#you need to read what they actually said and determine for yourself whether it was warranted or not

[drdemonprince]

thanks for saying what you have about covert incest. I have this memory of my dad that I won't even type out cuz it's just horrible and I haven't been able to determine if it actually happened or if it's a memory of a dream I had but part of me thinks the former cuz I don't think I could've imagined something so horrible. and he died recently and I was determined to find some kind of physical evidence that it really happened but when my mom was moving she got rid of most of his stuff before I got there and I've been so pissed about it but not able to tell her or anyone why and it just reinforces my upset toward her cuz if it really happened then she didn't protect me and goes out of her way to protect him instead but in reading your posts I'm starting to think that whether it actually happened or not doesn't matter, the feelings are there and they're real and I ought to just treat it as though it really happened. anyway sorry to be vague, this has just been a huge weight on me and I feel like finding your blog on here has been such a blessing, especially cuz this has been weighing on me even more lately cuz I've been identifying as a butch lesbian for awhile but have been wondering if I'm actually a bi trans man and have been wanting to explore sexual experiences with queer men to find out if I'd enjoy it but have been really cautious about it and haven't really tried anything yet cuz I'm scared of what it might bring up in me and I'm autistic too so the whole dating and hookup thing is scary to me even without this memory shit and idk if queer men would be interested in me anyway. but yeah I'm gonna explore those resources you shared when I'm ready and I just wanted you to know you're making a difference even through sharing your experiences on your tumblr blog. and also just wanted to confess all this to somebody so thank you for that too

<3 thanks Anon.

Your feelings and traumatized reactions are real, and your vague sense of a memory almost certainly signals that Something was not Right in the dynamic with your father, and you can stand by that and care for yourself as someone whose boundaries have been trammeled upon even if you never get to know the exact facts of what happened. So much of childhood disappears down the memory hole, and there is no easy accounting for it, but as a therapist once wisely said to me, if a person has a fracture that's consistent with a violent attack, you can often see the effects and care for them even if you can't know exactly what happened there.

I'm glad you're feeling open to the idea of exploring your own sexuality and gender identity, too. There are absolutely queer men, both trans and cis, who will be interested in you, and you can move at the pace that works for you. Remember there are no rules to queer sexuality, that's the whole point -- so you never have to try anything you don't want to do. You can have a rich, fulfilling sex life with men that never involves PIV, if you aren't interested in that, or that is completely dependent upon a kink dynamic that isn't directly sexual. or you can just put yourself on the grindr grid and find some guy who wants to give you a massage or eat you out all day. There's so many kinds of very eager people out there, and so you can be as selective and as firm in your boundaries and vetting as you need to be! There's every kind of person out there. I have some guy in my Fetlife DMs right now who only wants to shave my body; another who only wants to jerk off while watching me smell leather. The world is abundant with funny little opportunities.

[katebihshop]

there is a world of difference between "this person was fired for supporting palestine" and "this person was fired for being a raging antisemite" and you do in fact need to actually look at what that person said to determine which it is. it sets a dangerous precedent to consider any support of palestine inherently antisemitic but it is just as dangerous to excuse antisemitism under the guise of supporting palestine.

[creekfiend]

I wanted to make a bonsai kitten recovery post that outlines some of the stuff that I've been doing. Because I don't think that you need to ✨see a therapist✨ to start dealing with a lot of this stuff and I get really frustrated when that is the answer that everyone is constantly giving. Firstly a disclaimer, because I know what website I am on: this is a guide for things that have worked for me! I am not everyone and if there are things on here that do not work for you or even that you think are stupid, that is fine, but please do not make it my problem. If you are reading it and you're like "that sounds like it would actually be detrimental to my specific mental health because of my specific issues" then please disregard it. Use your critical thinking skills and do what you think is right for you!

My second disclaimer is that I didn't make any of this up myself; most of these are collected from various places either in therapeutic guide books or various websites about emotional regulation etc. Some of it is stuff that I have extrapolated from those places based on experience with what works for me or does not work for me. A lot of the way that I treat myself when I need to get my body and brain into a place where I can think about stuff productively is actually directly from gentle parenting guides, because frankly cptsd recovery stuff is very often like parenting a toddler. And the toddler is you. ALL THAT SAID,

The first skill that I had to get good at, that many of the other skills depend on, is to learn how to understand when I am Reacting to something. If I am Reacting it is extremely likely that that's going to only escalate the situation and make it much worse. I HAVE to be able to tell if I am Reacting emotionally to something in a way that is coming from a place of fear and panic. This is important because it involves not being prescriptive about your emotions. You could be Reacting to something that you do not logically feel is at all justified in making you feel that way and that doesn't matter! You can't be doing math equations to try to come to the answer of how you SHOULD be feeling; you have to be observing your mind and body to see how you factually ARE feeling and then respond to THAT. This can be really hard to learn how to do especially if you were abused as a child. (If you cannot think of yourself as someone who is abused as a child perhaps it would help to think of yourself as someone who simply was not taught various emotional regulation skills for mysterious reasons that have nothing to do with your parents' inadequacies.) I need to be able to glance inward and see what the physiological reaction that I'm having is and identify whether or not I feel like this is the biggest emergency in the world that needs to be addressed right now immediately! That is a sure sign that Mr Fight and Mr Flight are in the building and it is bad to make declarative statements or important decisions when that is the case. So, I have to work on dismissing them first. That is literally the first step to any of this. One of my friends calls this "fire mittens," which is to say, if you are wearing mittens that are on fire and you try to touch stuff, the stuff will also become on fire. You have to put the fire out first before you can touch other things.

Once I have determined that I am indeed Reacting and in a physiological state of fear, I have a document in my notes app that is a "what to do when you are in fight or flight mode" guide and it has several helpful things that I will try to outline here.

Firstly, the really important thing for me for trying to get back into an emotional state where I'm capable of making decisions and being thoughtful is to feel safe and comfortable. So I actually have some stuff in my document that is straight up just like "go in the blankie nest. put on this specific music album. light this specific scented candle." etc. You might want to have a specific food or drink that is comforting to you or some other sort of stim toy that helps you regulate. If there's any calming medication or supplements for anxiety that you take as needed, now is also the time to do that. Physical sensory grounding is really important for this. This is probably especially true if, like me, you are neurodivergent, but I think it is also true for everyone because we are animals! And you can't just think about it, you have to actually do it. Which sounds obvious but is the thing that has often tripped me up in the past. Once you start getting into the habit of actually physically doing this it DOES become easier though.

