left your apartment, the door closing softly behind her.

You stood frozen in place, your mind reeling from everything that had just happened. The apartment, which had been filled with tension and violence just moments ago, now felt eerily quiet. Slowly, you sank onto the couch, your body trembling as the reality of the situation settled over you.

You were filled with so many conflicting emotions that it was hard to sort through them all. Anger, fear, relief, affection..they all swirled within you, and you didn’t know how to make sense of them. You had asked Natasha to leave because you weren’t sure of anything anymore. And though it felt like the right thing to do, now that she was gone, you felt a cold emptiness spreading through your chest. A part of you wanted to call her back, wanted her to stay so you could work through these chaotic feelings together. But another part of you knew that you needed time to be alone, to sort through everything that had happened between the two of you.

The night passed in a blur of thoughts and emotions, with sleep coming only in brief, restless intervals. When morning finally came, you felt just as exhausted as you had the night before. But with the new day came a certain clarity. You knew you couldn’t stay in this limbo forever. Natasha had told you that she would always be there for you, and you believed her. But the question was whether you could let her back into your life, whether you could ever trust her again.

As the day dragged on, you tried to focus on mundane tasks, but thoughts of Natasha kept intruding. Finally, after hours of agonizing, you decided you needed more information to figure out a path forward. If there was any chance of peace or understanding between you, you needed to know the whole truth. The next day, you called Natasha. She answered immediately, and you could hear the mix of hope and concern in her voice. “Y/n?”

“I want to know everything.” you said, your voice firm even as your heart raced. “I can’t move on without understanding everything. No more secrets, no more lies. If there’s any chance for us to find peace, you need to show me everything.”

There was a brief silence on the other end of the line before Natasha spoke, her voice filled with relief and caution. “I understand. I’ll take you to S.H.I.E.L.D. You’ll have access to everything, my reports, the mission files. Whatever you need to know.”

You nodded, even though she couldn’t see it. “Okay. When can we go?”

“Right now.” Natasha said without hesitation. “I’ll come pick you up.”

True to her word, Natasha arrived at your apartment shortly after. The drive to the S.H.I.E.L.D. building was silent, the tension between you both palpable. Natasha stole worried glances at you from time to time, but you kept your gaze fixed out the window, lost in your thoughts. When you arrived at the unassuming building that housed S.H.I.E.L.D.’s operations, Natasha guided you through a series of security checks, her presence and clearance making the process smooth. You followed her, your heart pounding with a mix of fear and curiosity. This was a world you never imagined you would be a part of.

Finally, you arrived in a large conference room. Natasha gestured for you to take a seat at the table while she went to a console on the wall and entered a series of commands. The large screen in the room flickered to life, displaying a series of files and documents. “This is everything.” Natasha said quietly, turning to face you. “My mission files, the reports I sent, the details of Kinetica’s operations. You have full access.”

You stared at the screen, your heart racing. “Why are you doing this? Why are you showing me all of this?”

“Because I owe you the truth.” Natasha replied, her voice steady but laced with emotion. “And because I want you to know that I’m not hiding anything from you anymore. I know I broke your trust, but I want to do whatever it takes to rebuild it. Even if that means showing you everything.”

The next few hours were spent going through everything, the initial mission briefing, how Natasha was assigned to get close to you to gather information on Kinetica, and how she struggled with her growing feelings for you. She explained how she tried to keep you out of harm's way even as she fulfilled her mission, and how every moment you shared, despite the circumstances, had been genuine.

You listened intently, absorbing every word, every detail. There were moments when your anger flared up again, moments when you wanted to shout at Natasha for the betrayal, for the pain she had caused. But there were also moments of understanding, moments when you saw the inner conflict Natasha had gone through, torn between her duty and her growing love for you.

When Natasha finished, she looked at you, her heart pounding in her chest. “I know this doesn’t undo the lies, but I wanted you to see that I truly cared about you. I never wanted to hurt you, Y/n.” You remained silent for a long time, processing everything you had learned. You felt raw, exposed, but also strangely relieved. This was what you had needed. the full truth, with nothing held back.

Finally, you looked at Natasha, your expression unreadable. “You were honest with me today, Natasha, and I can feel that. For the first time, I feel like I’m really seeing you..with all your strengths and flaws, with all your mistakes.” Natasha nodded, her voice soft as she responded, “That’s all I wanted. To be honest with you, even if it costs me everything.”

You sighed, rubbing your temples as you tried to organize your thoughts. “I don’t know where we go from here, Natasha. I don’t know if I can ever fully trust you again. But..I see that you’re trying. And that means something.” Natasha felt a small spark of hope ignite in her chest, but she didn’t dare let it grow too large. “Thank you, Y/n. That’s more than I deserve.”

You looked at Natasha, your eyes filled with a mix of sadness and something that resembled hope. "Maybe it’s a start. I don’t know what the future holds for us, but at least now I know the truth. And that’s more than I had before.”

Natasha nodded, her heart heavy, but she was grateful. “Whatever happens, I’m here. If you need space, I’ll give you that. If you want to talk, I’ll listen. I won’t go away.” You managed a small, tired smile. “I guess we’ll just have to see where this takes us.”

You both left the S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters together, the tension between you eased but the future still uncertain. As you stepped out into the bright afternoon sun, Natasha glanced at you, and for the first time in weeks, she felt a cautious spark of hope. You caught her glance and sighed. “It’s going to take time, Natasha. I don’t know if things can ever be the way they were, but.. we can find something new. Something honest.”

Natasha nodded, her heart swelling with emotion. “That’s what I’d like.” As you walked side by side, the past still loomed over you, but for the first time, there was a path forward..a path that might lead to healing, to forgiveness, and maybe even to a future where you could rebuild what had been broken. The road ahead would be difficult, full of challenges and doubts, but you had taken the first step together. And for now, that was enough.

[chaoticace2005]

Random short of Alastor’s shadow being done with his shit and becoming friends with our favorite losers. ( @xxqueenofdragonsxx @downthegenderriver )

Shadowstor was tired.

So tired.

Contrary to popular belief shadows COULD get tired. And Shadowstor was aware of that early on.

Okay… to be fair most shadows probably can’t get tired. Because most shadows can’t feel.

But Shadowstor was an exception. Because the very reason for it’s exhaustion is the same reason it can think to begin with.

Alastor.

Not the Radio Demon. Because Alastor himself isn’t the Radio Demon, no. Shadowstor helped with that. Helped more than it gets credit for (which is virtually none because of how Alastor likes to posture himself.)

And that’s fine, really. Shadowstor is a shadow for fucks sake. It isn’t made for being directly in the spotlight. Alastor is and Shadowstor fades into the background, being obscured with the focus on it’s counterpart.

The thing that does get Shadowstor exhausted though is the fact that Alastor has the tendency of being an impulsive idiot.

Now, don’t get Shadowstor wrong, Alastor is definitely a large part of why the Radio Demon has a reputation as an unhinged, powerful, scary individual. Shadowstor helped with the powers though, but really it thinks its greatest contribution was the fact that this means the Radio Demon now has some semblance of impulse control.

Alastor may not listen to anyone. But it’s usually kind of hard not to hear out a literal manifestation and source of your powers.

Usually. Because Alastor will still start a fight with pretty much anyone. He’ll go on the air and mock Vox for his crush. He’ll say ducks are an overrated animal right in front of Lucifer. He’ll 1v1 the literally first man. He’ll call Susan’s blouse tacky.

And all Shadowstor can usually do is sit back and watch. Because it’s bound to help Alastor. Bound to be part of the Radio Demon. But that doesn’t stop it from being exhausted every single time Al does start something.

One thing though about being tied to Alastor is you get to know others who are tied to Alastor. Others who are equally exhausted by Alastor.

Husk.

The Bar Cat was one being Shadowstor could relate to on a deep level. Because Shadowstor has to put up with the ineptness of Alastor. But Husk has to put up with the ineptness of Alastor and everyone else.

It’s because of this when Alastor is sleeping (which, despite Angel Dust’s verbal doubts on the matter does happen, Alastor isn’t an all powerful being, despite how much he pretends to be,) Shadowstor sometimes will go out, going downstairs to the bar that is usually only occupied by the Cat-Demon waiting from his not-boyfriend to come home.

(Sexual and romantic feelings are so weird. Relationships are so weird and Shadowstor is glad it doesn’t have to deal with that.)

After a particularly tiring day of Alastor trying to break into the Vees tower and destroy Vox’s body pillow of him, Shadowstor was exhausted. It had pretty much given up on trying where Vox was involved, because Alastor seemed to get particular joy out of taunting the TV, but it still felt like it had to try. At this point it was a matter of principle. It had fought with Alastor on this for years and it was not stopping to just let him win.

“Oh, my dear, you worry too much.” He said to Shadowstor before merging with it into the shadows and traveling across the city.

Fifteen minutes later Shadowstor had to rush them out if there because Vox had installed a shark filled moat around his office. Which Shadowstor had seen but Alastor walked right into. Because apparently “radio demon” powers extend to wresting sharks in the water (it does NOT.)

So now Alastor was asleep after pretending he had totally-not-been chewed up by some demon-sharks. And Shadowstor went downstairs to the bar.

“You too, huh?” Husk said to it, seeming to notice right when the shadow crossed with threshold. Working with the Radio Demon for years would get a person skilled at picking up changes in shadows quickly.

Shadowstor just nodded and slumped against the wall, putting its hands to its head.

The winged cat nodded in agreement, “I’ll drink to that.” He said as he took a half-full whiskey bottle and chugged it.

Shadowstor wished it could drink.

“What was it this time? Lucifer’s ducks again?”

The shadow shook its head and flat, vertically-aligned hand on top of it, making the sign for “shark.”

“Oh. Vox. Do I even want to know?”

Shadowstor shook its head again because no, Husk really didn’t. It doesn’t even want to start to think about the Alastor-Body-Pillow. Or the Alastor shrine. Or the Alastor fanfiction it found (which Vox should be lucky that Alastor didn’t find that because otherwise there’d be another broken TV screen in this hotel.)

Right then a beaten up pink spider burst through the hotel doors, going right to a stool in the bar and crashing onto it.

“Tough night?” Husk asked, already handing his not-boyfriend a drink that had been prepared even before Shadowstor arrived.

“You know it. Fuckin’ Val.”

Husk made a sound to show he was listening.

“Apparently Vox was pissed today. So that meant Val was pissed today.”

Oh… oops?

Okay, to be fair, if Vox is pissed at Alastor that isn’t really Shadowstor’s fault. It tried to stop him.

The shadow made a face palm again at its counterpart’s need to harass every single person he came into contact with.

“Wha- Smiles?”

Alastor’s here?! Wait… no he isn’t. Cause Shadowstor is here. And Shadowstor would know if Al woke up.

Oh… the spider demon is staring right at it.

Shadowstor shook its head, a bit annoyed at the idea of being confused with that impulsive buffoon.

“Huh? Husk, what—“

“That’s Alastor’s shadow.”

Shadowstor waved.

“Alastor’s what?”

“Shadow? You know? The thing that goes around with him. Helps with his powers. I’m sure he’s manifested it in front of you before.”

“Oh… yeah. So it’s just… here? Where’s Al?”

Shadowstor made the sign for sleeping.

“Sleeping.” Husk translated.

“What? How?!”

“His shadow can leave when Alastor isn’t conscious or controlling it.”

“No. I mean how did you get that from that?!” Angel says as he motions back over to Shadowstor which… rude.

“I know sign language.”

“You know WHAT?!”

“Sign language.”

“Jesus Whiskers, how many languages do you know?”

“Well there’s Russian, Spanish—“

“Wait. No. Back to the point. Alastor’s shadow just comes down here sometimes and talk to you?”

“…yeah?”

“About what?”

Shadowstor just makes one sign with as much as exhaustion as it can.

“Alastor.”

“Al— wait,” Angel laughs, “even Smiles’ shadow has a problem with him?!”

Shadowstor starts signing to explain the exact issue it faces with Alastor, Husk working to translate while Angel just nods in response.

“Holy shit. I can’t believe a fucking shadow has some oftha same shitty boss troubles as me.”

Shadowstor gives a shake and growl at that. Because Alastor isn’t it’s boss. It can see Husk about to translate before Angel cuts in.

“Oh… not your boss.”

Shadowstor nods.

“…so you’re like… you’re own person?”

Shadowstor shrugs because who knows. It wasn’t sentient before Alastor but it sure as hell is now.

“… you got a name?”

And Shadowstor pauses because no. It’s just Alastor’s shadow. For as long as it’s been around it’s never had a name. Alastor never deemed that necessary.

“Husk? Does it?” Angel asks when Shadowstor won’t answer which- hey it’s still right here. It can talk for itself. Or respond anyways.

“I don’t… think so?”

Angel turns back to Shadowstor.

“Do ya want one? Like… if you’re separate from Alastor shouldn’t you have a name that isn’t just ‘his shadow.’”

The shadow thinks for a second before slowly nodding, intrigued by this novel idea.

“What about… Tom?”

Tom?

“Tom?” Husk asks.

“Fuck. Fine, what about… Dusk? Cause y’a know shadows and darkness and stuff…”

Dusk… Dusk… it likes that.

Dusk nods and it can see the spider demon smile.

“Sweet. Nice ta meetya Duskie- oh wait. Duskie… Husky! Aw ya rhyme!”

Dusk can see Husk roll his eyes, and that just makes it even more comfortable in its decision.

—Later—

“So, you’re only able to really move around at night? When Al is asleep?”

Dusk nods.

“…Husk, what do you think Lucifer and Vox would say about moving our ‘Fuck Alastor’ meetings to nighttime?”

Oh. Oh Dusk likes this one.

[bigtreefest]

Chapter 1: The President’s Son

From: Guardian Angel Series

Pairing: (future) Mafia! Stucky x Bodyguard! Reader

Summary: A longtime client snubs you, causing you to leave the life you know

Word Count: 3,629

Content/Warnings: swears, patriarchy, weaponized incompetence, borderline mansplaining, yelling, fighting, mentions of nose picking, misogyny, secrets, explosions, mentions of weapons, strong female characters, no Steve or Bucky yet

A/N: Okay, here’s the start of something long-anticipated by me. I hope you enjoy! Your feedback is greatly appreciated, can’t wait to hear what you guys think!

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist | Next >

You stood in the back of the banquet hall, eyes surveying the room like they did any other, as you tried to appear as nonchalant waitstaff for the function. That was your specialty: blending in to the background, and you were damn good at it. Tonight’s job was to do so as your were protecting the most important individuals entrusted to you: the First Lady and her son.

You moved with ease throughout the evening, keeping mobile with your head on a swivel, eyes never leaving your two clients for more than a couple seconds. After a cocktail hour, everyone had sat down for dinner and a round of awards and speeches, leaving you here for a relatively easy period.

You didn’t work alone, no. You were here as part of a group. Part of a company, actually, and it belonged to your father. He ran a security conglomerate which focused heavily on government contracting, ranging from secret service duties, to vehicle brigades, to protection and procurement of goods, virtual and physical, and you knew every single part of it. You loved your job, and you loved working with your dad. For as long as you could remember, you would spend all of your free time in his office with him as he went through schedules, and escape plans, and all sorts of strategies to keep his patrons and their assets safe. You were always flitting around, learning new things, earning you the nickname ‘tweety bird’ from him, which correlated to your codename Redwing.

You’d picked it all up so easily, you were a natural, which earned you your first presidential-adjacent gig much younger than anyone else around. Sure, it started as you going to school and posing as another student to protect the president’s son, even thought you were a few years out already, which wasn’t necessarily glamorous, since you were meant to fly under the radar, but it was an independent job. One that was coming to a close, though, as this was your eighth year of doing the same. Soon, the president would be out of office, and the security detail on his family would be greatly reduced, likely no longer requiring your services.

Even as you let your mind wander, blocking out the droning speeches and rich people backstories, you remained on high alert. If anything bad was going to happen, you had a feeling it would be at an event like this one. An event where everyone had their guard down because it was for a universally agreeable good cause. But for some reason, heading into it tonight, something was churning in your gut.

After not being able to ignore the way your stomach twisted and turned, you had gone to speak to your father about tonight, requesting backup in addition to your other two friends, Natasha and Daisy, who often accompanied you to guard shifts associated with larger crowds.

Usually he was on the same page as you, but lately, your requests had been met with more protest, likely due to your little brother’s input buzzing in your father’s ear.

Your brother, Dylan, had just freshly turned eighteen, and with it came more responsibility in the agency. For being so much younger than you, your father was giving him mountains of control, including this event of your two most important clients. With your request of a team came the the caveat that your brother would be leading it.

Dylan was, to put it nicely, an oaf? Incapable of performing a task without crashing and burning, which made your blood boil. Probably from the fires he created and you subsequently had to put out. You had no room to complain, though, as your father dismissed you from his office.

So Dylan ‘led’ your team this evening, packed with his twerp friends who were more capable, but just as reckless as him. They’d listen to some of your orders, but not without the confirmation of your brother, who knew better enough sometimes to listen to your input.

You let him think he was in the lead tonight, executing a plan you had essentially spoon fed to him in your meetings leading up to the event. There were several backup plans and exit strategies that had their own code names, made by you, of course. All Dylan, or ‘The Chief,’ as he liked to go as over coms, had to do was keep an eye out on the cameras for any suspicious activity around the venue, and be prepared to drive away if he called for extraction due to suspicious activity. That was it. You and your two trusty companions would take control of everything inside the banquet, while two of Dylan’s friends surveilled the outside. Should be easy, right?

Dylan had been instructed to give an update through your earpiece every three minutes, on any action seen in the camera footage. Every time he did, though, it was accompanied by music blasting in the car, and the increments kept getting further and further apart. Almost like he was forgetting about his responsibilities and the importance of this event on your shoulders, should something go wrong. You rolled your eyes and kept a watch of the room. If you had such little backup, it was on you now to do this job, without the team you had specifically requested.

Dylan’s friends seemed to go quiet, too, which you were hoping wasn’t due to capture or something worse, but when you heard conversation about a fantasy football draft in your ear, you knew they were at least alive, although not helpful at all.

You were sick of running blind, though, so you casually made it look like your were scratching your ear and turned away from the crowd.

“Chief, status report.” Nothing. You waited thirty seconds. Silence.

You turned back to the room, the gnawing feeling in your stomach growing as you looked out at the crowd. Natasha, code name Widow, was making her way around with a tray of champagne flutes. Daisy, codename Blossom, sat in a vent somewhere, watching from above and monitoring everyone’s trackers. The three of you sighed and continued on, hoping this night wouldn’t be every eventful, but that’s never how life goes, is it?

“Blossom, report on coms. Is everything working?”

You waited a second for the response.

“All is good, Redwing. It’s a human, not technology error.”

You rolled your eyes for the thousandth time that night, but were pulled out of your annoyance by a searing sound. In the next moment, just as you were about to ask for any other possible news from Daisy, a crackling took over your ear.

You fought the urge to wince and draw attention to yourself. It was probably Dylan finally getting back to you, but the voice that came through was one you’d never heard before. It was low and urgent.

“Get them out of there.”

You couldn’t help the way your eyes went wide and you whisper yelled, turning into the fake plant you found yourself nearby.

“Who is this? This is a secure line! What’s going on?”

You were surprised by the warning firmness of the speaker, it was menacing, who did this person think they were? Was that a threat?

“This is Bootleg. Your clients are in danger. What’s about to happen isn’t meant for them. Find a way to get them to leave.”

You sighed and nodded, although the disembodied voice named ‘Bootleg’ wasn’t reassuring. You knew to never turn down a tip, though. You weren’t going to risk it with clients like this. So you let out a sigh and made eye contact with Nat across the room.

“Execute plan beta sixteen alpha.”

She gave you a curt nod and increased her pace in a way only someone with your type of training could pick up. She was circling to make her movements seem undetectable, but she was ultimately going towards the First Lady and her son. Nat tripped, spilling the tray of champagne on their laps, causing them to gasp and look down. You could tell they were ready to yell, but they looked to your face and you nodded, signaling them to get up, brushing away anyone with apologies or offers for help, saying they were just going to clean up. The rest of the rich party goers didn’t pay it a second thought besides whispers of clumsy waitstaff. It’s not like they would bother to remember the face of one of them, though, and were too busy watching a fumbling Nat to see your approach to take your clients out of the venue. You did your best to move slowly to the same exit as them, and as soon as your bodies were behind the closed ballroom door, you were rushing them towards the back service door to get in Dylan’s getaway vehicle.

You ducked their heads under your arms as you rushed them out, and shoved them into the back of the town car, only giving a quick, breathless word to your clients and your brother.

“Take them home, Dyl. Fast. Don’t let yourself get tracked. I’ll take the decoy car. Go, now!”

He nodded like a bobble head, shifting the car in gear and peeling out of the lot as you jogged over to the other vehicle where Daisy and Nat were already waiting in the front seat for you. They moved fast.

You hopped in, Daisy expertly backing out until she hit the street. Just as she put it in drive, you flinched at a sudden noise and looked out the back window to where an explosion happened in front of the venue and soldiers dressed in all black rushed in through the cloud of smoke. This would definitely hit the news tomorrow, but you were sure your father would commend you for the safe delivery of two of his most important packages.

Daisy and Nat had been by your side for as long a you could remember. When you were in elementary school, you remembered a brooding girl sitting at the end of the lunch table, arms crossed and eyebrows furrowed, with the angriest pout you’d ever seen. You walked over and plopped down with your tray.

“Hi.”

She looked up from her meal and to your smile and simply gave a blink of acknowledgment, face unchanging.

“Are you okay? Something wrong with your lunch?”

She shook her head and took a deep breath, sitting up to eat a tater tot.

“No. Something’s wrong with my shirt.”

You tilted your head to the side. “What about it? I think it’s beautiful. I love Daisies.”

She shrugged and continued to pick through her food. “Yeah, I guess they’re alright. But my mom forced me to wear this. I had a plain black shirt picked out and she gave me this. I don’t wanna wear daisies.”

You giggled and looked down at the plain black shirt on your body. “Trade?”

For the first time, you watched the corner of her lip reach a smile, your new friend who would soon earn the shirt flower as a nickname. That little grin was huge compared to the tight line her lip previously held. That was the start of a bunch of mini smirks and teamwork.

Nat had been around since you were in diapers. Her parents had worked for your father’s organization their entire lives, so when they passed as she was in her teens, your family took her in.

She was always incredibly smart, her wit challenging you and Daisy, but the two of you would hit her right back. The timeline of her moving in with you, too, was a few years before the presidential gig started, but she rose through the ranks with you, through every single job, the two of you bringing Daisy on board who caught on quickly. Your grouping was nearly unrivaled. Nearly.

Daisy and Nat physically stood by your sides as the three of you looked on to your father talking on a podium. Your best suits were pressed and tailored perfectly for the special occasion. It was his retirement party in your family’s backyard garden where he was noting the successes of the company under him, including the recent incident from which the two important clients had been saved.

The three of you lightly nudged each other’s arms in commendation for the quick act despite your lack of backup, a small smile on your face, a smirk on Nat’s, with Daisy looking as composed and stoic as ever. You father continued in his speech, noting the valiant effort that needs to be maintained in a generational business like this, one that should be rewarded and carried on for the generations to come. You stood straight, chin up with pride at your hard work and dedication finally paying off.

“I was a young pup, only in my early twenties when I took this business over from my father. He deemed me most fit for the job, so it is my pleasure to do the same, keeping this line of work led by my family. I’d like to name my replacement, someone who valiantly saved the president’s son and wife. Someone who the son has raved about for returning them home to the White House safely. My wonderful child…”

You were ready for the culmination of years being under his wing. He gestured his arm out to the side and you braced yourself for the good news, except the arm wasn’t outstretched towards you. It was directed towards the other side of the stage and everyone’s eyes followed. “Dylan.”

Dylan was jerkily shoved forward by one of his friends, having been zoned out for the entirety of your father’s speech, but at the sound of cheering and clapping, a smile grew on his face. He waved at the crowd, walking over to the podium to shake your father’s hand and give a word of his own.

Meanwhile, your face fell. It was dragged downward in defeat. You quickly pulled yourself together, though, at a squeeze to your arm. You couldn’t even tell which side it came from. Your body was going numb. Shifting to plant your feet and fighting the burn in your eyes, you looked straight forward, no longer at the podium, although you had no way to shut off your ears.

“Wow, wow. Thank you. This is such an honor. At eighteen years old, I will be the youngest to ever run this organization.”

It seemed like he’s was at least doing well and presenting a strong face. That was rare.

“Haha, I beat ya, gramps! Okay, let’s party!”

You outwardly cringed, but your legs were paralyzed as his friends let out a whooping cheer and the party erupted in confetti. It was getting caught in your hair as Nat and Daisy dragged you away and inside, up the stairs to your childhood bedroom, jostling you like a rag doll. You felt almost catatonic.

As soon as you flopped down on your bed, though, you turned over and screamed into your pillow before sitting up, realizing this act of melodrama was going to wrinkle your suit.

You sat up and sniffled, rubbing your eyes and taking a deep breath to give yourself just a moment to think. You looked between your best friends and started pointing.

“Daise, can you pack up anything you think I might need from here? Whatever I can’t live without.”

You then looked to the redhead who was peeking out the window, watching your father enter the outdoor entrance of his home office.

“Nat, can you gather some home essentials? Food, first aid, some of the hidden and spare weapons. Only the ones they won’t sense are missing, okay?”

She nodded. “Yeah. We better do it quick. Your pops just came in.”

You bit your lip and your nostrils flared in anger and thought, rubbing your hands over your face. “Okay. That’s fine, I need to talk to him anyway. That should give you enough time to grab everything. Then we’re heading back to the apartment to get some essentials.”

The three of you were roommates in the city, renting out a place Daisy’s distant uncle owned, which allowed you some freedoms, as well as independence from the possible tracing of your location on government records. Even under a security conglomerate, you could sense things were going downhill, so it was a good choice to move out and detach yourself. At this point, you were barely traceable. Only one thing tethered you here on a paper trail: the company.

You stormed out of your room and down the stairs to the hall that held your father’s office. You were furious. You had no patience left for formality or kindness, this was all rage. You kicked in the strong oak door, splintering the wooden frame, and were met with the view of your father and brother clinking whiskey glasses, an old celebratory reserve poured in them.

You stomped over to the filing cabinets where your file, thick as a novel, was stored. Next to it, you pulled out two more, no less impressive. Your dad, even though he possessed several methods for tech security, still kept employee information on paper in case he accidentally hired a mole. Everything was under lock and key and 24 hour surveillance.

You dug around in the left side drawer of his desk until you found the cigar lighter, hitting the edge of the folders until they caught and throwing them into his metal trash can. It was only then that he and your brother let words come out of their dropped jaws and awestruck faces.

“Tweety Bird, what’s the issue, kiddo? Didn’t wanna celebrate with your old man and little brother?”

You scoffed as you put your hands on your hips.

“Celebrate!? Celebrate what!? Being snubbed? Overlooked for something I’ve dedicated my life towards!?”

Your father’s bushy brows furrowed in confusion, your brother’s face mirroring it in a mini version. “What do you mean? You haven’t been snubbed. Dylan and I agree you’re meant to run teams and operations. You wouldn’t want to be in charge. Plus, it’s tradition that the first son takes over.”

You threw your hands up in exasperation. Smoke was filling the room, but partially getting swept out the cracked windows that pointed toward the back yard. “You didn’t think to ask me, the one keeping your business afloat, to run it!? No one knows it better than me, but it’s so ridiculous. Just because I’m an older sister like Aunt Kay, doesn’t mean I don’t wanna be in charge! She wanted to leave this life, but I don’t!”

You heard a chuckle rise behind you. “What, Dylan?”

He shrugged with a smug smile on his face. “Aunt Kay didn’t want to leave this life. She wanted the company, too. But Gramps gave it to dad. That’s why she fucked off to who knows where and started that bank vault company.”

You gasped in shock and looked to your father but he seemed unaffected. You turned to him now, disgusted with the sight of your little brother. “What!? Do you hear yourself right now!? Just because we aren’t men!? That’s insane!! I’m the one who saved the president’s family. Not Dylan, me! He was too busy sitting on his ass and picking his nose to be of any help. Maybe we would’ve seen the team coming to attack the venue sooner if he would’ve done his job!”

Your chest was heaving and your face was warm from the yelling. Your father still calmly continued. “Dylan returned the family safe and sound. You were nowhere to be seen. He deserves this step of responsibility, but I have no doubt you can guide him like an invisible hand.”

You shook your head, moving back towards the door between the leather couches of the sitting area, pacing on the Persian rug. “No, no. Absolutely not. I refuse to keep performing thankless service. You’ve made a mistake. I no longer want to work for you and I no longer want to be a part of this family. This whole thing is fucked. I’m out.”

Your father sighed, about to speak up. “Bird, we-“

He was cut off by the arm of your brother, though. “No, dad. If she wants to leave, I think she should. I don’t want anyone here questioning my leadership. The president’s son will back me on that. He’s upset the extraction ruined a designer suit and thinks that I’m the best fit, too. I can run this without her.”

Your dad gave a hmph of affirmation, which sent you over the edge. After all those years of service, both your father and the president’s son still didn’t credit your work. You couldn’t stand this anymore, especially not when Dylan was fabricating lies in his own head about the greatness you performed.

“You know what, Dyl? Yeah, let’s have it your way. You guys will never need to see me again. Good luck not running this thing into the ground.”

You turned on your heel and marched out the door. When you turned the corner, you saw both Nat and Daisy waiting for you, double fisting duffel bags. You motioned for both of them to head to Nat’s car, walking quickly, but they were more than capable of keeping up. You heard Daisy speak from over your left shoulder.

“Bird, where are we going?”

As you barged through the glass front door and put on your sunglasses, you took a breath in of the air that marked your new life, outside the stuffy patriarchy of what you thought would be your legacy.

“Somewhere far. And don’t ever call me that again.”

Next >

Bonus A/N: Bruh, could you imagine being betrayed by your own father like that? Also, we’ll be seeing more of Daisy as the reader for Jake’s storyline in the future.

Taglist: @hawkeyes-queen @ronearoundblindly

[hoakaikapo]

HAUNTED - Clarisse La Rue x Unclaimed! Fem! Reader

Part 2 of ATTRACTION.

summary: it’s halloween night, and your infamous rival with Clarisse is suddenly about to change…

warnings: mention of alcohol, implied meanings (?), use of pet name (in a joking way), swearing, HEAVY MAKEOUT SESSION. MEN & MINORS DNI PLEASE.

a/n: i can feel the heat radiating off of my laptop because of this one. like, I AM MELTINGGGGG. sorry if this is rushed, i’ll most likely edit this in the morning once i’ve had a chai 🤍

———————

LOUD MUSIC blares from the speakers as you try to make your way to the dance floor, weaving in and out between the numerous dancing bodies as you try to keep your friend in sight, bumping into some of them and muttering inaudible apologies as you sneak by. It was no use. After apologizing to what seemed to be the millionth person, you noticed your friend already dancing up against some tall Hephaestus kid. You couldn’t blame her, however, he was tall and handsome and very muscular from what you could see in the dim lighting. You curse yourself for agreeing to ever going to this party in the first place, knowing that you would most likely be alone for the rest of the night now.

Despite the heat on the dance floor, you couldn’t help but feel cold and naked. Well, you were sort-of naked, wearing a slutty bunny costume which your friend had convinced you to after saying that going as a police officer was too boring and common. You figured she was right, there were about fifty other girls wearing police officer costumes, and they looked far better in it in your opinion. Now alone in a party where you knew virtually no one, you decided to slip back out and head back to your cabin.

Someone spills a drink all over your front, causing you to mutter obscenities that not even the gods could ever think of. Your black bodysuit now reeked of sweat and alcohol. You groan, glaring sourly at the Scooby Doo costume in front of you. How perfect, you thought, being all alone and now someone spills their drink on you. You were about to give them a piece of your mind before you figured that blowing up on someone who’s probably too drunk to even think right now in the middle of a party wasn’t such a good idea. Frustratingly, you quickly look for an exit, only to find yourself face-to-face with yet another person.

Ghostface, you thought, now that’s something original.

“Out of my way,” you shouted, trying to push past the tall figure. Your attempt failed when you felt their muscular arm pull you back in front of them, their hooded eyes gazing into yours before pulling off their mask.

“Going somewhere, bunny?” Clarisse says as she reveals herself. Her usual stupid yet brilliant grin plastered on her face as she eyed you up and down, as if tearing you apart in your choice of costume. You couldn’t tell if she was judging you or if it was something else. But, that didn’t matter. This was still Clarisse La Rue, your natural nemesis, and the one thing standing between you from going back to the cabins and sleeping for the rest of the night. Clarisse read the look on your face and jokingly pouted her lips. “Aw, leaving so soon, bunny?”

You roll your eyes at your new nickname. “Move along, La Rue. I don’t want to have to deal with you.”

“But, bunny, the party just started,” Clarisse’s voice was low and raspy. You hate to admit it, but it was attractive to you, really attractive, and your nickname didn’t sound too bad when she said it this time.

However, your pride and ego took over your lustful thoughts, causing you to react negatively to that name. “Don’t call me that.”

Despite the music blaring in the background, the silence between the two of you was tense. You were taken aback to the time in the locker room a few weeks ago, feeling as if you two were recreating the scene: the intense stares, the hot tension waiting to be broken, obviously the costumes you both were wearing. There’s another thing you’d hate to admit: it’s that Clarisse looked surprisingly fit and attractive in a serial killer’s costume, adding a knife to it only created more of an affect towards you. However, the party scene wasn’t your style, Clarisse simply wasn’t your type (what a liar), and you weren’t the kind of girl who got with someone because of the tension between the two of you. No matter what, you would stand your ground against your temptations. Anything else with Clarisse besides mutual hatred would be like dancing with the devil – a tango that you weren’t too keen on taking even if it is Halloween night.

The prolonged staring soon became boring for Clarisse to continue after some time. She pulled the mask over her face in one motion, which surprised you slightly considering her curls. Patting you slightly on your shoulder, she gestured towards the doorway, as if she was allowing you to finally leave. Underneath the mask, you caught the slightest hint of her grin again, causing you to scowl at her. To Clarisse, this was a game, a game in which you were going to lose if you walked through that door. The thought of leaving was soon replaced with the urge to stay, not wanting to back down in front of Clarisse. Again, she caught the look on your face and dropped her hand back to her side. She stood to her full height, leaning in close enough to where you could feel her breath on your face.

“I knew you wouldn’t back down from this so easily, bunny,” she whispers into your ear. The seductiveness of her tone was enough to send chills throughout your spine. If there weren’t a hundred other kids in the cabin and you were a few more shots in, then you would’ve pounced on the girl.

Time went on, the music got slower and a few campers had already left. You were ready to leave with your friend until that Hephaestus boy came back and insisted that he walk her back to her cabin. You were hesitant at first, wondering if the boy had something else in mind before your friend pleaded to you to let her go. You gave in, and now you were walking back along the dark and wooded pathway alone. The only light came from the full moon peeking in through the treetops. You took a shortcut behind the armory when you noticed a familiar Ghostface slip into it. Your curiosity got the best of you and you went to investigate.

You were met with disappointment when you noticed that it was only Clarisse putting the knife back into its original place, as if she had never stolen it in the first place. Quietly, you began to retreat before you were once again met face-to-face with the Ares girl, mask clutched in hand.