One of my rules is that if I want to respond to something but I am in fight or flight mode, I don't get to respond to it for at least 24 hours. I'm only allowed to respond once I've gotten myself out of fear mode. If it is some kind of comment on Facebook that has set me off, often this means that 24 hours later I realize that I actually don't want to get into it to begin with, which is great. If it's something that is pretty serious and interpersonal with a friend, sometimes that means I have to communicate to them that I'm going to take a while to process it and then get back to them. IMPORTANT: You CANNOT do this passive aggressively or else it undermines the whole thing. You can't phrase it in a way that will make your friends think that you are guilt tripping them for "making" you feel a way. It is VERY tempting to do this when you are in the first stages of trying to form this habit and you simply need to resist the urge because it will render this step worthless. I know. It sucks.

If I am feeling fearful and insecure about friends or loved ones, I also usually try to spend some time thinking about the people that I love and care about. Because often this stuff manifest for me as insecurity that the people that I care about do not care about me, or that they think that I'm being annoying, or that they are secretly thinking mean things about me. It's obviously not good for me to constantly be imagining that the people in my life who I care about are actually avatars of my own insecurity who are here to tell me that I'm secretly fundamentally unlovable! But crucially also it's ALSO not fair to those people to imagine them as that. They are not that guy, they are their own complex human beings with their own lives and experiences and interiority. So sometimes I do thought exercises where I will imagine my friends or loved ones doing things in their everyday lives and I will think about them as people and I will think about the things that they like to do and the things that they say and the places that they go, and I will try to imagine them fondly in those circumstances. This helps to remind me that they are just people and that the scary puppet wearing their faces is not real. To this end I sometimes will have a document of screenshots of things that they have said to me that I can use to reality check myself. I personally find reality checks to be essential for a lot of this. Things can feel true when they are not true at all. Things can feel wrong when they are actually true. The point of most of these exercises is to gently remind myself that those feelings are normal for me to be having, but that I do not need to let them dictate my responses.

It is crucial throughout all of this that you are nice to yourself. You can't talk to yourself in a mean way while you're doing this, or you will not get to a point where you are feeling safe enough to react from a place of not-fear. You can't make yourself feel ashamed or defensive for your emotional reactions. This is the particular area where I find gentle parenting protocols helpful. You HAVE to be patient with yourself.

Ok that's all for now bc I ran out of steam but I will try to think of more to add on another day maybe. Godspeed everyone

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

Face Your Fears

Sam and Dean Winchester & little sister!reader

Requested by Anonymous

Synopsis: You get into a fight with your brothers, but your recklessness that follows creates problems for everyone.

“You were hunting before you were my age! I don’t get why—“

“It doesn’t matter if you get it or not! I said no!”

Sam rushed to the library when he heard his siblings’ voices raised in argument.

“What’s going on in here?” He asked, trying to keep a calm and neutral tone.

“She—“ Dean started, but you cut him off.

“Dean is being completely unfair!”

“Ok, ok, calm down,” Sam sighed.

“Calm down?! You two are off all the time, actually helping people, putting your lives on the line, and I’m—“

“Exactly! You don’t need to be putting yourself in danger like that!” Dean interrupted.

“It’s what you do! And I sit here and read books!”

“Don’t downplay what you do,” Sam said. “We need you here.”

“But I could do so much more out there with you!” You argued. “I’ve been training, I know I can help!”

“Yeah, or you’d screw it up and get killed, and I don’t need your blood on my hands!” Dean exploded.

The silence that followed was deafening.

“Dean—“ Sam tried to speak up, but you interrupted him.

“So that’s it, really? You think I’m some kind of screw up?” You scoffed, and continued before Dean could speak. “It’s not like you’re perfect! You’ve screwed up the world before, and no one’s stopped you from going out to screw it up again!”

“Y/N—“ again Sam’s attempt to calm the situation was met with resistance.

“Well fine then, if I’m too much of a screw up for you, then I’ll get out of your way!” You shoved past your brothers and beelined for your room, slamming the door behind you.

…

Your brothers didn’t try to go after you. They were probably angry. You knew you went too far with what you said to Dean, but he called you a screw up; were you just supposed to take that and not say anything back?

It didn’t matter either way. You didn’t want them to try to talk to you, because you had something to do.

You had a hunt to go on.

You’d been researching one before you went to ask Dean about joining the next one; since he’d said no, you would take this one whether he liked it or not. And you were going alone.

…

It wasn’t hard to sneak out—back when you lived in motels, it would have been almost impossible to leave without one of your brothers waking up, but with the bunker it was easy.

You didn’t take the Impala—that would be too far, even for this rebellious streak. Instead, you took a cab to the next town over; you had struck gold, finding a hunt so close. It was pretty simple, too; three victims with hearts ripped out, definitely a werewolf. You had more silver bullets than you’d need packed up with a couple of guns in a duffel at your feet.

Dean was wrong about you, you could do this. After all, how hard could one little werewolf be?

…

Dean was right, and you were suffering the consequences of being wrong.

You struggled to pull your phone from your pocket, your fingers fumbling as your phone slipped around in your blood-soaked hands. Your breathing was labored, and every breath brought stabs of pain to your slashed-up abdomen.

You hadn’t noticed the signs of the second werewolf, so determined were you on taking the first one down. You hadn’t even seen him until he’d been right on you, ripping into your stomach. You’d had your gun in your hand, and by some miracle you’d managed to fire off a round into the werewolf on top of you, but not before he’d injured you pretty bad.

You finally got the phone in your hand, and you didn’t hesitate to press Dean’s number. You held the phone just slightly away from your face, wary of irritation the cuts on your cheek.

The phone barely had time to ring before Dean’s voice flooded your senses.

“Where are you?” His voice came out in a growl.

“D-De…” you hadn’t realized you were crying until you had to push your voice out past your tears.

“Sweetheart?” Dean’s anger was gone in a second when he heard your pained voice. “What’s going on?”