“This isn’t what it looks like,” you quickly defend yourself.

Clarisse tuts, smiling in an almost devilish sort of way. “Really? Because it looks like you were spying on me.”

“Don’t get any funny ideas in that little twisted head of yours, La Rue,” you retorted and folded your arms across your chest. Clarisse leaned in the doorway, her hand hanging loosely enough above your head to play with the fake bunny ears you borrowed from your friend. The light in the armory was dim enough to make out all the small features on Clarisse’s face, the ones that you had never really cared to notice about until now. The sudden change in energy between the two of you felt less intense than before, almost peaceful in a way. You considered that downright near impossible because Clarisse was far beyond ‘peaceful’ in any sort of way.

“You know, I think you look really great tonight,” she whispers as if she was telling you some forbidden secret. You were glad that it was dark outside so that she couldn’t see the sudden rush of red rise to your cheeks. You bit your lip anxiously before removing Clarisse’s fingers off of your bunny ears.

The feeling inside you was different this time. You could feel your heartbeat in your chest as Clarisse eyed you up and down again, licking her lips slowly as if she was enticing you. You could feel yourself almost melt into her touch as she began interlocking your fingers with hers. You could feel your brain trying to fight against your heart, reminding you that Clarisse was the exact opposite of what you could possibly want. But, your heart figured you could turn her into something you need.

Why did you dislike the Ares girl so much in the first place? You began picking at your memories with Clarisse to figure out how the dispute between you two even started. But, the harder you tried to remember, the more you began to forget. Your visions of your first days at camp were quickly replaced with the dark, tall, muscular Ares girl in front of you. You both said nothing, yet the way your eyes hungrily danced between her eyes and her lips said everything to her.

Anything with Clarisse beyond mutual hatred was like dancing with the devil – you could confirm that now that your lips were on hers. You muted the curses in your head as you wrapped your arms around her neck, bringing the Ares girl closer to you. Her arms found her way down to your hips, placing a firm grip on them. The thought of kissing Clarisse had never crossed your mind, ever, yet it surprised you. You had always taken Clarisse as the type where she would like to get things done fast, but right now, Clarisse was slow with it. She was slow with moving her lips against yours, she was slow with guiding her tongue against your bottom lip as if she was slightly begging for entrance, she was slow with pulling you in tighter, even though the space between you two was already minimal enough.

You wanted to complain when Clarisse pulled away first. You noticed the worried look in her eyes after realizing what she had done. You shook your head, glancing around quickly before pushing her into the shed, swiftly closing the door behind you.

“Don’t get that fucking look with me, Clarisse,” you muttered before crashing your lips onto hers again. She grunted at first, taken aback by your sudden boldness, but soon, your passion was met with hers. It was like fire on fire, and you both were now too far gone to even argue what was happening between the two of you.

Now this was what you were expecting from Clarisse. Her arms found her way back around your waist, picking you up and placing you on the wooden table in the shed. You smiled against her teeth as you wrapped her arms around her neck once again, pulling her in closer. She straddled between your legs, silently cursing at the table for being in the way. She wanted to get closer to you, wanted to feel you, wanted to devour this moment up and relive it every time she thought of you, which would now be more often because of this. Against yours, her tongue licked the bottom of your mouth and you finally let her in. You moaned slightly at the hot contact, trying your best to keep your composure. Clarisse’s hands moved from your waist and down to your thighs, repeatedly grazing it in an up and downwards motion. It sent shivers down your spine, earning Clarisse yet another groan from you.

“I told you I’d get you back next time,” she murmured breathlessly against your lips. You wanted to roll your eyes at her for the snarky comment, but the amount of pleasure and satisfaction rushing through your body was too much for you to even think properly.

However, you thought this was a pretty sweet way for her to get back at you: making out in a shed on Halloween night.

Clarisse pulled her lips off yours. You were about to protest before suddenly feeling her lips against your neck, accidentally allowing yourself to let out an almost unholy moan. You covered your mouth suddenly, surprised that you could ever let out such an explicit expression. Clarisse smirked against your hot skin as you did so.

“Shut up, Clarisse,” you snapped at her.

“I think the one who needs shutting up here is you, sweetheart,” she said before concentrating back on leaving dark hickeys along your neckline. In a costume like yours, it would be near impossible to cover up. You could care less right now. You would figure out the logistics later between you and Clarisse’s sudden change in relationship.

You wanted more. Clarisse knew it. But, before anything else could happen, the voices of the other campers were close by. You jumped slightly, pushing Clarisse off of you. She glared at you unhappily before too realizing that the campers were returning, and that if anyone else entered the shed, they would soon be met with the sight of Camp Half-Blood’s infamous rival making out in the middle of the night. So, silently, you slipped out first, followed by Clarisse. She half masked her face and gazed in satisfaction at the artwork on your neck. Created by her, of course. Suddenly, the expression on her face changed. In fact, her entire demeanor changed in a single instant. Clarisse’s hands were hot against your face as she grazed your cheek softly, smiling at you in an almost loving sort of way. As if you both just didn’t have the hottest makeout session of your entire lives. You gave into it, reciprocating that smile as she leaned in to kiss your forehead. No words were said between you two as she ran off back towards her cabin before anyone else could see what happened.

You danced with the devil tonight. You were well aware of that. But, you’ve settled with being a sinner if making out with Clarisse is your absolution.

[hoedamn-eron]

bluey!

Nathan discovers your son’s favourite show.

Warnings: As always, Nathan is a warning. No offence to Miss Rachel or anyone who uses Miss Rachel (I’ve personally never watched her, just needed Nathan to be a dick). Hints of infertility (from this episode of Bluey). Teeny tiny mention of parental anxiety of meeting milestones (from this episode of Bluey). Not proofread this time. Word count: 1,238 F!Reader, no use of Y/N.

Yet another self indulgent fic about dad!Nathan. Set in the same universe as Shut Up, Kid, but can be read as a stand-alone. This also was only meant to be a quick one shot but it turned out to be over 1k 😂.

Nathan Bateman was a fucking genius.

He built the code for Blue Book when he was thirteen years old.

He used to think himself a God. He could build realistic androids, for Christ's sake (not anymore, not since ‘The Incident’).

And because of this, he finds it hard to ‘switch off’. His brain was always moving a million miles a minute, constantly filled with thoughts of how to improve the company, and now that he’s a dad, it just added another thing to think about. And he isn’t complaining about having to think about Silas – he loves the kid, would do anything for him – but at the same time...it is just another thing to keep his brain busy.

Like today.

You come walking into his office (the door is open most days now), holding Silas on your hip, his favourite pacifier in his mouth, and carrying as many toys as you could in your other hand.

“Can you watch him for an hour, please?”

You see Nathan’s shoulders slump before you’ve even finished asking, and you ignore the spark of irritation that sits uncomfortably in your chest as Nathan turns his chair to look at you. You know he’s busy, but you’re busy too; you’ve been called in for a virtual meeting, on your maternity leave, no less, with the department heads – you know they wouldn’t appreciate a noisy baby in the background (despite the fact you want to make a point that they requested you...on your maternity leave).

Besides, Nathan doesn’t have any tight deadlines right now. He’s the CEO, he can push anything back whenever he damn well pleases anyway.

“Nathan, he’ll just sit and watch his TV show for a bit, it’s only an hour.”

Nathan sighs, and you tense at it.

He makes a mental note to make up for it later.

“Okay,” he says, and without looking at him, you walk over to the rug in his office, sitting Silas down on it before placing the toys around him, in easy reach for him.

You turn on the TV and place Bluey on, before walking over to Nathan’s desk and placing the remote on it. You give a swift, “See you in an hour,” before hurrying out to make your meeting.

Nathan gives a quick look to Silas, who – in your defence – was still, watching the TV, sucking away on his pacifier. Satisfied, Nathan turns back to his computer, his eyes drifting over to Silas every now and then before turning back to his screens. The noise from the TV fades into the background, until one particular line jumps out at Nathan.

“Magic Claw has no children. His days are free and easy.”

Nathan huffed a laugh through his nose. He couldn’t agree more. He glanced at the TV then back at Silas before turning back to his computer.

After a while, another line came through, causing him to chuckle again.

“Can I help you?”

“I wish you could, mate.”

Eventually, when he hears the characters talking about – what he thinks is – wanting kids and being unable to have them, he turns his full attention to the TV.

“What the fuck are you watchin’?” Nathan asks before standing and slipping his hands in his pockets as he saunters over to stand behind Silas.

Nathan stands and watches the family of cartoon dogs; Bluey and her sister, Bingo, and their parents, Chilli and Bandit. He watches with a furrowed brow for a moment, wondering how this was his son’s favourite show (it was probably all the colours). And he guesses the theme tune was a little catchy. And sure, Silas didn’t quite understand it, but the dialogue was funny.

“This is better than some of the other shit you watch,” Nathan said, bending down and picking Silas up, without taking his eyes off the TV. “That whiney black bunny you watch? Hate him. The Teletubbies? Also awful. I don’t understand why your mom thinks it’s a classic.”

Silas made a small noise around his pacifier and pointed to the TV.

“Yeah, she your favourite?” Nathan asks, looking at Silas. “What’s her name again? Bingo?”

Silas makes another noise, almost as if confirming with Nathan, still pointing at the TV.

Nathan nodded anyway. “Okay, okay, gotcha.”

After a moment, Nathan stood holding Silas, the two of them watching Bluey together.

Your meeting overran.

By nearly 45 minutes.

Nathan was going to be pissed.

You speed-walk to his office, ready to blurt out an apology (even though it wasn’t your fault the meeting went over), but you stop mid step when you hear Nathan say to Silas, “I think she’s sleeping with the neighbour.”

Your brow furrows in confusion as you hear him, then Silas babble back.

“Oh yeah, you agree? They’re too friendly, right?”

You slowly walk into the Nathan’s office, seeing him standing with his bank to you on the rug, holding Silas in his arms as they watched Bluey together. Nathan was lightly swaying, almost as if he didn’t realise he was doing it.

You sucked in your lips, holding back a laugh. You didn’t want to ruin the moment.

“You better not turn out like Muffin, she’s insane,” Nathan said. “I’ll love you regardless, but still.”

Your heart skipped a beat, like it did every time you heard those words come out of his mouth. It wasn’t as if Nathan had never said ‘I love you’, but he…struggles…to express his emotions that aren’t irritability or exasperation. But with Silas, it came naturally to him. He never failed to say ‘I love you’ to his son (of course, Nathan does say it to you, but he understands you’re a ‘full-grown adult who can identify acts of love’; his words).

You’re brought out of your reverie as a new episode of Bluey started, the theme music kicking in. Your eyes widen and you laugh quietly as Nathan starts lightly jumping around to the music, Silas laughing and kicking his legs excitedly.

“I’m watching the footage back to this,” you say.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” Nathan says, jumping as he whirls around to look at you. “Announce yourself, would you?”

“You, uh…” you say, still grinning. “You watching Bluey?” you look at Silas, who smiles at you and kicks his legs in excitement. “You watching Bluey with dada? Does dada like Bluey?”

“This is fuckin’ great,” he says, giving you a pointed look. “So much better than that Miss Rachel, or whatever her name is. She’s fuckin’ annoying.”

“Excuse me, she’s very educational!”

“She’s overdoing it. The kid will learn to talk fine with just us.”

“His first word will probably be something inappropriate,” you say. “Like fuck. Or asshole.”

Nathan doesn’t reply as he turns back to the TV. You come and stand next to him, watching the episode with him. It’s the one where Chilli was telling Bluey about how she was worried that Bluey wasn’t going to meet her milestones, but Coco’s mom had told her she was doing an amazing job. It was one of your favourite episodes.

“I’ve been stood here for an hour watching these,” Nathan said quietly. “It’s nice.”

“Just standing and swaying with him?” you ask gently.

“Yeah,” Nathan said simply, not expanding.

You nod, before leaning against him a little. You feel him push back at you.

You stand together and watch a few more seconds of Bluey before you ask, “So you think Chilli and Lucky’s dad are going at it?”

“Oh they definitely are.”

[archangeldyke-all]

that amab ceo!Vika ask got me 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

can i request a fic about reader jokingly requesting a nut video with sound & Sevika actually ends up sending it, whining & dirty talking in the background? 😣

hehehehehehehehhehehehehehehehehehe

men and minors dni

sevika's at home today. you were supposed to have the day off with her, but you got a call this morning from seamus begging you to come in and fix the copier. it's acting up. again.

she spent the morning trying to get you to stay in bed with her, but you went in anyways, knowing that if you didn't handle the problem now, by the time you get back on monday the copier would be on the brink of spontaneous combustion.

you're sitting on the floor of the printing/copying room, surrounded by parts of the machine and the giant manual that came with it, trying to find the source of the error. you've been here for hours. you've got a half eaten sandwich beside you for lunch. you're cursing yourself for not taking sevika up on her offer to stay in bed all day.

your phone pings with her ringtone and you smile. speak of the devil...

'hows it going' sevika's text reads. you sigh and tap out a quick response.

'horrible.' you reply.

'poor baby' sevika rapidly responds. you smile.

'wish i was home with u.'

'anything i can do to make it better?' sevika asks. you grin and bite your lip.

'nut video with sound?' you text, adding on a few prayer hands emojis. sevika doesn't reply, which only makes you laugh more. sevika's shit at sexting, and she knows you know this. each time you tease her with a sexy text, she replies with a middle finger emoji or a phone call, knowing that her virtual dirty talk would only make you laugh more than it would make you horny.

you return to your project, scouring the guidebook for an answer, halfheartedly picking at your sandwich. you get up to stretch and do a loop around the floor, take a quick bathroom break, and chat with riley. when you return, you're surprised to see a response from sevika.

when you unlock your phone, you nearly pass out.

sevika did it. she actually did it. granted, you haven't pressed play on the video yet, but from the thumbnail (sevika's hand wrapped around her rock hard cock, a little drip of pre escaping the tip) you can pretty safely assume that sevika's actually taken your prompt to heart.

you gulp.

then you scramble to your feet, running out of the copier room to sevika's office, slamming and locking the door behind you before pulling down the curtains. for a second, you just stand there, staring at the tantalizing video on your phone, and then you jump into action, sprawling out on her couch and shoving your hand down your pants as you click play.

'you're lucky you're cute, y'know. this shit is ridiculous.' sevika narrates to the camera as she gently jerks her cock. eight inches long and not even fully hard yet-- not because she's not aroused, but because it takes a cock that big so fucking long to fill up with blood-- her cock's standing proud in her hand as she steadily, slowly jerks it.

you bite your lip.

sevika's foreskin is bunching up tantalizingly around her head, before being pulled back down around her shaft as her hand moves. she knows how obsessed you are with the flap of skin, obsessed with how sensitive it is. 'you're such a pervert.' sevika's breathy voice scolds, like she's reading your mind.

you gulp as your fingers start tracing circles around your clit, matching the slow pace of sevika's hand.

the small drip of precum on her head starts growing, before it slowly, slowly drips down her shaft until it's swiped up by sevika's grip. her pace is increasing, her breaths coming out shaky from behind the camera. 'shoulda just stayed home, this coulda been your hand. fuck, or your mouth. or your cunt, shit.' sevika curses as she imagines you. 'fuck, i wish you were here, baby.' she whispers. 'fuckin' miss you.'

your cunt clenches around nothing, and you bite your lip to muffle a moan as you dip your fingers down to tease your hole.

sevika's pace is quick now, her cock is throbbing in her grip. for a moment, she lets go, gives you a full, unobstructed view of her girthy, twitching dick. then, you can hear her spit in her hand, and when her fingers wrap around her cock again, it grows wet and shiny.

she's close. you are too.

sevika's breaths are quick and shaky, she lets out little grunts and curses each time she swipes her thumb over the head of her cock. 'look how fuckin' messy 'y make me, honey.' sevika grunts. 'look how wet i am for you.' she moans. 'you drive me insane. can't believe you left me all alone this morning. i had plans y'know-- fuck-- plans to fuck you all day long.'

your cunt flutters around your fingers, and muffled wet sounds start filling sevika's office with each thrust of your fingers.

''m gonna split you in half when you get home. gonna fuck you so hard you can't walk-- then you won't be able to leave me. just keep you on the fuckin' bed, all fucked out, all your holes drippin' in cum and gaping-- beggin' for me-- shit!' sevika groans. her balls are tightening beneath her hand, her cock leaking more and more pre. 'fuck, you're not even here and you're drivin' me crazy. 'm so fuckin' close.'

"fuck, please." you whisper to your phone as you watch your girlfriend approach her orgasm.

'miss you so much baby. wish you were here, wish y' could lick up my cum.' she moans as she finally cums, coating her knuckles in rope after rope of her thick white cum.

you cum at the sight of it, your back arching off the couch and a high pitched whine escaping your lips. you don't take your eyes off of your phone, watching as sevika drains her balls and makes a mess of herself.

for a few moments, you can hear sevika's huffing breaths as she recovers from her orgasm. her thigh twitches, and her cock begins to grow flaccid, and she sighs, satisfied and sleepy. she pulls her hand away from her cock, giving you a good show of the cum coating her fingers, before flipping the camera around and winking at you. then, the camera cuts to black.

you flop on you back, panting as you stare at the ceiling. fuck. you think. i'm going home, fuck this. sevika can buy a new copier on monday.

before you get up to leave, you pull your fingers out of your pants and open your camera app to selfie mode. you take a quick video, showing off the strings of cum that glisten and cling to your fingers, before sinking them into your mouth and licking them clean. you moan at the camera, popping your fingers out of your mouth then smirking. "be home soon, honey." you say with a wink.

you send the video off then rise to your shaky legs, grabbing your bag and heading to the exit. when you get to your car, your phone pings again.

'cant wait ;)' sevika says.

you grin.

taglist!