“I’m-I’m sorry, De,” you sobbed. “You were right, I’m-I’m sorry.”

“Shh shh, hey,” Dean soothed. “It’s alright sweetheart, I forgive you. Just tell me where you are and I’ll come get you.”

“I-I turned on my phone’s location,” you said. “Ple-please hurry. It hurts…”

Dean tried to ask you more, but a bang from somewhere nearby had you flinching, and the phone slipped out of your soaked hands and shattered on the concrete floor. You realized it was only your own gun, slipping off the table you’d laid it on. But it was too late; your phone was broken, and you had no way to call Dean back.

You could only hope that the tracker would still work.

…

Dean broke both the law and probably some speed records getting to your location. Sam was in the passenger seat, a first aid kit in his lap as he held on for dear life.

“I should’ve known she’d do something stupid,” Dean grunted.

“Dean, you couldn’t have known,” Sam reasoned. “And blaming yourself isn’t going to help her.”

Dean didn’t speak, and the rest of the ride was tensely silent.

“Here,” Sam said as navigator. “Turn left here, and she should be close by.”

Dean swerved the Impala to the left and screeched to a halt in an empty parking lot near a warehouse. Sam was right at his heels as he burst into the warehouse.

“De?” Your pained voice echoed throughout the building, so that it took Dean a moment to find you. When he did, he swore his heart skipped three beats. You were sitting in a pool of your own blood, propped up against the wall. Dean rushed to you, kneeling next to you and almost slipping in your blood.

“Hey, hey,” his voice was a mixture of soothing and panic as he brushed your blood-stained hair away from your face. “Alright sweetheart, tell Doctor Dean where it hurts.”

It was a pathetic joke, but you laughed anyway; Dean’s jokes always made you laugh.

But your laugh sent you to a fit of coughing. Dean winced as he examined the long gashes on your stomach.

“Ok, you’re ok,” Dean leaned back in relief when he saw that it wasn’t too deep; you’d be ok. “But I’m gonna have to carry you to the car, ok? Brace yourself.”

You gritted your teeth and clenched your fists, but you still couldn’t hold back the cry of pain when Dean lifted you into his arms.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Dean cringed. “I’m sorry. You’re gonna be ok.”

Dean laid you on your back in the backseat of the Impala, before taking the first aid kit from Sam and retrieving a needle and thread.

“Can’t we just bandage it up?” You whimpered, already squirming away from the needle. Dean’s finger froze for a second before he shook his head, his features softening. Both brothers were very aware of your fear of needles, but sometimes it couldn’t be helped.

“Sorry sweetheart, it’s gotta be stitched. Just close your eyes, it’ll feel worse if you watch.”

You closed your eyes, trusting your brother completely. However, before he could make the first stitch, your eyes popped open and you grabbed into his wrist.

“Wait,” you said. “I-I…I wanted to say I’m sorry.”

“Hey,” Dean sighed. “I’m sorry too. I said some things that…that I didn’t mean. You aren’t a screw up, ok?”

“What do you call this?” You gestured to your own banged up body.

“Inexperience,” Dean answered. “And you never should’ve been out here alone. Going solo on your first hunt is never a good idea.”

“I’m sorry about that, too,” you mumbled.

“It’s ok, kiddo. Maybe later we��we can talk about you tagging along on one of our hunts.”

“Really?” You grinned.

“Later,” Dean said sternly. “After you’re all better. Now let me get to this.”

As Dean lifted the needle, you closed your eyes again. You felt Sam’s large hand grab onto yours, and you squeezed his hand gratefully, holding on as Dean started to stitch you up.

“I didn’t really think you would screw up the hunts,” Dean said as he worked. “I just…I don’t want you out there. It’s dangerous, and I…I’m scared something will happen to you. But I guess I can’t keep you from it if it’s what you really want.”

“It is,” you said. “I want to do what you guys do. I want to help people, and I wanna be with you guys.”

“Ok then,” Dean said, tying off the stitches and patting your side to let you know he was done. You opened your eyes, and he smiled at you.

“I guess I’ll just have to face my fears.”

Taglist:

@nyotamalfoy @mrvlxgrl @chocorade @aestheticdaisies @inlovewhithafairytale @that-wannabe-vangoghgurl

[gay-dorito-dust]

Hii! How’s ur day?^_^

My request is, what if the reader is nervous to confess to Stanford, and Mabel helps them?

If ur able to do this thank you, and I love ur fanfics!

I decide to be a little mean here, whether it’ll be a misunderstanding on your part for Ford’s reaction or not, I’ll leave it up to fate. Hope you enjoy!

Part 2 right here

Mabel could tell immediately that you liked Ford but didn’t have the confidence to say anything to him in the slightest, and it disheartened the poor girl to see a potential romance that’ll never happen due to your fears of rejection.

So she decided that you needed the power of Mabel to gain the confidence to confess to Ford about how you truly felt because she knew deep down in her heart that Ford felt the same, he was just as awkward about as you were about his feelings.

(She may or may not have sneaked a peak inside his hours on his entry on you and felt as though she was reading a poem with how passionate he seemed to be about you, so much so it was enough to make her shed a tear)

‘But what if he meant all of that in a platonic way?’ You asked Mabel when she told you about the journal entry that she shouldn’t have read.

Mabel pouts and puts her bawled fists on her sides. ‘Is this the insecurities talking? You are amazing, fantastic, wonderful and a delight to have in someone’s life and Grunkle Ford would a stupid stupid head if he didn’t see the greatness you posses! Which he does and you should not let fear stand in the way of love!’ She exclaims as she dramatically posed, she really was Stanley’s grandniece that was for certain and undisputed.

‘Still, what would I even say to him?’ You asked as you sat down on the edge of your bed, holding your face in your hands. ‘I can’t just go up to him and say I like him, it’s too forward-‘

‘And totally not romantic nor memorable to tell your future descendants at all.’ Mabel adds which only made you flustered at the aspect that Mabel believed in your and Ford’s relationship that much, but Mabel always loved to look ahead to the future in an optimistic light, while taking great pride in having fun in the present with the people she cared about while she could before it was too late.

‘What if he finds me unbearable?’