@lesbeaniegreenie @fyeahnix @sapphicsgirl @half-of-a-gay @ellabslut @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner @shimtarofstupidity @love-sugarr @chuucanchuucan @222danielaa @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

[seren1tyhaze]

pls post dive part 2 😓😓 dying over here

Dive Part Two Teaser: Strawberry Sunday

Hi :) I know, I know. It's been so long.

I want to say firstly, your love and support of my Dive fic has been more than I could have ever imagined. When I first published it last May in a fever dream after Doyoung's D&G photoshoot, I never imagined it would be this well received. We are quickly approaching 1.5K notes on the original post and every new comment really makes me smile.

I really am actively working on part two, which is lovingly titled Strawberry Sunday and a continuation of Jungwoo's cheeky idea from part one. For now, I offer a small teaser which of course involves that same religious imagery that everyone fell in love with in Dive. It's also nsfw.

Please comment on this post to be included in the official tag list when Strawberry Sunday is released in full.

Until then, check out my other works and stay well :)

~~

Doyoung gasps for air and slams the palm of his hand down on the wooden surface of the desk hard, digging his fingernails into the varnished surface. His other hand runs through his hair for the hundredth time, grateful he doesn’t have a mirror hanging in his home office, knowing he looks a mess. A groan rips from his lips and it rings out loud, filthy, and filled with pleasure.

He drops his hands and gaze at the same time, reaching down to pull cheeks covered in arousal and spit up to face him, sliding his cock out from surprised lips. He takes a moment to examine the beautiful face looking up at him from the floor, eyes twinkling with mischief and skin flushed a beautiful shade of red.

He takes a moment to breathe, dragging his thumb across a wet lower lip before bringing his thumb to his lips and practically moaning around the digit, tasting himself. His cock twitches and before he can say anything he feels teeth grazing heavily across his length-

“Earth to Doyoung-ie?” comes a sing-song chant through his headset, snapping him back to reality.

Doyoung looks up embarrassed and into the webcam on his computer, clearing his throat quickly. Haechan has a knowing look in his eye and his head is cocked slightly, staring him down through the screen.

“Yeah, yeah sorry, I got distracted by um…an email,” he stammers out, flipping quickly in his open Bible on the top of his desk.

Had he just been standing at his desk, imagining you were underneath it giving him head during his weekly virtual Bible study session? Yes, yes he had been. Was he now having to face the very curious eyes of three of his best friends, the “Lee Three” as they liked to call themselves, and try to lie? Yes, absolutely.

“Must have been some email…” Jeno mutters, taking a long swig from his water bottle. His hair is damp and by the look of his background, it seems like he's dialed in from his phone in the lounge at his gym.

“It’s okay, I think we’re almost done for the day anyways,” Mark offers, closing his own Bible and adjusting the collar at his neck. He didn’t normally wear his costume (as Haechan called it) for their sessions but he was away at a conference and in between presentations.

“Can I ask for some advice before we close?” Doyoung pipes up, closing his own book softly and flipping it over, as if that would help him be less ashamed for what he was about to ask.

“Of course, we are always here to listen, Doie,” Mark replies softly, pushing his glasses up his nose and leaning back in the uncomfortable chair he had been sitting in for the past hour.

“Let’s just say, there’s something that you know someone you care for very much would enjoy. And maybe this thing is something you’re unsure of. And this thing you’re unsure of is something that two other people you care for very deeply suggested but you really aren’t sure if it’s the right thing for you and the other person to explore right now…” Doyoung rambles on, seeming to get lost in the vague grammar of the narrative he was building.

Haechan cuts him off with an exasperated sigh which almost transforms into a whine as he speaks.

“Jungwoo and Jaehyun want to fuck this girl you won’t shut up about and you don’t know if group sex is really the right thing for you do this early in your situationship,” he states bluntly, looking up from picking at the corner of his fingernails.

“HAECHAN!” Mark and Jeno yell into their headphones in unison, Doyoung flushing a deep shade of red and reaching up to clutch at the cross around his neck.

“What?” Hyuck asks, still holding a deadpan look in his face, “I’m right, aren’t I?”

Doyoung sighs but nods slowly, looking up to meet an awkward Jeno, who is scratching the back of his neck. He flicks his gaze to Mark who is merely laughing, leaning back in his chair and clutching his stomach.

“Why are you laughing, Father,” Doyoung retorts, feeling the heat of embarrassment rise in his chest as he chastises one of his oldest friends.

“Doyoung, please. The three of you have been doing this for years and I don’t know why you get so worked up about it each time. If she wants to do it and you are comfortable with it, just make sure you have open lines of communication with those two devils. You know how carried away they can get,” Mark replies with a signature roll of his eyes.

“Yeah, I’m still scarred from my night with them,” Jeno murmurs quietly, thinking no one heard him.

“Oh shut up, you know you loved that shit,” Haechan quips quickly, leaning close to his webcam as if it would bring him physically closer to him.

“Honestly, go for it, dude. It’s like the least risky situation out there and from the sounds of it, I think she is probably into it,” Hyuck adds, voice becoming almost soft as he finishes his sentence.

“Just don’t do it on a Sunday, okay? That’s all I ask,” Mark chuckles again, waving goodbye to the group before disconnecting from the call.

Doyoung rolls his eyes, nodding to the other two before disconnecting and pulling out his phone to finally return Jungwoo’s text that he had been staring at for weeks.

~~

hope you enjoyed ;) comment to be added to the tag list!

[jopetkasi]

job offer

apparently this blog was being followed by someone who works in a publishing company. now i am not yet at liberty to disclose the name but it does both print and digital. it also happens that pilot (ex bf) works for the airline section of the parent company which includes the publishing house under their company umbrella.

i was amused that someone got wind of my journal and today i got a call from one of their leads.

lady: we've been reading your entries and we must say it is a very interesting and funny to read. currently we are searching for writers who can fascinate our subscribers with stories about midlife crisis, sex and the ordinary struggles coming from middle aged people (ARAY PUTA KA )

me: oh thank you, but i do not have a writing background nay portfolio to begin with? and as you can see, my journals has a ton of grammatical errors.

lady: which is what we are looking for! as a matter of fact, we can spot entries that are Chat GPT generated. but yours has a unique style. which can be corrected by our proofreaders. by the way who who are your favorite authors?

me: Jessica Zafra is one. then the late Gilda Cordero-Fernando and Dr. Ging Pantoja from UST publishing are my go to reads.

lady: that explains why their is a mix of irony and nostalgia. anyway, would you consider writing for us? like we can run a s ix-month project based contract? we offer (specifies amount) for every word...

me: thank you for considering me but i don't have the appetite to go mainstream. i am a virtual unknown.

lady: well you can write incognito and use a nome de plume? How about we meet and discuss this offer? are you free this week for a meeting at the office?

me: (natataranta) ugh, yeah let's align our schedules and talk.

end of call.

okay, so a part of me feels excited for this new opportunity, i mean hey, its extra money for doing something i love. but then i realized what credentials do i have to join their pool of writers who i know penned essays at Junior Inquirer and some are even Palanca awardees?

ewan.

[goodqueenaly]

Forgive me if you’ve addressed this before over the years. You’ve covered a lot.

As far as is know, is Betha the only Queen of the Seven Kingdoms to, based on her familial background and upbringing, likely keep the Old Gods? If so, do you imagine this was a factor raised at the Great Council by lords aligned strongly with the Faith against Aegon?

That’s actually a great question, and one I haven’t considered! 

Yes, as far as we’re aware, no other queens during the Targaryen kingdom in Westeros (and obviously not under the Baratheon dynasty either) worshipped or otherwise honored the old gods. (This conclusion obviously does not count de facto crown princess Sansa, of course.) Granted, we know very little about the personal piety of virtually any of the Targaryen queens (Betha included); Naerys, and to a much lesser extent Alysanne and Aelinor Penrose, represent pretty much the only queens about whom GRRM has given any insight regarding their personal religious feelings. However, given that there were no queens from the North, nor any other Houses (besides House Blackwood) which are specifically noted to worship the old gods elsewhere (of which House Blackwood is really the only certain one anyway), I think it’s fair to say that none of the other Targaryen-era queens worshiped the old gods. 

Whether Betha’s religious feelings (real or presumed) would have factored into the debates at the Great Council of 233 AC and even beyond … maybe. Certainly, Westerosi politics historically has been no stranger (no pun intended) to criticisms of religiously unorthodox figures and their supposedly negative influences, from Lelia Lannister during the Hoare dynasty on the Iron Islands to Larra Rogare during the Lysene Spring under Aegon III (and indeed, I’ve suggested such criticisms may have been leveled against Jeyne Manderly, wife and perhaps widow of Rickon Stark). Too, according to Yandel, that “most outspoken of [Aegon V’s] foes” specifically referred to the “gods-given rights and liberties” of which the king allegedly sought to deprive his vassals; however, the quote does not mention which “gods”, old or new (or both), to which the speaker referred, nor the source of the complaint, leaving the potential religious context to the issue unclear. We also do not have a strong understanding of the relationship between the Faith and the crown in 233 AC (or, indeed, during Aegon V’s reign afterward), although there certainly had already been intriguing intersections between the two entities: consider, say, the High Septon under Daeron II, who used the Faith's prejudice against bastards to explain and criticize the rebellion of Daemon Blackfyre, or the nameless septon who used specifically theological arguments to denounce Bloodraven (and was executed for doing as much), or even my speculation on the installation of the office of High Septon permanently in King’s Landing (in its Avignon-esque exile from Oldtown). More directly, the fact that the High Septon of 233 AC was willing to absolve Aemon of his maester’s vows so that Aemon could become king might, perhaps, suggest a desire on the part of the Faith to support the surviving son of Maekar who had no troublesome ties to the old gods, rather than the son whose wife worshiped those strange and ancient gods. 

Again, none of this is explicit canonical evidence, but all of these ideas and suggestions may indicate that Betha’s familial religion was used as an argument against Aegon V’s kingship , at the time of the Great Council and/or during his reign. How could Prince Aegon be trusted as a prospective defender of the Faith, so the argument might have gone, when his own queen worshiped god who were, to borrow Yandel’s phrase when describing the Andal Invasion, “little more than demons”? How could the Faith support the succession princes who may well, so these Faithful might have feared, have been raised to worship those same old gods, and been encouraged by their no-good-very-bad mother to turn away from the light of the Seven? Would Betha have been assumed to share the penchant for sorcery and evil popularly associated with that other Blackwood-blooded old gods worshiper, Brynden Rivers? For those perhaps already inclined to distrust the hedge knight-trained "half a peasant" Prince Aegon, the fact that the prince's wife and the mother of his heirs worshiped gods other than the Seven might have been useful ammunition in their arguments against his accession, or during his reign afterward.

[silverskull]

Aside from each other, obviously, who is your favourite character for Tim and Lucy to each interact with? (So basically, your favourite non-Chenford relationship for each of them — platonic, professional, or otherwise.) And, who is the one character you wish they would each interact with more?

OOOH, SARAH. I do love this so very much.

I'm going to put it under a cut, because it got WAYYYY out of hand

Okay, well, let's start with my girl Lucy, because she deserves the world and all she got last season were multiple kicks in the teeth.

I loved Lucy and Jackson. I loved Lucy and Andersen. Both of them are gone, and who knows where Tamara will be this season, given that we have to make time FOR MONICA I GUESS, or whatever. Melissa herself said at the virtual con last weekend that she'd like to see more of Lucy with Grey - a mentor that comes without romantic entanglement - and I have to say, I loved the two of them together this season too.

Buuuuuuut... I would actually very very very much love to see Lucy spend some time with... GENNY. They got along so well, even besides the dark, mopey cloud that was moody Tim Bradford throughout their introduction arc, and I would love to see how that relationship developed once Genny officially knew about their relationship. I also feel like (having been the sister figure on the other side of a messsy breakup) those bonds can be very strong between women, and the man doesn't always figure into it once he's gone, even if he is your brother.

Also - this side eye I MEANNNNNN

Tim is a little bit more difficult. I love him with Genny too, obviously, but I am often very distracted by his face and not paying close enough attention to his interactions.

I love him with Angela, I do. And we got a good dose of that in S6, which is the only reason she doesn't make this list. I love him with Nyla, especially when they talk about Lucy (not sure what sort of Bechdel test this encroaches on) because having my two favourite grumps fight over their favourite sparkling little pixie is just delicious. And I love him with Grey, because - although he is still a superior and a mentor figure - over the years Tim has come to be more of an equal to the Watch Commander. And I LOVE that growth for him. I think part of it is Eric and Richard’s fantastic friendship shining through, but I’ll take everything I can get.

Honestly - I’m going to go with a cliche here and say I would like to have seen more of Tim with Tamara. I went sorta deep into their relationship when I wrote Saudade Season, and although I’m not fully on board with the whole Tamara-is-Chenford’s-daughter vibe, I do think they have an EERIE amount in common, and their connection to Lucy only solidifies that. Their banter back and forth when they did interact was always charming (I maintain that Tamara’s ‘Officer Zaddy’ quote was 90% directed at Lucy and only 10% girlcrush because, ewy) and they both have such similar loss and hurt in their childhoods and backgrounds that I think they are good for each other.

I don’t know if I’m allowed to say this on tumblr (you’re NOT allowed say it on twitter), but I’m holding off on my opinions of the ‘new rookies’ until S7 airs. I don’t know the actors, and they seem simply lovely, but I’m not going to dive off a cliff for them yet. So, for now, unless it leads to more chenford interaction, I’m not interested in adding MORE extra character backstories to The Monica Show, I mean The Rookie, sorry. 👀

And finally, in case I haven’t already entirely succeeded in avoiding your limit of 2/4 additional characters, I would have LOOOOOVED to see Chenford interact more with Rosalind. Sure, she could have whatever weird fascination she had with Nolan as a side gig, but I can’t believe that this woman was supposedly so calculating and clever that she evaded the entire LAPD, and then thought that killing Chris-motherfucking-dry-wipe-Sanford would be adequate vengeance on Lucy for escaping her clutches.

I know we were limited with the sad passing of Annie Wersching, and it is a terrible loss to her family (and the film world in general), but that bitch TOTALLY clocked that there was something going on between Tim and Lucy, and the only reason she couldn’t gain her proper revenge is because they were cavorting in the gangsters private airplane bathroom at 30,000 feet.

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Jay P. Greene

Published: Dec 8, 2021

Universities ostensibly employ diversity, equity, and inclusion (DEI) staff to create more tolerant and welcoming environments for students from all backgrounds. A previous Heritage Backgrounder documented that the number of people devoted to DEI efforts has grown to about 45 people at the average university. This Backgrounder examines whether these large DEI staff are, in fact, creating a tolerant and welcoming environment on college campuses. In particular, this Backgrounder examines the extent to which DEI staff at universities express anti-Israel attitudes that are so out of proportion and imbalanced as to constitute antisemitism.

To measure antisemitism among university DEI staff, we searched the Twitter feeds of 741 DEI personnel at 65 universities to find their public communications regarding Israel and, for comparison purposes, China. Those DEI staff tweeted, retweeted, or liked almost three times as many tweets about Israel as tweets about China. Of the tweets about Israel, 96 percent were critical of the Jewish state, while 62 percent of the tweets about China were favorable. There were more tweets narrowly referencing “apartheid” in Israel than tweets indicating anything favorable about Israel whatsoever. The overwhelming pattern is that DEI staff at universities pay a disproportionately high amount of attention to Israel and nearly always attack Israel.

While criticism of Israel is not necessarily antisemitic, the inordinate amount of attention given to Israel and the excessive criticism directed at that one country is evidence of a double-standard with respect to the Jewish state, which is a central feature of a widely accepted definition of antisemitism. Frequently accusing Israel of engaging in genocide, apartheid, settler colonialism, ethnic cleansing, and other extreme crimes while rarely leveling similar criticisms toward China indicates an irrational hatred that is particularly directed toward Jews and not merely a concern for human rights.

The evidence presented in this Backgrounder demonstrates that university DEI staff are better understood as political activists with a narrow and often radical political agenda rather than promoters of welcoming and inclusive environments. Many DEI staff are particularly unwelcoming toward Jewish students who, like the vast majority of Jews worldwide, feel a strong connection to the state of Israel. The political activism of DEI staff may help explain the rising frequency of antisemitic incidents on college campuses as well as the association between college and graduate education and higher levels of antisemitic attitudes. Rather than promoting diversity and inclusion, universities may be contributing to an increase in anti-Jewish hatred by expanding DEI staff and power.

The Context

There has been a sharp increase recently in antisemitic incidents worldwide, in the United States, and particularly on college campuses. According to Hillel International, the main university organization for Jewish students, there were 244 antisemitic incidents reported during the mostly virtual 2020–2021 school year compared to 181 during the prior year when everyone was on campus for in-person instruction.

DEI staff are supposed to be working to prevent such incidents rather than foment them. According to the National Association of Diversity Officers in Higher Education Standards of Professional Practice, “Chief diversity officers work with senior administrators and campus professionals to develop, facilitate, respond to, and assess campus protocols that address hatebias incidents, including efforts related to prevention, education, and intervention.” DEI staff are supposed to prevent hate/bias incidents directed at any student group: “Chief diversity officers have ethical, legal, and practical obligations to frame their work from comprehensive definitions of equity, diversity, and inclusion—definitions that are inclusive with respect to a wide range of identities.”

But the activities of many DEI staff lend credence to the title of David Baddiel’s recent book that “Jews don’t count.” Not only do DEI staff fail to attend to Jewish concerns, including scheduling events on Jewish holidays, but there have been reports of diversity officials expressing antisemitic attitudes. The most prominent example of this from the corporate world was when Kamau Bobb, the head of diversity at Google, wrote that Jews have an “insatiable appetite for war” and an “insensitivity to the suffering [of] others.” Amazingly, Bobb was only reassigned to work on STEM education efforts for Google. Bobb let the mask slip by accusing “Jews” of these crimes rather than simply saying “Israelis” or “Zionists.” If DEI staff maintain that cover, they might be able to get away with expressing virulent antisemitic statements without even being reassigned to new positions. This Backgrounder examines empirically how common these kinds of antisemitic statements are from university DEI staff.

The Method

The previous Backgrounder, “Diversity University,” identified 2,933 DEI staff at 65 “Power Five” universities. Primarily using Google searches, we found 797 Twitter accounts linked to these DEI staff. Of those 797 accounts, 56 were “protected” so that tweets could not be viewed. That left 741 accounts that could be searched for antisemitic content.

Almost all of these were personal accounts, not operated by the universities themselves. Thus, they provide a window into what these DEI staff believe and how those beliefs may shape their university work.

The publicly available Twitter feeds of these DEI staff were searched for comments related to Israel and, for comparison purposes, China. The specific search terms to find comments related to Israel were Israel, Palestine, Palestinian, and Gaza. The search terms for China were China and Chinese. The searches found all mentions of these terms in the tweets, retweets, and “likes” of tweets associated with these accounts. Researchers coded whether each tweet indicated a positive or negative view toward Israel and China, respectively.

Of course, this approach does not find all public communications from DEI staff regarding Israel and China. Not all DEI staff have accounts on Twitter. Some accounts may not have been found by Google searches involving their name and institution, especially if individuals avoid mentioning their real name and employer on social media. Some people automatically delete their tweets, retweets, and likes periodically, making it impossible to find earlier communications. People may describe Israel or China using words other than those that were used as search terms. Moreover, the application used to facilitate searching truncates some tweets and places a cap on how many tweets can be searched per user. For all of these reasons, the results presented in this Backgrounder are a conservative undercount of public communications. Nonetheless, the patterns that this imperfect method yield are likely an accurate presentation of the broader picture of DEI staff sentiment toward Israel and China.

The Results

DEI staff have a disproportionate interest in Israel relative to China and are far more likely to be critical of Israel than they are of China. In total, there were 633 tweets regarding Israel compared to 216 regarding China—three times as many—despite the fact that China is 155 times as populous as Israel and has 467 times the land mass. China has also had many reasons to be in the news recently, including being the origin of the pandemic, conducting a brutal crackdown on pro-democracy forces in Hong Kong, mass imprisonment and mistreatment of China’s Muslim Uyghur population, increasing confrontation with Taiwan and other countries in the Pacific Rim, and severe internal repression of political dissent and private corporations. One who is genuinely interested in human rights around the world had many more reasons to be paying attention to China than to Israel.

Of the 633 tweets regarding Israel, 605 (96 percent) were critical of the Jewish state. Of the 216 tweets regarding China, 133 (62 percent) expressed favorable sentiment.

Examples of Tweets About Israel

The severe tone and extreme content of the tweets, retweets, and likes critical of Israel are even more illuminating. There is no reason to identify individual DEI staff, but quoting from their tweets and counting the use of hyperbolic rhetoric is important.

For example, the word apartheid appears 43 times in DEI staff public communications about Israel. One retweet by a Multicultural Student Affairs staff person asserted that “the State of Israel is guilty of the human rights crimes of apartheid and persecution. Settler colonialism is fundamentally violent. And it begets violence.” Another remark retweeted by someone in an Office of Inclusion and Diversity stated that “one cannot teach radical geog/critical urban theory without a curriculum on this settler colonialism & apartheid.” A tweet by a Multicultural Student Center staff person declared, “Condemn the Apartheid State of Israel for their Human Rights Violations against the Palestinian.” An assistant director of an Office for Institutional Equity and Diversity lamented, “no apology for a pro apartheid Zionist organization holding a reception? I guess there’s no justice for Queer Palestinians here.”

Some variant of the word colonial appears 39 times in tweets, retweets, or likes by DEI staff. A person working for Graduate School Diversity Programs liked the message, “Y’all love to add the word liberal in front of the most evil things and it’s unhingedddd. Wtf is a liberal Zionist? What’s next? Liberal Nazi? Liberal colonizer? Liberal murderer? Liberal imperialist? Liberal fascist?” One staffer at a Multicultural Student Involvement and Community Advocacy Center endorsed the following: “You cannot disentangle the colonization experienced by indigenous ppl from the racism experienced by black ppl from the xenophobia experienced by latinx ppl from the imperialism experienced by palestinians. They’re all different extensions of the same oppressive project.” A person in an LGBTQ Equity Center retweeted, “Re Palestine, you gotta understand: there’s no ‘controversy.’ Most people around the world know that Israel brutally colonizes the Palestinians. The issue is only ‘controversial’ because Zionists pitch a fit whenever anybody speaks this truth.”

The word genocide appears nine times, the term ethnic cleansing appears seven times, and the accusation that children are specifically targeted appears 27 times. The assistant director of an Asian Pacific student center tweeted, “#Gaza is under attack. This is genocide. #FreeGaza.” One DEI staffer retweeted, “what you need to understand is that these are entire BLOODLINES being wiped out. generations upon generations completely GONE. their indigenous history with them.” A staffer in a Center for Educational Outreach retweeted, “israel has a particular loathing for children. they target them with violence specifically and intentionally every single day.”

The public communications of DEI staff embrace the genocidal phrase from the river to the sea five times. One message declares that “‘from the river to the sea’ means that we will decolonize every block and every grain of sand in palestine. go ahead and fuel people to make us look like we’re bloodthirsty for the death of jews when you’ve just killed 42 family members in one airstrike.” Another states, “Every Israeli bomb and bullet used against Palestinians and paid for by USA dollars has been consummated by the blood and soil of American Indians. From the river to the sea and from sea to shining sea, we shall be free.”

Angela Davis, the former vice presidential candidate for the Communist Party who was accused of supplying the guns that resulted in the killing of a judge, features prominently in DEI staff tweets. So does former CNN commentator Marc Lamont Hill, who was fired by the network for his antisemitic statements. One LGBTQ center staff person who is also an instructor tweeted, “I ordered ‘Queer Palestine and the Empire of Critique’ which I think I’m going to pair with Angela Davis’ ‘Freedom is a Constant Struggle’ in my LGBTQ activism class in the spring!” The director of an African American Cultural Center posted a photo with the following description and quotation from Davis: “The Black Panther Party & a Palestinian delegation at the first Pan-African Cultural Festival in Algiers, 1969. ‘The Black radical tradition is related not simply to Black people but to all who are struggling for freedom … our histories never unfold in isolation.’—Angela Davis.”

While American Jewry is rarely mentioned specifically in these public communications from DEI staff, their alleged role in facilitating Israeli crimes is often in the subtext. An Outreach and Engagement librarian retweeted, “Tell U.S. Jewish leaders: Stop defending #Gaza assault.” One multicultural consultant liked the message, “Jewish people are not responsible for the actions of the Israeli government, but we are responsible for calling out violence and human rights abuses when we see them, especially when the people committing the violence claim to be doing so in our name.” A DEI staffer at a Big Ten school was clearly describing the supposedly insidious influence of American Jews when he liked this message: “There’s a vast philanthropic-lobbying complex in the US that works tirelessly to present Israelis as benevolent, peace-loving, and fundamentally reasonable victims of Palestinian aggression, and meanwhile in actual Israel no one bothers with the pretense.”

The relatively small number of tweets, retweets, or likes by DEI staff favorable toward Israel—28 in total—are tepid compared to the fire-breathing tone of those that are critical. Sometimes the praise is mixed with criticism of Israel. For example, a leader of an Office of Diversity and Inclusion liked this mixture of praise and criticism: “Dear Israel, you have a story to tell that is important and often glorious. But you don’t tell your story by keeping people out. You tell it by opening your arms, sharing the complexity and challenges and inviting exchange and ideas.” An associate dean for diversity and inclusion praised Israel’s democracy while denouncing its leader: “The beauty of a democracy is the right of people to elect the wrong person. Jerusalem, Israel.”

Other positive comments lamented insufficient attention to Israeli and Jewish contribution to progressive causes: “why no coverage in the media?: Thousands of Jewish protesters join 500,000-strong Women’s March… via @timesofisrael.” But most of the favorable tweets were about trips to Israel, Israeli scientific innovations, or expressions of support for memorials. The closest thing to a full-throated defense of Israel can be found in this tweet liked by an associate at a Multicultural Engagement Center: “The Jewish people are indigenous to Israel, the birthplace of our identity and unique culture, and have maintained a documented presence for over 3,000 years.” But this tweet is the only one like it among the more than 600 tweets, retweets, and likes found in DEI staff Twitter feeds.

Examples of Tweets About China

The favorable tweets about China also tended to be more tepid than those that were critical, but they were far more common. For example, some positive tweets focused on partnerships between the DEI staff person’s U.S. university and government or educational institutions in China. One Big Ten DEI official stated, “A real pleasure to meet China’s Vice Minister of Ag and Rural Affairs Han Jun in Beijing last night to discuss Ag and food innovation…. Wonderful conversation with great plans for the future.” An assistant provost at another university praised the success of her institution’s president at establishing partnerships with Chinese universities: “President Stresses Internationalization Opportunities on Trip to China. [University president] signed five cooperative agreements with Chinese universities and was a featured speaker at an event for globalization in academia.”

Another common type of tweet favorable to China was to extoll China for its efforts to combat COVID-19. An associate dean for diversity, equity, and inclusion endorsed this message: “Chinese medics have just arrived in London to help us fight Covid-19. The media won’t tell you for some reason.” A multicultural consultant at another university affirmed, “Thank you to psychologists from Wuhan, China for helping @APA to learn from their experiences of #COVID and improve our ability to care for the #mentalhealth & needs in the #USA.”

Other DEI staff expressed favorable sentiment toward China to counteract what they perceived to be anti-Chinese bias. A staff person at a Center for Multicultural Affairs expressed concern: “when are people going to realize that anti china propoganda [sic] directly correlates with a rise in hate crimes against Asians.”

A few people offered strongly worded praise of China. An LGBTQ staff person seemed to think that it would be better to be a trans person in China: “i wonder a lot if it would feel easier to come out to my parents if i was a ~binary trans woman~ or what the f*** ever b/c they at least have a frame of reference for trans women celebrities in China.” Another DEI staff person endorsed this tweet from the People’s Daily newspaper in China touting how China had improved the lives of people in Tibet: “China’s Tibet Autonomous Region had lifted 530,000 people out of poverty during the five years to 2017, reducing poverty rate to 12.4% from 32.3% at the end of 2012, the regional poverty relief office said Friday.”

The smaller number of tweets regarding China that expressed criticism tended to focus on human rights issues. An associate dean for diversity and inclusion retweeted, “Human rights experts estimate that 1.5 million Uighur Muslims and members of other ethnic minority groups, including Chinese-born Kazakhs, have been detained in Xinjiang since 2016.” The assistant director of campus inclusion and community responded to a Bloomberg news headline that said, “China looks at cutting inequality in order to boost the economy” by asking, “Good for China. But also are they still doing that Muslim genocide? Why we ain’t also talking about that?”

A number of negative tweets about China addressed the treatment of African residents in China. An associate provost for inclusive excellence retweeted, “In China, African residents are alleging anti-black racism resulting from the coronavirus pandemic.” Others expressed concern about Chinese efforts to use technology for surveillance. An assistant dean for equity and inclusion endorsed these concerns: “Google built prototype of a censored search engine for China that links users’ searches to their personal phone numbers, thus making it easier for the Chinese government to monitor people’s queries.”

The extreme language used in tweets regarding Israel almost never appeared in tweets regarding China. There are no occurrences of the words apartheid and ethnic cleaning, nor is China ever accused of targeting children in these tweets, retweets, and likes. The term colonial does appear twice, but it is used favorably toward China. For example, one tweet asserted that people “talk about China like a British colonial officer from 1850.” The term genocide does appear four times in tweets about China, but that is less than half as common as the term was used with respect to Israel.

The overall picture, however, is that DEI staff were less likely to offer criticisms of China than of Israel, and those criticisms tended to be less strongly worded. It would be impossible to review the inordinate attention that DEI staff pay to Israel relative to China, the nearly universal attacks on Israel versus general praise of China, and the dramatically different tone used in discussing Israel and China without concluding that DEI staff have an obsessive and irrational animus toward the Jewish state.

The Definition of Antisemitism

Some people might object that just because DEI staff express criticism of Israel frequently and forcefully does not necessarily mean that they are antisemitic. According to a widely accepted definition of antisemitism, however, criticism of Israel constitutes antisemitism when it exhibits certain characteristics. This definition was formulated by the International Holocaust Remembrance Alliance (IHRA) and has been endorsed by governmental bodies around the world, including the European Parliament, the U.S. State Department, and the U.S. Department of Education’s Office of Civil Rights, which oversees the activities of DEI staff at universities.

The IHRA definition suggests the following as examples of antisemitism:

“Denying the Jewish people their right to self-determination, e.g., by claiming that the existence of a State of Israel is a racist endeavor”;

“Applying double standards by requiring of [Israel] a behavior not expected or demanded of any other democratic nation”;

“Drawing comparisons of contemporary Israeli policy to that of the Nazis”; and

“Holding Jews collectively responsible for actions of the state of Israel.”

The tweets, retweets, and likes of DEI staff documented here provide instances of all of these antisemitic qualities. The frequent use of terms such as apartheid and colonialism are meant to portray Israel as a racist endeavor and deny its right to exist as the homeland of the Jewish people. The forceful denunciation of Israeli responses to rocket and terrorist attacks prominently feature a double standard, as only the Jewish state is expected not to defend its citizens in a way that all other countries would. The sparsity of criticism of China relative to Israel is also strong evidence of a double standard. Accusing Israel of genocide or ethnic cleansing is clearly meant to equate Israeli policy with that of the Nazis. And demanding that U.S. Jewish leaders denounce Israeli actions or accusing them of hypocrisy for failing to do so are clear examples of holding Jews collectively responsible for Israel’s behavior.

Conclusion

According to Gallup data, 95 percent of American Jews support Israel. While that figure is lower among younger Jews, a large majority of Jews at American universities feel connected to the state of Israel as part of their Jewish identity. Even if the hyperbolic and obsessive criticism of Israel expressed by university DEI staff did not meet the definition of antisemitism (which it clearly does), attacking a central feature of Jewish students’ identity would be entirely contrary to the stated purpose of having DEI staff: to welcome students from all backgrounds, make them feel included, and prevent or address incidents of hate and bias. But it is clear that DEI staff at universities actually function as political activists, articulating and enforcing a narrow and radical ideological agenda.

Truly achieving diversity, especially ideological diversity, and helping all students feel included requires a dramatic change in how universities approach DEI. Existing staff need to be dramatically reduced, and the remaining DEI infrastructure needs to be reoriented toward serving the true purposes of diversity and inclusion.

Jay P. Greene, PhD, is Senior Research Fellow in the Center for Education Policy, of the Institute for Family, Community, and Opportunity, at The Heritage Foundation. James D. Paul is Director of Research at the Educational Freedom Institute.

==

If you were shocked by the rampant antisemitism on college campuses after October 7, you shouldn't have been. DEI cultists were building and encouraging it for years. October 7 was just when they said, "now."

[maccreadysbaby]

Project: Killcode Origins — Vera

tw: none

wanna read the extended story? here’s the table of contents!

⚠️ THIS IS NOT THE NEXT CHAPTER OF PROJECT KILLCODE, THIS IS BACKGROUND FOR VERA.

(also I wrote this a long time ago when I was first starting to play with her character — like hundred days long ago, so that’s why the writing style might be inconsistent.)

SIX YEARS PRIOR TO THE BEGINING OF PROJECT: KILLCODE

VERA LEVANTE, EIGHT YEARS OLD, HOPPED DOWN THE STAIRS ON A SUNNY WEDNESDAY MORNING. It was the beginning of summer. The fifth day of it, actually, since she’d been let out of Redwood Academy for vacation. But that wasn’t what mattered… that wasn’t what made the day so special.

It was her eighth birthday.

And her parents were home.

She couldn’t remember the last time her parents had been home on her birthday — she was too little then to remember. They always worked a lot. But now, today, on her eighth birthday, both cars were in the driveway when she peered through her blinds. Her mother and her father.

She hopped down the stairs with a nearly contagious excitement about her, ignoring their rules about being careful on the steps. Surely they wouldn’t mind today.She’d tried her best to dress herself. A pink polo and a white skirt, although she couldn’t really tuck the shirt in right and the buttons near the neckline were all one hole too high. She hadn’t even attempted to make her rats nest of brown waves look decent. She didn’t care about that, because her parents were home.

Her socks slid when she hopped down onto the hardwood floor from the carpeted stairs, but she was too excited to care. She half-skipped through their suave, expensive living-room, toward the massive double doors that led to her dads office. As she grew closer to the mahogany barrier, she could hear typing. Her father on the computer.

Without sparing a second to knock, she shoved the door open, glancing around the large room. A massive desk sat in the center, covered with papers and electronics, and bookshelves outlined the rest of the room, displaying literature and trinkets. Her father was staring at the computer screen in front of him, typing furiously with an annoyed expression on his face, brown eyes shining with irritation. He was already dressed in a full suit, per usual. Vera didn’t care. She weaseled her way around the desk, drifting up to her fathers side, bouncing lightly on the balls of her feet.

“G’morning, dad!” The child smiled, fighting back a yawn that ended up taking over her small features anyway. Her father didn’t look over at her, nor did his hands leave the keyboard.

“Vera,” He responded flatly, obviously engrossed in whatever was on the screen.

The little girl beamed at the simple acknowledgment, leaning over to lay across her father’s lap in boredom. “Do you know-“

Vera stopped speaking when her father held a finger up, pulling his vibrating phone out of his pocket. He answered it with haste. “Hey, George.”