‘Stop it with the what ifs!’ Mabel exclaimed as she walked over to you with a determined look in her eye, she had about enough of you looking down on yourself, and then using it as a scapegoat as to avoid confessing your burning feelings for her Grunkle Ford. ‘Ford likes you, I see it in his eyes when he looked at you, he looks at you as though you hung the stars in the sky! You take his breath away effortlessly and I see the way his cheeks get all pink when you compliment his turtleneck! What else could you probable want to be affirmed that he actually likes you!’

‘What’s going on in here, I could hear Mabel shouting from down the stairs, is everything okay?’ Ford asked when he opened the door to see you sat on the edge of your bed and Mabel looking as though her face couldn’t get any redder.

‘Yes every-‘ Mabel give you a pointed look and mouthed the words: tell him or I will.

You sighed and Ford only seems to grow more confused and worried about what he had walked in on by pure curiosity. ‘Y/n?’ He asked softly this time. ‘Is everything okay?’

‘I have something to tell you-‘ Mabel squeals ‘-alone.’ You finished all the while giving Mabel a pointed look as she pouted like a kicked puppy, she wanted to have a front row seat to the confession but she guessed outside the door would have to do for now as she shut the door behind her, leaving you and Ford alone like you wanted.

‘What’s wrong?’ Ford sat next to you, his beautiful eyes full of worry and concern as they flickered across your face as though he could see the things that were worrying you as though it was written across your forehead.

‘It’s nothing bad I promise it’s just that I…Ive been made aware of something that I fear might ruin our friendship.’ You said as you found yourself wanting to back away from actually confessing and leave it at that, but Mabel might as well have locked you both in the room for all you were aware until you actually did tell Ford that he tormented your heart in the best way possible.

‘I’m sure it won’t, there’s nothing that you could-‘

‘I really like you Ford, romantically.’ You blurted out as a silence befell the both of you that you swore you could hear a pin drop somewhere as you awaited the worst.

Ford looked at you for a prolonged period of time as though he was stuck in place and it only made your fears worsen when he had yet to say anything.

‘Ford? Say something please.’ You pleaded but what you weren’t expecting was for Ford to silently stand up and leave the room, closing the door behind him and soon enough you could hear your heart break as you heard him walk down the stairs, probably to go back to his lab for the rest of the day.

‘What happened.’ Mable asked as she walked back into the bedroom to see your broken state as you looked at her with a weak smile.

‘I lost him.’ You tell her before burrowing your head into your hands and for once Mabel didn’t know how to fix this…

[alocon]

My Person - Mick Schumacher

written by alocon

Summary: You're an aggressive driver... except when it comes to him

Before you read: Couple of curse words x

fc: N/A

[The Masterlist]

MS47 X Fem!Reader

Mad Max had seen nothing on you when you got crashed into in a race. The media, especially Drive to Survive, had always portrayed you as some evil, harsh, aggressive woman when you were nothing but a sweet, loving soul behind the camera, behind the racing where people actually know you. Sure, you weren't too big on making friends or pursuing friendships with people you didn't trust. You were friends with all the drivers, though. Even if you weren't best friends with them all, you were still relatively close with them all. That didn't stop the media from treating you as though you were the human equivalent of a pile of garbage. Typical. 

The drivers insisted that you were completely different from racing but no one believed it. Your positive radio messages praising good moves, even those against you, weren't shown and all your good deeds seemed to be overshadowed by DTS. You had fans though who knew all that you liked and what you were actually like. 

It didn't matter to them, though. To the media, to DTS, you were nothing but an evil, harsh, rude, disrespectful driver. You couldn't help being passionate about your job, though. You wanted to make your family proud. You wanted to make the whole of Brazil proud. You needed to make the whole of Brazil proud. So it made you tough, determined, it made you realise that there isn't much you wouldn't do to achieve your dreams. If it meant all your time and effort, it meant all that time and effort. Every. Single. Bit. But that's just something that came with being a Brazilian, determined Formula One driver who's dad was THE Rubens Barrichello.

Your dad and Michael Schumacher were closer than people believed. It was sometimes played off as a rivalry with a hint of friendship but, realistically speaking, they were relatively good friends. You weren't too close with their family, though, until around 2009. You had always been a very determined racer. And that meant being overly competitive in your karting days. Most of your karting group weren't as close with you because of that. Except one person - Mick Schumacher.

The friendship between you both had started off with you being quiet and closed off to everyone. He had been very determined to change that. Over time, you had learnt to tolerate his bubbly, smiley self and had started to care deeply for the man. He was the only person you allowed yourself around. You had never once raised your voice at him. Then again, you had never been angry at him post race. He had always been there if you had been taken out of a race. Whether that be him having DNFed as well or after he finished a race, he would always be there for you. And you were for him. No matter what happened, if he finished the race, if he dnfed, etc. you always made it very very clear that you were proud of him. You never let him feel anything but an incredible driver, an incredible person. Because that is exactly what he was. A good talent in a shitbox Haas. A good person. Your person. 

A fond memory the pair of you held was when Gina had convinced you both to watch Grey's Anatomy so she could discuss it with someone and you had watched it together. When Meredith first called Christina her person, Mick had looked down at you, where you had been cuddled into his gentle embrace. “You know,” he had said softly, pausing for a moment as you looked up at him, watching you as your beautiful eyes had met his, softening the second you had looked at him, nothing but adoration in your eyes. “You're my person.” He had stated it so genuinely, his hand running through your hair as you both just stared at each other. He had watched the way your eyes seemed to light up the second he said it. Just when he was convinced he couldn't pine over someone as much as he did, you once again had proved him wrong.

Mick had never considered himself scared of you. Lots of people would say that he was only friends with you because he was scared of you. But that wasn't true. That had never been true. He loved who you were when you were with him. He knew how misunderstood you were. He knew that, sure, sometimes you got pissed off when you DNFed, but everyone did. Sure, sometimes you would exchange a few words back and forth with another driver who took you out, but you always apologised if you got angry and the occasions you were very angry were incredibly rare. As in, he had only seen you properly shout at someone 3 times in the time he'd known you - once when Pierre Gasly had been driving incredibly recklessly and you had yelled at him a little bit because he easily could've seriously injured someone, once in Karting when you were 11 and someone had cost you the championship through a stupid move (yes, you had apologised for that), and in 2021 when Max Verstappen had crashed you out of the championship fight. You wouldn't have yelled at the man (and slapped him) had he not had that fucking smirk on his face when he found out that he was still in the championship fight, even though you weren't. He didn't care about you no longer being in the championship. In fact, it suited him better because it had been a two way tie instead of 3. He had later apologised for that though so, not wanting to cause any drama, you accepted.