Vera huffed, bringing her fingers up to fiddle with them until her father was off the phone. She stayed, bent across her fathers lap in boredom for one, two, three minutes, listening to him speak about opportunity cost — something Vera didn’t understand but pretended was some secret superhero stuff.

“Go see your mother,” Her father held the cell away from his mouth as he whispered, attempting to brush Vera off his lap like a bug. “I have a virtual meeting in a few minutes.”

Vera rolled off her fathers lap like a ragdoll, sitting on top of the ugly office rug momentarily. She watched her father talk on the phone. His eyes were trained on the computer, fingers dancing across the keys at a pace Vera could only wish to achieve, words too long for the child’s comprehension spilling from his lips just as fast. Only when he waved a hand toward her did she remember he’d asked her to leave.

Surely the meeting wouldn’t last so long. She’d had friends at school whose parents had to work on their birthdays, and they spent the whole evening with them. So she wasn’t worried.

She drifted back out of the office, returning to close the door once her father scolded her softly for leaving it open. She tugged at the front of her shirt — which was starting to look increasingly odd thanks to the buttons being fastened wrong — and made her way toward the kitchen. Her mom was probably in there.

But in fact, she wasn’t. The pristine countertops, expensive wooden cabinets, highest-end appliances all sat untouched that morning. With a light shrug, she kept walking, down the hall that led to her parents bedroom. She heard shuffling and movement from inside. Bingo!

The door was open, so she didn’t bother knocking before she walked inside. The room was huge, double the size of her room, with a giant bed in the center. Their walk-in closets sat open, and two suitcases were laying on the bed. Her mother was packing clothes into them. She scrunched her face up.

“Are we going somewhere?” Vera questioned, stepping in an odd rhythm over to the bed, where she hopped up onto the white sheets. Her mother looked at her, long, brown hair falling over her shoulder as she did so. 

“Vera. You startled me,” She stated with a sigh, placing a pile of folded clothes in the suitcase. “Have your brother fix you breakfast, I don’t have much time to pack.”

Vera scrunched her face up again. “Noah isn’t here. He hasn’t been here in, like, a week. A month, maybe!” She stated, tucking her hair back out of her eyes. It’d actually only been four days since she saw her brother's car pull out and not return, but it felt like a long time. All her mother said was: “Oh.”

“Where are we going?”

“Well, I was going to leave you with Noah, but I guess not. Your father and I had some pop up meetings rescheduled from later in the year. Super sudden,” She explained. Vera deflated slightly.

“But you’re coming back before dinner? Because it’s my-“

“Can you grab my phone and call your Aunt Jamie, please? It’s on the nightstand,” She pointed across the bed with a folded shirt in her hand.

Vera crawled over the suitcases and over to the white nightstand, grabbing her mother’s large, thin phone off of it. Typing in a password she knew by heart — from playing games while her parents did other things — she navigated to the little phone icon, and found her aunt’s name. She tapped it.

It only took two of three rings before her father’s younger sister picked up with a loud: “Hey-hey, Cherry.” His mother’s name.

Vera put the phone on speaker and sat it on the bed.

“Keep a hold on your tongue, Jamie, Vera can hear you,” Her mother deadpanned.

“Hey-hey, V! Happy-“

“I need to drop her off at your house today. Emergency meetings,” Vera frowned when her mother cut short the first birthday wish she would’ve received all morning. “We’ll be over in twenty.”

She heard her aunt snicker. “Okie dokie. How long is she gonna stay?”

It wasn’t rare for Vera to stay at her aunt’s. She spent a lot of time there — some of her clothes even stayed there. That’s always where she went when her parents were caught up with work… which was just about always. Her parents had been fighting with Jamie a lot recently. About something called custody, a word Vera didn’t know.

“I’m not sure. At least a week, maybe two,”

Vera’s eyes flicked up to her mother. “You’re not coming back today?”

“No, honey. It’ll take us almost all day just to make it there,” She whispered quickly.

“All good!” Aunt Jamie chimed from the phone, unable to hear Vera’s mother whispering. Vera’s eyes trailed down to the comforter she was sitting on. Surely this was a trick. She’d remembered that once before, Layla’s parents tricked her by pretending to forget her birthday, and then surprised her with a big party later -- Vera had been there. So she wasn’t worried.

“Thank you,” Her mother continued, reaching and pressing the red button that ended the call. “Go pack whatever you want.”

Vera nodded. If this was a big trick, she may as well play along. She tried to hide the small smile that spread across her face at the thought of them throwing her a big party, hopping off the bed and hip-hopping her way all the way back to her room. She had to make them believe she didn’t know about the trick, so she packed just like normal.

“Vera! Come on, baby, time to go!” Her mother’s voice came from downstairs. She hopped back down with a backpack holding a lifetime supply of toys, following her mother out the door. Her mother only had her purse, not the suitcases. So it was a trick.

They went to the car, where she sat in the backseat and listened to some tunes while her mother drove. Maybe the party was at her aunt’s house. That would make sense — her parents didn’t like having many people over. Too much expensive stuff in their house that could get broken. Her aunt’s house was big and nice, too — six bedrooms, one of which basically belonged to Vera — but it wasn’t so fragile. They could have fun in it without worrying about breaking something.

When they pulled up at her aunt’s house, her mother turned around in the driver’s seat. “Be good, I love you.”

Vera, who’d fully convinced herself she was about to walk into a surprise party, cocked her head, blinking in confusion. “You’re not coming?”

“I don’t have time, babe. Go ahead,”

“Is… the trick over?” She asked.

“Trick? What trick?” Her mother questioned, raising an eyebrow. “Vera, go ahead. I need to get going. Your father and I have to be in Brighton by six. We’ll see you when we get back, okay? Jamie will take great care of you like she always does. I’ll watch you get to the front door.”

Vera’s hope faded quickly. They hadn’t forgotten her birthday. They couldn’t have. Parents don’t… they don’t just forget their kids' birthdays.

With one last shred of hope that her mother would hop out of the car and yell surprise, Vera climbed out onto the sidewalk ahead of her aunt’s house. One foot in front of the other, she made it to the front door. It was already unlocked. She lifted her hand and twisted the knob, and it creaked open.

She glanced inside. No balloons, no streamers, nothing.

She glanced back, and her mother’s car was already gone.

It wasn’t a trick?

“Vera!” Her aunt, a tall, pretty woman with dark hair and even darker eyes came rushing toward her, scooping her up and spinning her around. “Happy birthday! We’re about to have the funnest day you’ve ever had in your life! We can call Layla and-”

While getting assaulted with affection, Vera peered out the window one last time, just to make sure her mother wasn’t turning around. 

There were no cars.

They really had forgotten.

Vera felt something burning, and she didn’t realize it was the back of her eyes until she started crying. Aunt Jamie released her immediately, and the girl brought her hands up to her eyes, the quiet tears quickly turning into quiet hiccups and sniffs.

“Oh God, did I hurt you?” Her aunt questioned, quickly appearing in front of Vera on her knees. Her hands hovered over Vera’s arms, not touching him.

“I… I… m-mom… and… m-mom-“ Vera herself could hardly even tell what she was saying through her own muffled sobs.

Jamie grabbed her wrists gently, pulling her hands away from her face. “Hey, V, take a breath. Tell me what’s going on.”

She drew in a few shaky breaths on her aunt’s command, just enough to make her sentence understandable. “M-mom and dad f-forgot that it’s my-my birthday.”

A few emotions — anger, frustration — flashed across Jamie’s face, before she settled on one of compassion. It seemed she didn’t know what to say, so she just drew the girl into her arms and stood, picking her up off the floor.

Vera hugged around her neck and hid her face away in the woman’s shoulder, sobbing quietly there. Jamie comforted lowly: “I know, sweetheart. I know. I’ve got you.”

Parents didn’t forget their kids birthdays.

She didn’t try to make excuses for Vera’s parents, nor did she try to come up with solutions or distractions to ease the girl's crying. She just held her, which, even if she didn’t realize it, Vera was grateful for. “I’ve got you.”

Vera’s spirits were low for a good portion of the day, but that didn’t stop Jamie from facilitating whatever activities she wanted for her birthday. After a while of back rubs and comforting words, they decided to go bowling with Layla and get ice cream. Vera was happier, then, but Jamie could still sense the hurt behind the girl’s eyes, the silent longing for her parents to be with them, too.

By the end of the day, Vera was alright. She fell asleep on the way back from the bowling alley — it was getting dark, anyway — so Jamie carried her inside and laid her on the living room couch.

The eight-year-old only woke up enough to hear Jamie speaking to someone. Probably on the phone.

“-even know what today is?” Jamie asked quietly. The sheer silence in the house allowed Vera to faintly hear the voice on the other end.

“May thirtieth,” It was Vera’s father. She’d know his phone voice anywhere.

“Your daughter’s birthday!” Jamie raised her voice only slightly, venom dripping from her tongue. “Your kid came into my house crying this morning because you forgot it was her birthday. How is that even possible?!”

“Because I have a real job. Unlike you. What is it you do, spend hours frolicking around inside a bunch of empty houses?”

“Being an agent makes me happy. Not sure I can say the same about your corporate job,” Jamie hissed.

“Just stop worrying about Vera, okay? She’s my problem, not yours,”

“She’s not your problem, she’s your daughter!” Jamie nearly shouted, but Vera heard her take a few breaths and calm herself. “Just… she was hurting this morning. I shouldn’t be the one to be there for her every time something happens.”

“You’re not,”

There was a huff. “She spends more time here at my house than she does at home. I don’t want her to grow up like us, J, I want her to have parents.”

“Don’t you dare start whipping out nicknames from our childhood, Jamie. She does have parents,” Vera’s father spat. “Parents that work to support her.”

“She doesn’t need you to grind so you can buy her the nicest things, she just needs you,”

Vera’s father made a growling noise. “I’m so tired of getting calls from you telling me how to raise my daughter. You don’t have any experience with children of your own!”

“I… think I’ve done a pretty good job raising yours,” Jamie said quietly. “Half of her closet is here. During the school year I pick her up and drop her off and do everything Redwood asks of parents. Every time you go out of town, she comes here to me. Have you even realized that you’ve spent more days out of town this year than in town? Almost double, actually.”

“And how do you know that?”

“Because I keep track of when Vera stays with me,” Her aunt explained, and Vera heard something make a clack noise. “I just… I don’t want her to grow up like we did. We had to raise ourselves. I want her to have a better life than us.”

“That’s what I’m trying to do by working for it,”

“At the expense of your relationship with her?”

There was a stiff, long silence, during which Vera only heard herself breathing. 

“Fine, Jamie. Fine. You win. If you want Vera so bad, take her. We’ll go to court when we return and hand custody over, since you find yourself so entitled to it.”

Another long pause. 

“Wh… what?” Jamie stammered softly. “That’s… not what I’m saying.”

“You heard me,”

“No… no, Jared, I don’t… I don’t want her, she’s… yours,”

“Weren’t you just yelling at me for not wanting her?”

“No, I mean… I didn’t mean that. I just meant… I want her to have a mom and a dad, not an aunt that passes for them. I’ve told you time and time again that I don’t want to take her from you, that’s not what I’m trying to do. Please, I’m… I’m sorry. I’ll stop calling you,” Jamie backpedaled.

Vera’s father huffed. “No, no, you’ve already proven you’re just what she needs. Don’t shy away from the reality that’s of your own making. You’ve been at this for years. At my throat day after day on Vera’s behalf… just take her already. My lawyers will be in contact.”

“I don’t want to take her,” Jamie murmured, her voice growing thick.

“Then why’ve you been fighting so hard?” 

There was a third, long silence.

“Don’t do this. Don’t give your child up out of spite for me. Please,” Vera shifted on the couch when she heard Jamie’s voice break.

“It isn’t the first time we’ve thought about handing you custody. Get ready, we’ll legalize it when we get home.”

Three shrill beeps alerted Vera to the end of the call. Her father had hung up. She didn’t really know what most of that meant, but she did sort of pick up on one thing — that Jamie was going to take her? Take her where?

The child didn’t open her eyes. Not until she heard someone crying, quietly, so quiet it could be passed as something outside or the air conditioning. When she heard that, she sat up, peeling her eyes open to look around the dim living room.

“Aunt Jamie?” She questioned, rubbing her eyes with a childish yawn. Her aunt, who’d been facing away from her, near a front window, wiped her face and turned, making her way to the couch from the other side of the room in a heartbeat.

“It’s okay, baby -- go back to sleep,” She said quietly, plopping down on the couch where Vera’s head had been. The child obliged, carefully shuffling herself around until she could climb up on her aunt’s lap, wrapping her little arms around the woman securely.

Jamie only cried once Vera had fallen asleep.

--

tag list that never works lmao

@fleur-alise @sarcopterygiian @gayboss-too-close-to-the-sun

@xiaonothere @skylathescholarly @flyrobinflyy

[mantrabay]

Far Beyond Hereafter

Team leader Renee peered out

of her faux gold window around a pulsing Friday noon.

“Almost like we’re puppets of each other down there.

Maybe everywhere?”

Albert, her partner and co-worker were apt to look down on the buzz where their joint venture, their central office, was located.

Quite often hoards of people of all age groups hung out, shrieked with joy, abandon, near the hazy plume cafe.

They were snacking and sharing purchases.

There was rainbow signage to the left of this group promoting all the companies within Renee, and Albert’s brief.

The name of their company was Hereafter Unlimited.

Close and “trustworthy” friends formed this postgraduate 7 person cluster which later evolved into quite a

mind-bogglingly complex concern.

Hair-raising hubs were hatched.

Geniuses one and all created one matrix after another of sequential self-financing companies.

Ideas among them spread like avalanches.

Songs and puns were sung.

They had “flames” or “wildfire” intensity at their fingertips.

They were at the mercy of their own brilliance.

Their aim was to bring countryside joys into every nook and cranny in their chosen capital.

There were bookstores, clubs, restaurants and other outlets named after the multifaceted rustic charms that obsessed them.

Each outlet had a communal dining area to draw in clientele.

The underlying idea behind all these shops, stores, stations

was to have a magnetic pull.

Havens, an escape hatch that would leave an out of this world impression on the visitor.

From energetic background music to kaleidoscopic screens, to elaborately sculpted tables, mahogany tint chairs, azure blue halo moon menus, kid zones in high jinx.

Cascade after cascade of hue swirls in tandem with jubilant dance trope very much in evidence.

A magic merry go round motif underpinned each inventive hub.

Once savoured, never forgotten.

Festivity a frequent festoon, mouth watering smorgasbord without rein running riot.

The element of surprise, key and kernel to atmospheres that thrived on visionary continuum.

Brains in this group were graded according to a binary system.

1 winner 0 as in loser.

A hypnotic mantra often -

“Winner, loser, hopeless chooser.”

There were even signs such as a straight finger for 1 or orb like finger sign for loser.

One might wonder aloud if this clique with their uncanny gestures would fit in anywhere else except this setting of their choice.

Hazy plume, rainbow eucalyptus, sylvan zephyr, amber leaf cascade,

lambent shroud, halcyon xanadu, wonder world cocoon, among the zany names they had thought of.

The staff each had nicknames linked to the above enterprises.

The brainstorming sessions they had had no drama or plot could “match.”

“Often have the feeling we are pawns to our ideas.”

Amber leaf sighed.

Lambent :

“This place is “dead on” for the wrong reason.

Smart is always in season.”

Lambent nodding to his “imaginary” sidekick “Shadow”

that seemed glued to his desk.

After all, they were used to that sort of thing as innovative university students.

This unusual alliance though city based had links to different areas.

But nothing would daunt this oddball eccentric clique and their very imaginative and oft bizarre aims.

They were nothing if not colorful.

They had this impressive office garnished with wallpaper having pictures of their various businesses and the names associated with them.

This franchise had been in existence now for over 5 years.

It was coping to an extent but there was an underlying desire to go beyond that.

A glorified high tek office routine secretly horrified everyone.

Lambent shroud, ICloud expert in the group was perhaps the zaniest of them all.

He had a fetish about hazes and how the term could be used.

Haze was his buzzword and

of course his very own in the ether mate.

He had a virtual sidekick called “Shadow.”

They used to speak to each other in rhymes.

“Hi there, going nowhere shadow.

I’m really stuck. Yuck!”

The other members of the group would tease Lambent Shroud.

They’d speak in groans n puns too.

You’d sense lambent was a little uncomfortable with it all.

The other members of this amazing group were all tall, had numerous quirks, and spoke with crystal clear clarity.

They stood out even when alone.

Their high IQ, articulacy, and physical presence were obvious requirements for this enterprise.

They were constantly with each other hatching plans.

But Lambent may have had a begrudging “one who leads” complex.

But was the cordiality apparent and only for appearances?

Team leader Renee is Hazy and Albert is Rainbow.

The brain sessions were more often than not impromptu.

Hazy, Halcyon and Amber would seem like cerebral archers the way they bounced informal sessions off each other.

The other pairs, bright spark subgroups would have these on the spot conventions.

“Sparks would fly.

High IQ flashes sky high.

We never ever say die.”

Eerie notion, pie in the sky.”

The smart seven chipping in one by one generating a certain heat.

Even fleeting cabals.

Their brain cliques they nicknamed “Bouncers,”

Or “Pools.”

“Blessing and a boon. Under a shimmering moon. You’ll be lifting trophies soon.”

Lambent the awkward rhymer.

Wonder world had a strained crease on his face.

“Crackpot scheme, halbaked dream, eccentric team.”

In reply.

And so the banter used to go until someone ran out of ripostes.

There were daily meetings also on security updates devised by the team.

But there was much nod and wink, subterfuge.

Amber Leaf the accountant controlled the cash flow, dividends, “watertight insurance,” wages, general outlay.

But one got the impression that there was something afoot.

Amber and sylvan nudged;

“Should we rhyme as we speak or maybe tweak til next week.

Isn’t Lambent leaning a lot on his Shadow.

The Alter Ego.”

Who is this Shadow to begin with Amber pried?

An umbrella term!

A watchful eye was maintained.

This most unusual group of mental giants were so astute that they crossed checked each others scheduling and tasks.

It all seemed so foolproof.

Turnover was quite considerable and there were really no grounds for complaint at any point.

But despite the cliques they could anticipate future trends which made sense but by the same token was spooky.

Betimes who actually did what with whom had a blurred demarcation.

When you have such active brain cells, another pseudonym for the catalyst co-op you might be forgiven for thinking at times it might seem monotonous.

“ Heck! What kind of service is this?

Fly in my soup. And that fish is off! And that’s not all.”

Sylvan Zephyr the ambassador was entrusted to diffuse awkward clients.

Shrieking and clamoring, heated exchanges over the phone subside after a protracted row.

One wonders why

Lambent Shroud had this uncanny smirk and one wonders at this stage why?

The wiles of his smiles were like a form of contagion in the region.

A comic contagion if you will was never far from the surface.

“I’ve just had this idea. We could have a different decor.

Like stick on flourishes.”

Halcyon Xanadu peeped.

Once again there’ we’re nods, some almost quasi-religious.

This may seem strange.

Another shuffle, cabal.

Lambent Shroud when not spinning joke shop rhymes, chatting with his shadow might suddenly burst into paroxysms of disdain.

Despite the cerebral nature of this undertaking each member of this esoteric business cult had their finger firmly on the economic pulse, the till.

“I keep checking my apps as asked though I leave the cash flow in reality to Amber.”

Hazy plume, who had the unenviable task of being the all-seeing-eye supervisor, and to keep the ideas surfacing from drifting into vermillion clouds.

“That’s good. Mightn’t be such a bad idea if we made a few spot checks on our hubs.”

Albert, alias Rainbow chimed.

Creativity was this seamless mesh.

But with all the paraphernalia at each desk perhaps sight was being lost of the original concept.

Maybe this might explain the present fractious undercurrent, stilted atmosphere that appeared to dwell within this epicentre.

“YAWN YAWN YAWNS.

WE USED TO DREAM MINT LAWNS.”

A vocal scat from Lambent or the uncanny “Shadow.”

Now and then at any rate.

“Muffled squeaks, awh, so sad,

yikes, bah, too bad.”

The rub, the nub, the hub.

Sometimes the puns were flaccid where they once had flare.

After 5 years the wide-eyed optimism of wanting to bring the green utopia to the steel and concrete jungle of modern city life had somehow peaked, or maybe approaching it.

This wasn’t always obvious, however.

“THUNDER AND LIGHTNING.

HOLY SQUAWKING CROWS.”

Halcyon Xandu.

“I just got a text from one of our hubs. One of the hub computers crashed and there was even some steam generated.

Volume of loud noises reported but calm was restored.”

Suddenly everybody awakened from their stupor despite the seeming hive of activity.

“As far as I can gather the crash was cleared fairly quickly.”

Xanadu again.

Tho a creeping suspicion crossed her face.

Everyone rushed towards a center spot on the floor.

A buzz quite unusual swept across the tight nuclear pulse clique.

There was always a certain surge about this place even during a lull.

All this very macabre in a mild sense conduct might seem like a scheme being cobbled together.

By someone but who knows what that someone is if a someone at all might be.

A prevailing milieu that was taut, tense, tho teasingly trivial constantly at tangents.

“Utter breathless oath,

unearthly surreal cache,

burst of universal apogee indelibly trumpets,

exalted plot as moonbeam stepping stone,

Mecca to a hue-laden vortex,

that sequesters sun-drenched harbors, gurgling stream meanders, moss-fleck tides,

mesmerizing shroud of lambent bayou,

hazy plume on silver waterfall,

scarab mountain chain at sapphire dawn.”

Sylvan Zephyr throwing down the gauntlet and eschewing his tentative role as tactful go-between.

You’ll have noticed the no corresponding taper of sounds known as rhyme.

A sleight of hand from the scheme team within the dream team was at play.

The following day wonder world cocoon did a whirlwind inspection of the various hubs.

Not best pleased.

It looked as if all the hubs were splitting up into subhubs.

The staff were being secretive in all the business operations.

Even certain ideas from headquarters which hadn’t been released yet.

Wonder world spotted rough outlines of change from the corner of her eye relating to the above tract.

Ominous thoughts lurking.

She began to detect a pattern.

“Holy charging elephants.

I smell a rat.

That’s that. Everybody get out of here.

is that clear?”

The complex jewel sensor super sensitive alarm system which had been added to by each member rang out.

Mysteriously each member incognito ( sometimes) installed extra features.

Ashen volcanic smoke left little to the imagination.

The 7 member cluster eschewedsafety protocol.

But somehow managed to escape against an anarchic, chaotic backdrop that surged at breakneck speed.

“What about our valuables, valuables?

Or are they “EXPENDABLES.”

Diplomatic Sylvan Zephyr not so diplomatic.

This incendiary incident shook the other hubs, the people in them and the surrounding area.

The thunderstruck brain camp, most of them gazed incredulously at what was unfolding.

A sky tower inferno of cinder spewing incidents, boom laden choirs with puns, warnings, alerts, rhymes, ones and zeros,

volcanic cackles, surreal demolition, and on the spot disintegrated havoc never seen before.

It ended in a gradual stepwise motion before collapsing into a gradual “Black Shadow Plume.”

This plume decided to hover over

a “Smirk” like structure redolent of “Someone.”

In many ways what was left of their business center looked like

the nirvana they as a group were trying to fuse with urban vim.

Renee nudged Albert who squinted at the corner of his eye.

They both spotted “Lambent Shroud” with a retinue that included other hub members, heading towards a country signpost!!!!

At least he was in that coveted dream lead role.

Renee opined. “I hear Lambent whispering to himself about missing something .. ..no longer a puppet? and the sidekick?”

Albert now clued in on this earth shattering denouement that engulfs layer upon eternal layer of tiered narrative.

Renee, Albert, Amber Leaf the reliable and infinitely shrewd person on money flow now swop knowing glances and scrutinise what is left of a once ornate “Landmark” project.

“Where do we all go from here I wonder?

But should we actually be asking that question at all?

We shouldn’t have the nerve or gall!”

Albert reflected with a “Stick On Smirk.”

As the local fire brigade arrives a “Haze” of a more “endowed” kind descends on Renee, Albert, Amber.

1’s and 0’s of a massive kind beckon!!!

And a nearby shop’s cash register tolls triumphant.

Three straight fingers now in sync!!!!!

This short story is dedicated to my wonderful sister Jay A Pallen.

Photographs and story all my own work

A genuine thanks to all my supporters and followers on Tumbrl

[johannestevans]

Pirate Media Recommendations

Along with Ryann Fletcher, Kate Heartfield, Juliet Kemp, and F.D. Lee, I'm going to be on the Queer Pirates panel at 3pm this Friday at EasterCon 2023!

Our Flag Means Death and other pirates: a panel discussion including fandom and canon of Our Flag Means Death and other series such as Black Sails. This item will start around 15 minutes after advertised start time to minimise clash with the Opening Ceremony.

You can still sign up for virtual membership of EasterCon here if you'd like to attend online, as there are going to be a great many panels and discussions throughout the con, which are gonna be great.

Coming up to the panel, I thought I'd make a list of some of my favourite pirate and nautical media to point people to, as I'm probably going to mention a bunch of it on the panel and this is a particularly fierce interest of mine!

So for Our Flag Means Death, we know that it's an interpretation of the historical relationship between Edward Teach and Stede Bonnet as a romance - two other famously queer pirates were of course Anne Bonny and Mary/Mark Read. I'm personally super excited to see if these figures will feature in Our Flag Means Death S2.

Podcast Episodes & Videos:

Ching Shih: The Pirate Queen, from Puppet History

The True Story of a Pirate Queen, from Ruining History

A History of Gay Pirates with Rebecca Simon, on the PRIDE Podcast -

Sailing Through Queer Pirate History with Rebecca Simon, on the PRIDE Podcast

Pirate Queens with Rebecca Simon, on the PRIDE Podcast

Were Some Pirates Poofters?, from the History is Gay Podcast - Going through Anne Bonny, Mary Read, Calico Jack, and Pierre Bouspet.

Queerness in the Golden Age of Piracy, from Queer as Fact

Books & Essays:

FICTION: The Aubrey-Maturin Series, by Patrick O'Brian - The Aubreyad is not about pirates, but is a nautical-historical series of 20 books set in the 1800s. I love these books a lot, they're ridiculous and very homoerotic with a lot of background gay dynamics - you can absolutely infer a romance between Captain Jack Aubrey, a hot slab of beef, and his doctor, Stephen Maturin. They're funny and they're rich with nautical descriptions, really immersing you into the language and feel of the period and the sensation of being on these vessels. While I'm not holding these books up as a bastion of queerness compared to other texts, Maturin is a fervent abolitionist and despite being a member of Aubrey's crew is actually vehemently anti-colonialist in his views, and those discussions do play out on paper again and again. Because of their realism these books do kind of poke a hole in the naval officers being held up as inherently noble or honourable, and particularly regularly criticises the actions and ideas of the state.

FICTION: J.M. Barrie's Peter Pan - I love Peter Pan, and obviously I talk and blog about it a lot. What's particularly dear to my heart is the relationship between Hook and Smee, which is such an intimate marriage even though it's not explicitly described as such, and it makes me very emotional. This book was written at the beginning of the 20th century, and I do want to warn anyone before going in about the racism inherent - the text treats the existence of the Natives to Neverland as part of an "adventure", and there's also anti-Black racism toward many of Hook's crew, as well as the description of Hook himself as "swarthy" despite being a white Etonian. Peter Pan is a story about working class white children in London whose parents has dreams of them ascending to middle class, and the children's fears of growing up are heavily influenced by economic anxiety, but also they desire a return to a time when as young white kids "adventure" would have been more accessible to them, as is typical in the classic adventure novel.

FICTION: Peter Darling, by Austin Chant - The Lost Boys say that Peter Pan went back to England because of Wendy Darling, but Wendy is just an old life he left behind. Neverland is his real home. So when Peter returns to it after ten years in the real world, he’s surprised to find a Neverland that no longer seems to need him. The only person who truly missed Peter is Captain James Hook, who is delighted to have his old rival back. The oft-recommended trans man!Peter Pan/Hook romance novel. Please don't talk to me about this one as I haven't and can't read it for some personal trigger readings, but it's recommended all over and is well-loved for a reason!

FICTION: Robert Louis Stevenson's Treasure Island - Treasure Island is of course, one of the archetypal adventure novels. What a lot of people might not know is that the TV series Black Sails is a prequel to Treasure Island! If you enjoyed Our Flag Means Death, you might be delighted to realise that the real life pirate Israel Hands features in Treasure Island, and fights with Jim Hawkins, the protagonist.

NON-FICTION: Sodomy and the Pirate Tradition: English Sea Rovers in the Seventeenth-Century Caribbean, by B.R. Burg - In Sodomy and the Pirate Tradition, historian B. R. Burg investigates the social and sexual world of these sea rovers, a tightly bound brotherhood of men engaged in almost constant warfare. What, he asks, did these men, often on the high seas for years at a time, do for sexual fulfillment? Buccaneer sexuality differed widely from that of other all- male institutions such as prisons, for it existed not within a regimented structure of rule, regulations, and oppressive supervision, but instead operated in a society in which widespread toleration of homosexuality was the norm and conditions encouraged its practice.

ESSAY: Our Flag Means Death and Queer Utopias at Sea, an essay by Seth LeJacq

TV Series:

Our Flag Means Death - Of course, duh! Our Flag Means Death, a queer romcom interpreting the historical relationship between Stede Bonnet, the Gentleman Pirate, and Edward Teach, Blackbeard, as a romance.

Black Sails - A "gritty" and brutal prequel to RL Stevenson's Treasure Island, exploring the tales of Long John Silver and how he came to be what he ultimately is in Treasure Island. There is a lot of gay shit in this and it's extremely anti-imperial in its outlook - with that said, I'm personally not a great fan of Black Sails to watch, for me personally it's either too upsetting or too dull to stick with, oscillating between the two extremes. If you haven't tried it and do want to, I do recommend sticking through at least the first season and seeing if you get into it! With that said, it's got particularly brutal onscreen treatment of its WOC, especially Max, a Black woman who is violently raped onscreen (as well as onscreen abuses of other women), and I would recommend treading with caution if this is something that will be difficult to watch.

Neverland - This miniseries is near and dear to my heart - it's not huge on the pirates, but it actually has Bob Hoskins reprising his 1991 role as Smee, and I find it to be an interesting and quite different exploration of the Peter Pan prequel that really explores class some. More importantly, it actually has Natives playing Natives, and features Q'orianka Kilcher as Aaya!

Movies:

Love, Death, & Robots: Bad Travelling (2022) - This is a short film that's part of the LD&R series, and it's really good nautical horror. That's all there is to it.

Master and Commander (2003) - Taika Waititi said this movie is his favourite romance movie, and he's so fucking right. Anyway, this movie is based off the first five of Patrick O'Brian's Aubreyad, and it's so loving and so gay.

Treasure Planet (2002) - There are so many adaptations of Treasure Island, but this is my favourite every single time, it's just so well-done, it's so full of care, it really captures the wonder and excitement of sailing and the sense of freedom, and honestly? Jim Hawkins is sooooo transmasculine, he even has an ugly shitty mullet haircut and a little gold earring, he is the blueprint, he is perfect. If piracy in space tickles your fancy, I also might recommend Space Pirate Captain Harlock (2013).

Pirates of the Carribean: The Black Pearl (2003), Dead Man's Chest (2006), and At World's End (2007) - Listen. Are there technically other POTC movies? Yes. Should you watch them? Oh, fuck no. I have seen On Stranger Tides and Dead Men Tell No Tales/Salazar's Revenge and let me tell you: you do not have to, you do not need to, and you do not want to. On Stranger Tides tried to tell me that Hector Barbossa fell in love with a woman. My man. Hector Barbossa. A woman!? Please! Anyway, I grew up on these movies and unfortunately they are overwhelmingly and unrealistically white - there are some really cool characters of colour and I especially love Tia Dalma. Remember not to watch these movies legally, by the way - watch them on an old cheap DVD or do some piracy yourself. Fuck Johnny Depp.

The Pirates of Penzance (1983) - This is an adaptation of the Gilbert and Sullivan opera, and it is so over the top, so ridiculous, so much fucking fun. Kevin Kline has some of the sexiest fits in this movie and so much thick, thatched chest hair, and the music is good, many of the jokes still land, and it's just fun.

Peter Pan (2003) - Don't watch the Disney Peter Pan. Never watch it, it's garbage, it's ugly, it invented a bunch of anti-Native racism that isn't in the already racist original text, and you know, fuck Disney. Is the 2003 Peter Pan perfect? No. But is it better? Yes. Jason Isaacs is so hot as Hook, and while I am not the biggest fan of PJ Hogan's take on the book that's all about Wendy wanting to fuck her own dad on top of cutting the Hook/Smee dynamic back significantly, the Neverland aesthetics and the silly piratical ones are a lot of fun.

Hook (1991) - Spielberg's sequel to Peter Pan is glorious for one reason and one reason only: Dustin Hoffman and Bob Hoskins were like, "hey, these two dudes are married. They're old queens in love!" and they played it like that, and they were so fucking right. Hoffman's Hook is so queer and so effete and so incredibly mentally ill and he is the biggest mood throughout, as is Smee trying to keep them both alive. I adore this movie to death, I really do.

Down Periscope (1996) - Okay. So. This movie is a little bit different. It's not set in the Golden Age of Piracy or even just after it - it's set in the 1990s, and is about a Yank Naval Captain doing wargames with other members of the navy. With that said, it's got a lot of pirate hijinks and a lot of found family dynamics with a lot of freaks and neurodivergents packing the crew - note that there's some misogynistic harassment in this for the only female crew member, but she's one of my favourite characters and she's so much fun, much like the rest of the crew. Listen. The captain has a tattoo on his dick. They all dress up as pirates while making one of their crew members walk the plank. Their ending credits feature the cast dancing and singing along with the Village People, to the iconic gay anthem, In The Navy. It's good, I swear.

And I've tried a bunch of pirate videogames, but none of them has measured up to Assassin's Creed IV: Black Flag. Unfortunately, this game is an Assassin's Creed game and all the AC plot stuff sucks, because that's what AC games are for.

When it's not doing their terrible meta plot in the "real world", though, this game has such excellent gameplay, it's great fun, and the soundtrack is tremendous. Even if you don't play the game, absolutely consider giving the sound track a listen, because it's just great!

An old album I would recommend is also the Robert Shaw Chorale Sea Shanties one! It's from 1960, and they do some really fun arrangements of different sea shanties - their Drunken Sailor is one of my absolute favourites!

If you'd like to see a different take on the sea shanties and would still love some more space piracy, I would also recommend Once Upon A Time (in Space), by the Mechanisms!

My Stuff

And separate to the general rec list above, here's some of my work that's relevant to my takes on queer pirates, and why I'm on the panel:

Communicating Want, by me, DictionaryWrites - 75k, rated E, Frenchie/Izzy. Izzy's just so buttoned-up, how is Lucius supposed to resist the urge to seduce him? It doesn't go well. Just a silly thing exploring sexual trauma and stuff with Izzy Hands! Love that bitch.

Our Flag Means Death S01 E01: Close Textual Analysis — Examining OFMD E1: Pilot in close detail and liveblogging/analysing the text. On Medium / / On Patreon.