Mick had never felt so scared in his life as he had been during the 2022 Japanese Grand Prix. Someone, he wasn't sure who, had hit the back of his car and he had felt his heart stop when he felt himself latch onto the back of your car, dragging you with him, quite roughly. What had stopped his heart most, at that point, was the tractor that was on track without a red flag. Luckily, to both of your luck, you were both in a position where you were just out of the way so you had both hit the barrier, albeit pretty hard, but without any tractor incidents. And the race had finally been red flagged. You hit your hands on the steering wheel, speaking over the radio. “For f**ks sake. Please tell me I'm not out of the championship.”

“You're not, Y/N. You're still in the championship race.”

“Thank f**king God. Who even crashed into me? That could've been so dangerous for both of us if we had gone into that tractor.”

“Uhm, it appears to be Schumacher. All cars are past, you can get out of your car now.”

You had taken your seat belt off with record speed, getting out of the car and replacing the steering wheel. You turned, seeing Mick. He was sitting on the floor, knees brought up to his chest, helmet off, and his head in his arms. You were confused. Was he hurt? You headed over to him, crouching down.

“Mick. You okay?” He looked up at you, nodding. “You're not hurt, no?” He shook his head. “Alright. Come on, let's go get in the car and get back to the pits, alright?” He followed you.

However, once you got out of the car, he rushed off straight to the Haas garage. No goodbye or anything, just left. Placing your helmet into the hands of your race engineer, you watched Mick wipe his face as he headed into the Haas garage. You turned to your race engineer, zoning in as he questioned you on you being okay and not injured and stuff.

You had joined Formula One in 2021 with Porsche. Porsche weren’t meant to be coming into F1 for a few years, however, they had somehow managed to convince the FIA that there should be an 11th team on the grid and, somehow, they had agreed. Willingly. Thus, Porsche F1 Team was born. The grid increased from 20 drivers to 22, with you being joined by someone you drove in F2 with - Felipe Drugovich, another Brazilian driver. You had been beyond hyped, especially when Porsche had absolutely ripped, bringing you all to P4 in the constructors in its first season. Now, however, there was a chance of it being P1. And you were going to take that chance. Your dream was to be a champion, to make your country and your dad proud, and you would do anything to make that happen.

Feeling a tap on your shoulder, you turned to see a frantic Haas employee. “I'm so sorry for interrupting. Mick is freaking out, we need you.”

“What happened? Is he okay?”

“He's really worried that he took you out of the championship. I think he's scared to lose you. We tried to reassure him but I think it would be better coming from you. He also isn't going to medical despite needing to.”

You turned to your race engineer. “Can we catch up later?”

He shook his head. “Y/N you need to go get checked in the medical centre. That should be your priority right now.”

“No. I don't think you understand. Mick is my priority. Always. I'll go to medical with him.” You walked away quickly, following his race engineer towards Haas.

You walked into the garage, ignoring the weird looks you were getting, and straight over to the German driver who was sitting in the back corner, just like how you found him at the track, but inside this time, surrounded by people. They quickly cleared off when you signalled for them to. You knelt down in front of him. You didn't say anything, placing your hand gently on his knee.

He looked at you. “I am so so sorry,” he whispered, and you could see that he'd been trying.

“For what? You didn't mean to take me out with you.”

He had already looked away from your face.  “Yeah but I ruined your chance of winning the championship again. I'm so sorry. Please don't hate me, I don't want to lose you.”

You placed your finger on his chin, lifting his head so his eyes met yours. Your hand then moved up to his cheek, taking his face into your hand softly. “Mickey, you didn't take me out of the championship. I can still win. And even if you did, you wouldn't lose me, alright?”

“But… Max last year.”

“Mick Schumacher, the only way that you will lose me is the day that I die.” He smiled slightly and you took the opportunity to wipe a bit of the wetness on his face away with your thumb. “Plus, that was so, so different. Max smirked and made a comment when he found out I wasn't in the championship, it was deliberate, and I still forgave him. But he's nothing compared to how far you would genuinely have to go to push me away.”

“I don't get it, why?”

“You're Mick. You're my Mick. You're my person and I love you more than I'll ever be able to express to you.”

You hadn't felt his hand on the back of your neck until it pulled you to connect your lips with his. You didn't react at first, just genuinely in shock at the feeling of his lips on yours. His soft, gentle lips. The thing you had always wanted. And it was what you had wanted for years. And then he pulled away. “Fuck, I'm so sorry Y/N, I wasn't thinking. I shouldn't have-” You cut him off again to reconnect your lips, which he seemed to appreciate, as evident by his grip on your hair tightening slightly. 

You pulled away from the kiss. “Odds on our PR managers having heart attacks right now?”

He chuckled quietly, showing you that beautiful smile of his that you adored. “Oh, almost 100%,” he responded, causing you to laugh as well, head leaning to rest on his shoulder. “We're on camera,” he whispered in your ear. 

“Give them a wave,” you joked in response. “I believe we have to take a trip to medical.” You stood up, hand outstretched to take his. You shot a wink at the camera as you both stood up, before you walked out of the garage.

-Word Count: 2,083-

Hi All, This is short and quickly written and unedited. Apologies for not posting this on Monday. Let me know if you want to be on my general taglist Have a good day x Alocon

General Taglist: @casperlikej

[queenshelby]

Forbidden Desire (Part 14)

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Reader (Female/Incestuous)

Warnings: Incest (at this stage accidental), Age Gap, PTSD, Domestic Abuse, Self-Harm, Fluff, Smut

Please comment and engage xx 😘

The following morning however, when you arrived at the factory office, Tommy was waiting for you, sitting behind his large wooden desk.

His presence filled the room, commanding attention and respect. He wore his usual attire: a dark suit, white shirt, and tie, accentuating his powerful physique.

As you walked towards him, you couldn't help but admire the raw masculinity that radiated from him. His muscular frame, piercing eyes, and rugged good looks made him truly irresistible. The sight of him brought back memories of the past, the passionate encounter that had left you aching for more.