Gerald Poole and the Pirates - A distinctly queer adventure full of internal conflict ensues when a gentleman and a sailor are captured by pirates. Read on Medium: Part I / / Part II / / Part III / / Part IV / / Buy as an eBook on SmashWords, $2.99 / Buy as an eBook from Amazon.

The Coffin at Sea — 400w. A vessel picks up a coffin afloat at sea. On Medium / / On Patreon.

The Pirate Accountant — 4.5k, rated M, MB. A quartermaster works up the nerve to finally mount a seduction on their accountant. Dark humour and biting banter throughout, between an exceedingly cautious and paranoid accountant and the quartermaster who’s finally worked up the courage to ask him out. On Medium / / On Patreon.

Saint Jude’s Kitchen — 20k, Rated M, MB. After an injury stops him working, a failing deckhand gets a new lease on life. Themes around cooking and nurturing, identity and sense of self, and complex family dynamics. Adapted from a TweetFic. On Medium / / On Patreon.

[hypersonic04]

Part One:

I haven't written anything in so long, but today I had a sudden burst of inspiration for an enemies-to-lovers series with Ross? If anything, this is for me to simply live my fantasies (lol). word count: 1,467

My shoes are squeaky on the floors, and it's like the fluorescent lighting of the hallway makes me even more conscious of the nails-on-a-chalkboard noise emanating from my footsteps. I cringe to myself and pray that the band aren't recording anything important right now - I don't think the sound of rubber against wood flooring in the background of his song is something Matty would see as valuable to the band's development.

I try to blame my lack of sleep and hydration for the swirling feeling in my stomach, however I reckon it's probably more to do with the fact that today is my first day working with them. Working in music is something I've always wanted, but throwing myself in at the deep end with one of the biggest bands in the industry was not exactly my plan. When someone like Jack offers you the opportunity to write with The 1975, you don't pass it up.

I reach the room that Jamie pointed me in the direction of, a sign stuck on there with blu-tack - 'WRITING IN PROGRESS'. My lungs feel like they can't fill up properly as I attempt to take a deep breath, my hand drifting to the doorknob.

It was almost like I commanded the door to open with my mind. It swings open aggressively before I can even touch it, and I'm met with what I can only describe as a biblically-accurate Jesus.

He's frowning, and I can't help but feel like I'm already in their way. He excuses himself past me with pursed lips and a raised brow, slipping past me and swiftly making his way down the hall I had only been nervously pacing minutes ago. His shoes didn't squeak, though.

"Uh, hi!" I say, perhaps a tad too sprightly for the atmosphere of the room. "I'm Iris, I-"

"Lovely to meet you, Iris. I'm Adam," He stands up and holds his hand out, the first out of the four of them to greet me. It seems like they were having a meeting of sorts, the three remaining men in the room each sat on sofas. Adam almost seems relieved that there had been a change of topic upon my entrance, the tension in the room easing slightly as he shakes my hand. "This is Matty, George..." He gestures between them and they give me a friendly smile each, the kind you might give to a new colleague in an office.

I stand awkwardly in the doorway, and it's at that moment that I begin to question everything. What was I thinking? Why did I possibly think that writing music with a very established, very successful band was a good idea?

"I, uh-" I wrack my brain for what I'd practiced to say next, but the whole situation is nothing like I had expected. I mean, there's only three of them here, for a start.

"Jamie played us a few of the songs you've worked on, you're really talented." Matty states matter-of-factly, still sat with his legs spread wide, an acoustic guitar leaning against the side of the sofa.. "I didn't realise you'd worked with Phoebe."

"Thanks," I smile quickly and subconsciously run my hands over the denim around my hips, immediately stopping when I realise how visible my nerves are. "Yeah, we met through Jack."

"How do you know Jack?" He asks, and it takes me a few moments to recognise that his bluntness is not a reflection of his opinions of me, but rather just his general manner.

"We met at The Brits. I was there on a uni placement, and we just kind of got talking." I nod, as if the gestures affirms my place in the room.

"Do you want a drink or anything, before we start?" George stands up suddenly and it's almost a comfort, a swift diversion from my professional accolades and connections.

"Yes, please," I smile. "Just water will be fine, thank you."

I take a seat on the sofa and grab my notebook, scraps of verses and snippets of bridges scribbled down in virtually unintelligible hand-writing. Looking up as George hands me the bottle of water, I notice the look they exchange between themselves.

"I'm really sorry, I don't mean to be forward, but isn't there supposed to be four of you?" I break the silence, an airy chuckle masking my anxiety.

"Uh, yeah," Adam starts, but is quickly cut off by Matty.

"Yeah, Ross." He looks at me with a face that suggests he's pissed off. "but someone's in a bit of a mood today, so he's not going to be joining us." He sighs.

We start by discussing what their main focus is at the minute, the direction they want their fourth album to go in, their usual creative process. It feels like a priviledge to have such knowledge, my brain simply a sponge for information like this. I think Matty can sense me engagement as he talks, going into detail as I make notes like it's a lecture. The icy atmosphere in the rooms thaws gradually, as do my nerves and apprehension at being in a recording studio alone with three strange men. I admire their respective passions for music, whether it be playing it or producing it, and it's as if there's a sense of respect between the four of us as we discuss our plans for writing.

The conversation flows easily, until it doesn't.

The door swings open, exactly as it did about an hour ago when I was on the other side of it. My breath hitches as he enters the room, my eyes glued to the notes sat in my lap. There's an almost frosty silence creeping in, and I wonder what could have possibly happened between them to cause this.

"Ross, this is Iris." Matty introduces me as offers me an apologetic smile, his eyes creasing at the edges.

I look over to where he's stood, the door closing behind him and suddenly making the room feel a lot smaller. Ross' eyes are dark - really dark. Nearly as dark as the hair he wears pulled back, and the beard that decorates his face. I swallow nervously as I give him a smile, the twisting feeling in my stomach worsening when he doesn't return it. I look away, half because of the anxiety pooling in my chest, and half because I'm convinced that if I'd have stared for any longer, I wouldn't have stopped.

"Nice to meet you." He replies, his back turned to me as he fiddles with the knobs and faders on the dashboard. I hear George inhale sharply, his frustration clear. Adam shifts uncomfortably in his seat, clearing his throat.

"We've just been showing her some of the songs we're working on. Feel free to join us." Matty says sharply. "You know, seeing as it is actually your band, too."

Ross turns around quickly and rather that aiming his stare at Matty, it finds me. I involuntarily raise my eyebrows in surprise, looking to the other boys in search of answers, perhaps. His icy glare lands on me for a few seconds before he appears to give in to something, huffing loudly and making his way to the seat furthest from me. I wonder whether it's intentional as he folds his arms across his chest and looks between the four of us expectantly.

The discussion carries on, and it takes everything in me not to get up and run. His mere presence makes my muscles stiffen, and every time I look up and see him staring at me from across the room, I feel sick.

"So are we all ok to meet again tomorrow? I think it would be better if we use Real World, it's better for recording the strings and stuff." Matty talks as he gathers his notebook and belongings from the coffee table in front of him. We all agree, and before we can make further arrangements, Ross is already leaving the room. I stand there, my hands by my sides, a sense of disappointment overwhelming me.

"It's nothing personal, Iris." George tries to justify, raising from his seat as frowning at me. I nod, also gathering my things and stuffing them into my tote bag. "Honestly."

I don't know what I expected - they've known each other forever. It was naive of me to think that I was going to swan in and connect with them all immediately, writing some gems and leaving with a paycheck and four new friends. Nevertheless, the disheartened feeling that swells in my chest hurts.

"We'll see you tomorrow, yeah?" Matty rests a hand on my shoulder, and the whole sense of familiarity in the exchange makes me feel a tad better about the impression I've made.

"Yeah, I'll be there, 12pm on the dot."

[thatsonemorbidcorvid]

“In theory, group counseling to address the root causes of abusive behavior sounds promising. If batterer intervention programs make abusers less violent and, as a result, victims safer, why wouldn’t it be a preferable alternative to sentencing someone to, say, a year in jail, as Majors faced? But decades after the first programs were established, we have limited and highly contradictory research on how well they work. Some studies have found batterer intervention programs reduce future violence; others conclude they have little to no impact. The National Institute of Justice says results are “mixed.” Complicating matters, batterer intervention programs aren’t a monolith, and curriculum and quality varies wildly from one to another…

But while batterer intervention programs may prove effective when abusers attend, a huge portion of participants simply don’t. Anywhere from 15 to 58 percent of participants fail to complete treatment, often with few consequences. A 2022 state audit of California batterer intervention programs, including those in L.A. County, where Majors is expected to attend, found that probation officers and program providers frequently failed to inform the court about absences and other probation violations, including serious ones, such as contacting a victim under a protective order. In California, like in Massachusetts, those who completed the programs had a lower rate of reoffending than those who dropped out — 20 percent compared to 65 percent — but notably, nearly half of the domestic-violence offenders reviewed by the state did not complete the program. The “system has not adequately held offenders accountable,” the audit concluded, adding that these issues “have plagued the batterer intervention system for at least three decades, creating a critical need for statewide guidance and oversight.” Without proper supervision, these programs can end up functioning as literal get-out-of-jail-free cards.”

One evening last summer, I logged onto Zoom to observe a virtual counseling program for men who perpetrated domestic violence, run by a Boston-based group called Emerge. There were nine men of various ages and ethnicities and backgrounds on the call. Some were at home, video-conferencing from their bedrooms, one was in the car, and another was taking a leisurely walk outdoors, his sunglasses blocking his eyes from view. Emerge has a set format for these classes, which run weekly for 40 weeks and are generally populated by men court-mandated to attend by a judge. Participants begin by identifying themselves and the name of the person they abused, serving, it seemed to me, a dual purpose—centering the victim at the onset of the session and promoting responsibility. At Alcoholics Anonymous, it’s Hi, I’m John and I’m an alcoholic. At Emerge, it’s Hi, I’m John and I’m an abuser.

The walker, whom I’ll call Jeremy, was doing his weekly check-in with the group when David Adams, the co-founder of Emerge and one of two facilitators on the call, asked him a direct question: What was the abuse he committed that landed him in the program? Emerge encourages men to talk candidly and in detail about their abuse — what preceded it, what they did, how it impacted their partner — and accept feedback from the rest of the group about their behavior. The hope is that participants will begin to recognize and interrogate their own patterns of abuse and, over time, undergo the slow and uncomfortable process of change. To be successful, this intervention model requires active, incisive coaching by group leaders, Adams explained in a paper describing the program, as left on their own, “abusive men tend to give superficial or highly skewed reports of their interactions with their partners.”

Jeremy, still walking, began describing his relationship with his ex-girlfriend. They both struggled with insecurity, he said, leading to arguments over stupid things. “We were both wounded birds, just trying to soar through the sky, and we just, kind of like, we didn’t have very good communicative skills,” he said. Adams stopped his digressive answer there. The question, he reminded Jeremy, was how exactly did he abuse his partner? Now, Jeremy’s voice sped up. “Just like … pushing … I like, pulled her down the stairs, but like two … two stairs, you know?” he replied. “It wasn’t like I dragged her down a flight of stairs and she was all beat up or nothing crazy like that.” He went on: “I don’t want to reflect on my past because I am accountable for my actions, and stuff like that. But it was again, like I said, based upon our insecurities and not having good communicative skills.”

In Jeremy’s telling, his physical violence toward his girlfriend was caused by their mutual insecurity. It was only a few stairs. Nothing crazy. It is exactly this type of thinking that batterer intervention programs, as they are called, are designed to combat. Emerge, circa 1977, was the first such program in the U.S., born at a time when feminist activists were demanding national attention to the neglected issue of domestic violence. As hotlines and shelters sprung up for victims, Adams said, the natural next question within the movement was what to do with the men causing harm?

In the years since, programs have proliferated (over 2,500 exist, according to one count) and are now fully integrated into the criminal-justice system. These days, if you are convicted of a domestic-violence offense, it is likely you’ll be mandated to go to one. Millions of men have attended, including celebrities such as Mel Gibson, Christian Slater, and Chris Brown, who bragged about completing the class on Twitter: “Boyz run from there [sic] mistakes.. Men learn from them!!!” he wrote. (Four years later, a judge granted another woman, Karrueche Tran, a five-year restraining order against Brown, who she said he threatened to kill her.) And earlier this month, Jonathan Majors was sentenced to a 52-week batterer intervention program in California after being convicted of assaulting and harassing his ex-girlfriend Grace Jabbari.

In theory, group counseling to address the root causes of abusive behavior sounds promising. If batterer intervention programs make abusers less violent and, as a result, victims safer, why wouldn’t it be a preferable alternative to sentencing someone to, say, a year in jail, as Majors faced? But decades after the first programs were established, we have limited and highly contradictory research on how well they work. Some studies have found batterer intervention programs reduce future violence; others conclude they have little to no impact. The National Institute of Justice says results are “mixed.” Complicating matters, batterer intervention programs aren’t a monolith, and curriculum and quality varies wildly from one to another.

Most states have legal standards that regulate programs, but oversight falls to different departments with distinct goals. In California, for example, the Probation Department is in charge. In Massachusetts, it’s the Department of Public Health. Generally, participants are mandated to attend once a week for anywhere from 8 to 52 weeks (the longer the better for real change, Adams says). While models range, most programs are a mix of therapy and education, covering topics such as conflict-resolution skills, effects of abuse on partners and children, and how to take accountability. With victims’ consent, Emerge checks in with them throughout the 40 weeks to see if there has been any additional violence or threats and assess victims’ sense of safety. If a perpetrator refuses to own up to his actions or suggests he might commit more violence or stops attending, programs are typically supposed to communicate with probation, courts, and even the partner in question. “If we get somebody 12 weeks into our program who’s still blaming his partner, then we put that in a letter,” Adams said, which can be helpful to partners who are trying to make a decision about whether to stay in the relationship.

Adams, a psychologist who grew up with an abusive father, is a true believer in the power of these programs to save lives. When I asked him about the dismal research on effectiveness, he said studies often lump together participants who quit with those who complete it. Truly changing someone’s deep-seated and long-held thought patterns and beliefs takes time, he explained. “Many of the studies look at somebody who dropped out after one session and reoffend and count that as a program failure,” he said. “If substance-abuse programs were evaluated that way, they would all be considered to be failures.” He directed me to a 2015 pilot study conducted by the Harvard Kennedy School that assessed three batterer intervention programs in Massachusetts, including Emerge. It found that participants who completed such a program were 28 percent less likely to recidivate — measured as an arrest for a future domestic-violence-related crime — than those who failed to complete the program. Stated another way, those who dropped out were three times more likely to be arrested for domestic violence again than those who completed the work. (Of course, evaluating a program’s success using future arrests reveals only the tip of the iceberg, as domestic violence is chronically underreported to police.)

But while batterer intervention programs may prove effective when abusers attend, a huge portion of participants simply don’t. Anywhere from 15 to 58 percent of participants fail to complete treatment, often with few consequences. A 2022 state audit of California batterer intervention programs, including those in L.A. County, where Majors is expected to attend, found that probation officers and program providers frequently failed to inform the court about absences and other probation violations, including serious ones, such as contacting a victim under a protective order. In California, like in Massachusetts, those who completed the programs had a lower rate of reoffending than those who dropped out — 20 percent compared to 65 percent — but notably, nearly half of the domestic-violence offenders reviewed by the state did not complete the program. The “system has not adequately held offenders accountable,” the audit concluded, adding that these issues “have plagued the batterer intervention system for at least three decades, creating a critical need for statewide guidance and oversight.” Without proper supervision, these programs can end up functioning as literal get-out-of-jail-free cards.

In 2016, I was invited to attend a conference on batterer intervention in Dearborn, Michigan. For three days, I listened as leaders in the field, many of whom had been working on this issue since the ’80s, described what they’d learned. Session titles, such as “Real Change, Real Challenges: Moving Forward Through the Backlash” and “Let’s Set the Record Straight!” reflected a sense of frustration with how outsiders perceive the work. I left with the impression that many batterer intervention practitioners genuinely believe that reforming abusers is a critical step — maybe even the critical step — to reducing domestic violence yet is chronically underfunded, the ugly duckling of the movement to stop violence against women. Few advocacy groups are interested in raising money for programs that help abusers, especially if it seems like it might divert resources from victims.

Bringing us back to Jeremy, the Emerge participant. After he finally acknowledged to the group that he pushed his girlfriend down “two” stairs, Adams called him out. He noted that Jeremy kept referring to the core problem as “our” insecurities, as if his girlfriend’s insecurity played a role in the violence. “You’re taking responsibility for your abusive behavior means it’s 100 percent a choice that you’re making. Regardless of how insecure or whatever the other person’s feelings are, right? It has no relevance.”

“I comprehend everything you’re saying,” Jeremy responded guardedly.

Adams continued. “I’m just recommending that you think differently about it, because if that’s the way you continue to think about it, then you’re not responsible. You’re saying, ‘Well, if I get into another situation where both people are insecure, then of course I’m going to be abusive,’ as if one follows naturally from the other.” At this, Jeremy squirmed and frowned. The audio cut out for a few seconds.

Once he was reconnected, he conceded the point. “I should have said ‘my insecurity,’” he said. “I absolutely agree to what you’re trying to say. And my mind-set changes in each group that I come into.”

When asked what Jeremy hoped to get from the program, he said he wanted to learn from his mistakes. “I want this lesson to have an effect, a very big impact in my behavior, my lifestyle and everything.” Of course, it’s easy to say that, whether you really mean it, and some men do fake their way through the classes without genuinely engaging with the content. Regardless, Adams said, “fake it ’til you make it” can still produce an impact.

I asked Adams how Jeremy was doing, nine months after I observed him in class. He’s still attending, Adams said, which is something. He’s taking somewhat more responsibility, but he still deflects from time to time. There’s still more work to be done.