But, his face was nothing but stern as he looked up at you.

"Come, sit," he said bluntly as he gave you an order

rather than an invitation. Tommy’s commanding tone sent a thrill through you, reminding you of the raw power that radiated from him. You hesitated for a moment, unsure if you wanted to be so close to him right now, but you complied nonetheless.

As you sat down, Tommy's gaze remained steady, unwavering, as though he was trying to read your thoughts.

"You are a Shelby now, whether you like it or not. And as a Shelby, you do not associate yourself with men like Liam O'Connor," your uncle explained and your pulse quickened as he spoke, feeling the weight of his words as anger rose from deep within you.

"Are you jealous Tommy or are you actually of the view that, as a Shelby, I cannot walk with a man of my choosing?" you queried with a hint of defiance in your voice.

"And why would I be jealous, eh? You are my fucking niece," 

he retorted, his eyes flashing with anger and possessiveness.

The tension in the room escalated as the two of you locked gazes, the intensity of your feelings for one another undeniable.

"I am your niece, yes, but some time ago, I was also your lover," you challenged, your voice low and measured, conveying a sense of power and control.

Tommy's expression hardened, his jaw clenching tightly. "What happened between us then doesn't change anything," he growled, clearly struggling with his emotions.

"No, it doesn't and that is exactly why you need to stay out of my private affairs, Thomas," you agreed, maintaining eye contact, refusing to be intimidated by his dominance.

His demeanour shifted, becoming less hostile as he sighed deeply, acknowledging your statement. "Alright, fine. But remember that the men I employ work for me for a reason. They are dangerous men, Y/N. Liam O'Connor is one of them and, I do no longer trust him now that he has taken an interest in you," Tommy explained after having slept on Polly's revelations and admissions. 

His declaration hung heavily in the air, a threat and a promise rolled into one. It stirred a mix of emotions within you - fear, excitement, and longing.

"You still want me, don't you?" your words echoed throughout the room, causing a chill to run down his spine. There was a pause as both of you took in the gravity of your statement. Tommy's eyes narrowed as he studied your face intently, searching for any signs of deception. His expression turned thoughtful as he considered your question.

"It doesn't matter what I want Love. You are family and I need to protect you," Tommy determined with a sigh.

"I can protect myself, Tommy!" you argued, determination etched on your features. "I'm not some fragile flower who needs to be shielded from harm." Your defiance only seemed to fuel his determination to protect you.

"You may think you're stronger than you are, but the truth is, we all need someone to watch our backs, eh," he replied with a steely resolve. "You are my responsibility, whether you like it or not and unless you want me to tell my brother about your relationship with Liam O'Connor, I want to know when you are going to see him next, eh," Tommy told you firmly, his eyes boring into yours.

There was silence in the room, as you processed his words. Despite your resolve, you were beginning to realize that he was serious about his warning.

"Tonight... I am seeing him tonight," you told him, looking downcast and fueled with anger. The mere mention of informing your father about Liam made you feel uneasy, knowing how he would react upon finding out about your dalliance.

"Where?" Tommy asked, clearly satisfied with your response.

"At my house," you admitted, feeling a mixture of guilt and frustration welling up inside you. 

"I will have your house watched by men who can be trusted, just in case, eh," Tommy stated matter-of-factly, his voice devoid of emotion. 

"Fine," you conceded, unable to argue further.

You knew that despite your resistance, Tommy's protective instincts ran deep, and there was little point in trying to change his mind. He needed to ensure you stayed safe, even if it meant encroaching on your personal life.

"You may go now," Tommy eventually told you with a note of finality in his voice and the room fell silent once again, as you stood up and prepared to leave.

A heavy burden weighed on your shoulders as you realized the precarious situation you found yourself in. The complexities of your relationships with Tommy and Liam threatened to consume you. How could you balance these competing forces without succumbing to the whims of either man?

***

On your way home, your thoughts drifted to the events of the evening. A surge of adrenaline coursed through your veins as you anticipated your meeting with Liam.

Part of you was excited by the forbidden nature of your secret rendezvous, while another part of you felt consumed by guilt, knowing that you were still deeply in love with Tommy. You recalled the passionate moments you shared with him, wondering if they could ever be rekindled.

Arriving at your house, you carefully checked the area before letting yourself in. Your heart raced as you imagined Tommy's men watching from the shadows, their cold stares following your every move.

It was awkward to know that you were being watched, yet there was also a sense of safety that came with Tommy's protection. He may be harsh and domineering, but deep down, you knew he cared for you.

Liam was already waiting for you when you entered your house, looking eager and slightly nervous. 

"Fuck, how did you get inside?" you asked, surprised to see him sitting on your lounge, sipping whiskey. 

"Your mother let me in before she left," Liam explained, his eyes glinting with darkness. 

"How do you know my mother?" you asked, suspiciously trying to gauge his intentions.

"I don't. But she saw Tommy's men outside and realised that I was one of them," Liam explained before advising you that, by now, Tommy's men would have left. 

"He asked them to watch you, because of me, didn't he?" Liam questioned, his tone laced with subtle aggression. You nodded silently, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks as you acknowledged the fact.

"There is something you should know about me, Y/N," Liam began, his voice taking on a deeper timbre. "I don't take kindly to anyone interfering in my affair, and that includes Thomas Shelby," he went on to say angrily, his gaze fixed on you, his intent clear.

"Listen, Liam," you tried to calm him down, but he wouldn't be pacified as, instead, he approached you, laying his claim.

"I love you, Y/N," he whispered tenderly, his hand caressing your cheek. "Don't let him come between us," he implored, his desire evident in his eyes.

You couldn't help but be swayed by his earnestness, his determination to stand against the seemingly insurmountable obstacle of your relationship with Tommy.

"Why should I believe you?" you asked, testing his sincerity.

"Because I am ready to fight for you, Y/N," he assured you, his voice full of conviction. "And together with the help of my acquaintance, Michael Gray, we can take over the family business," 

Liam continued, his eyes bright with ambition.

You hesitated, absorbing his words. It was the first time he had spoken about this alliance openly, and you couldn't ignore the looming presence of your uncle and the power he held over you.

"But what about Tommy and Arthur?" you questioned, genuinely concerned about the consequences of your actions.

"I don't care about them. They are two spent horses," Liam responded, his tone bordering on aggressive.

"Does Polly know about this?" you wondered aloud, your brow furrowing.

"Polly knows nothing," Liam insisted, a gleam of mischief in his eyes. "She would tell Tommy if she knew. We need to play our cards right." he suggested, and you could not believe what you were hearing.

"This is why you pursued me isn't it?" you probed further, seeking clarification while wondering where Tommy's men were at this point.

They were meant to be watching your house, but you felt as though they were neglecting their duties as, all of a sudden, Liam reached for your wrists.  

His touch made you anxious, leaving you vulnerable. "What are you doing?" you asked, trying to remain calm as his attitude changed. 

Liam took your hand in his, his grip strong and steady. "We are more than capable of seizing power from those who seek to control us," he said with confidence. "Thomas Shelby may hold power now, but it won't last forever. If we unite together, we can create something new, something better," he said, his voice dark and authoritative.

You looked around your house, thinking about a way to escape, but there was none. Your heart was racing, and your heart was spinning as you realized Liam's true intentions. 

You understood now why he had pursued you relentlessly, using every charm and resource at his disposal. He wanted to make you fall in love with him so he could use your newfound affection to secure a position within the family business. It was a cruel twist of fate that put you in this predicament.

Liam watched you warily, his expression a mix of determination and anticipation. Taking a deep breath, you summoned all your courage and faced him squarely.

"So, you think that if I fall in love with you, I would help you make a move against my father and uncle?” you queried, your voice laced with disbelief.

"Yes, and I also believe that once we are together, we can form a powerful alliance and, together with Michael Gray and his wife, we can take over the business," Liam responded confidently, unaware of the trap he had set for himself.

Stunned by his audacity, you took a step back, processing his words. The truth was undeniably painful as Liam had used you to manipulate his way into your family, and you, unknowingly, had played right into his hands.

Your heart pounded violently against your ribcage, and you felt nauseous from the shock of the revelation. 

“Marry me Y/N, and help us take over,” Liam's words continued to echo in your ears, reminding you of his cold, calculating nature.  

"I am not going to marry you, Liam!" you gasped, fury and betrayal coursing through your veins. "And even if I ever was to consider marrying someone, it certainly wouldn't be you!" you ought to point out, fuelling Liam's anger.

Anger flaring in his eyes, Liam leaned closer, challenging you with his stare. "Is that so? Then perhaps you should reconsider your options, Y/N. Because if you don't cooperate, it won't bode well for you,” he threatened you.

Your heart raced, fearing the worst. "What do you mean?" you asked, attempting to maintain your composure.

"Are you threatening me, Liam?" you ought to clarify, albeit knowing the answer. 

"Not at all," he replied, his tone eerily calm. "But I cannot guarantee that your father would put a bullet into his brother's head if he ever found out about your intimate relations with your Uncle Tommy," Liam exclaimed, his eyes narrowing. "Now, unless you change your mind, I will be forced to take matters into my own hands and have a word with the rest of the Shelby Family, disclosing your incestuous liaisons. Maybe the papers would take an interest in this too, seeing that Tommy is running for politics now," he went on to say, knowing that this could well and truly destroy the family business. 

His warning sent shivers down your spine, causing you to realize the extent of the danger you were in. You trembled slightly, realizing the precarious position you were in.

"Do not threaten me, Liam! What do you expect me to do?" you asked, your voice quivering with fear.

"Simple," he replied coldly. "Marry me and help me and Michael take over," he repeated, and your heart plummeted into your stomach as you processed his demand. “Your Shelby name is what I need. It’s worth something,” he went on to say, causing you to shake your head again in disbelief.  

Marriage? To this man? You couldn't possibly submit to such a life, bound to someone so cruel and selfish. Your resolve strengthened, and you spoke firmly, determined not to succumb to his threats.

"No, Liam. I will not marry you not only because of your despicable tactics but also because I simply cannot bring myself to love you. I will see Tommy about this, and I already know what he will do to you if he finds out about your threat," you told him sternly, frustration and fury lacing your voice.

His face clouded over with anger; his jaw clenched tightly. His hands shook, betraying his rage, as he tried to control his temper. Within seconds, he reached for your throat, grabbing it tightly with one hand. Fear flooded your body, your heart racing wildly as he squeezed harder. You gasped for air, tears streaming down your cheeks as he choked you. 

"You will not fuck me over Y/N!" Liam cursed as his grip tightened, and you knew that he had every intention to kill you by this point, so you kicked and screamed. 

"Stop! Please!" you gasped loudly, trying to fight Liam off and alarm anyone outside.

“Scream as much as you like. Tommy’s outside are dead,” Liam informed you, choking you harder as suddenly, amongst your struggles, you heard the sound of the door opening, followed by the sound of footsteps approaching rapidly.

You heard Tommy's voice shouting, full of rage, "Let go of her!" he yelled angrily, causing Liam to startle momentarily before tightening his grip on your neck.

By this point, Liam’s eyes flashed with murderous intent, almost ignoring Tommy's presence until Tommy approached him from behind, trying to pull him away from you with force.

Eventually, Liam let go of you, and you dropped to the ground. A fight broke out, and Liam drew his gun, raising it and aiming it straight at Tommy.

This caused you to panic as you knew there was no time to reason with him. Desperate, you lunged toward Liam, hoping to grab the gun from his grasp.

But, before you could act, Tommy pulled his gun and fired, the loud boom deafening the room. Liam dropped to the floor, blood seeping from the wound. With a chilling final glare, he lost consciousness.

Tommy was covered in blood, but the blood he was covered in was not his own.

You crawled towards him on the blood-soaked floor, your heart pounding in your chest. Tommy grabbed you by the arm, pulling you to your feet. The room was deathly silent as you watched the gruesome scene unfold before you.

Your heart hammered in your chest, the horror of witnessing Liam's demise etched into your memory forever. As your gaze met Tommy's, you saw the mixture of relief and concern reflected in his eyes.

"You shot him?" you barely managed to say, your voice merely above a whisper.

"Of course, I fucking shot him, Love. He fucking deserved it, eh" Tommy said roughly, his eyes hard and unforgiving. 

The room went quiet, save for the ticking of the clock on the wall, as everyone processed the implications of Liam's demise. You felt Tommy's strong arms wrap around you, offering comfort and protection. 

"I did not know about his intentions, Tommy! I really did not fucking know," you cried, your body trembling as you clung to your uncle, desperately seeking solace in his arms. You held onto him fiercely, your fingers digging into his muscular shoulders, as you both stood amidst the carnage that had befallen you all.

Inside, you couldn't help but feel a rush of adrenaline as you realized how close you had come to losing Tommy, the man who had always been there for you, offering support and love despite your connection.

It was at times like these that you understood the depth of your feelings for him, and you yearned to confess those feelings openly.

Tommy, still holding you tightly, looked down at you with a mixture of love and concern in his eyes. "You couldn't have known, Love, and it doesn't matter now. It's going to be okay, eh," he murmured softly, pressing a gentle kiss on your forehead.

"How did you know to come?" you asked while cupping Tommy's blood-stained face.

Your heart ached, and you could feel a tear forming in the corner of your eye. This was not how you wanted things to end, but it seemed like fate had taken hold of your life yet again.

"Moss informed me of the carnage Liam left on First Lane. He shot two of my men, so I came here as quickly as I could,’ Tommy explained with a heavy sigh, the exhaustion evident in his tone. 

"Thank you,” you barely managed to say while Tommy’s hold on you tightened.

"I thought I would fucking lose you, Y/N," he told you while cupping your face with his blood-stained hands.

His words sent a shiver down your spine, a mix of love and concern resonating within them. You realized then just how deep your feelings for him ran, longing to express them openly but knowing that this wasn't the time or place. Embracing you tightly, Tommy looked down at you with a mixture of love and concern in his eyes.

Then, Tommy's voice deepened, his warm breath ghosting across your ear as he spoke.   ”There is something I need to tell you," he said gently. 

"What do you want to tell me?" you asked cautiously, bracing yourself for whatever he might reveal.

Tommy took a deep breath, exhaling slowly before speaking. "Alright, here it goes," he began before inhaling again sharply while your heart thumped wildly in your chest, and you could feel the heat rising in your cheeks.

Then, Tommy's brow furrowed, his expression becoming intense. "I still love you," he admitted, a hint of vulnerability creeping into his voice. "And I promise you, I will find a way to make it up to you, eh?” he said. His words were honest and filled with sincerity, warming your heart even more.

Suddenly, you found yourself being lifted into Tommy's arms, his strong embrace making you feel safe once more. The room felt smaller now, just the two of you, surrounded by the echoes of your past mistakes. "You should never have to experience any pain for my sake," he continued his voice low and tender.

As Tommy spoke, your heart raced faster, feeling the intensity of his embrace. The world seemed to melt away, leaving you alone with him. In his arms, you felt a sense of safety and belonging and, despite the gravity of the situation, a wave of relief swept through you as you acknowledged your feelings for Tommy, recognizing the bond that connected you. 

"I know why you did what you did, Tommy," you told him before closing your eyes and leaning against his broad chest, allowing the warmth of his body to envelop you, the strength of his arms providing a refuge.

"And I forgave you for it some time ago, but I couldn't forget. I couldn't forget about you, the kisses, the sex, everything we shared," you admitted, and a silence fell upon the room as you allowed your words to sink in. Slowly, the corners of Tommy's mouth curved upwards, a small smile emerging, betraying his emotions.

Without words, he lifted up your chin, making you look at him before brushing his lips against yours, tender and reassuring.

"Out of all the women in this world, I have to fall in love with my fucking niece, eh," Tommy smirked after pulling back slightly, eyes locking with yours as they filled with unspoken promises.

"Yes, Uncle Tommy. I am your fucking niece, and you can't tell me that the thought of this doesn't arouse you just a tiny little bit," you teased before Tommy lowered his head again, this time pressing his lips firmly against yours. It was a passionate, almost savage kiss that left you breathless. Every nerve ending in your body lit up with pleasure, sending electric currents coursing through your veins.

The atmosphere in the room shifted drastically, growing increasingly erotic as the sexual tension between you two escalated. , He bent his head down to press a light kiss on your forehead, the warmth of his lips sending shivers down your spine. "It does arouse me," he murmured softly, his voice thick with emotion. “A little bit,” he then added as you both stood there, covered in blood.

Unable to resist, you leaned in closer, your lips meeting his in a tender kiss once more. The world seemed to fade away, and nothing else mattered except the undeniable passion that ignited between you both.

Your kisses grew deeper, more urgent as you both tried to convey the intensity of your feelings through your touch. Your hands roamed over his muscular back, tracing the lines of his sculpted torso. You revelled in the power of his embrace, relishing the way his strong arms wrapped around you, protecting you from the world outside.

He pressed his lips against yours, his tongue dancing teasingly with yours. His hands roamed down your waist, drawing you closer and bringing your hips flush against his. As your hips moved rhythmically, Tommy's hand travelled lower, slipping beneath your dress to cup your derrière. You gasped softly, feeling the pressure of his palm against your sensitive flesh. With each passing moment, you grew more aroused, unable to resist the urge to explore the contours of his body, even in this somewhat inappropriate situation.

As your lips captured each other's, you felt the intensity of his passion surge through your core until Tommy finally pulled away.

"I will call Johnny Dogs to clean up this mess, eh?" Tommy suggested, seeing that you still had to deal with the dead body in your house, which, at least for the past five minutes, you had ignored entirely.

"Where am I going to stay tonight?" you asked almost teasingly, a small grin forming on your lips before you handed Tommy your phone, and he made the call.

"You will be staying with me, Love," Tommy told you firmly after having made contact with Johnny, his blue eyes filled with resolve. 

He knew that there was no safer place for you than under his roof, especially after the events of tonight. 

"And what will you do to me, at your house, Uncle Tommy?" you teased, letting your voice drop seductively. You let your hand slide down his chest, brushing along his hard abs before stopping at the button of his trousers.

"Well, first of all, I will get you cleaned up," he replied huskily, his eyes darkening with desire.

"And then, I will probably fuck you, that is, if you are a good girl and behave yourself, eh?" he replied with a playful wink, his hand moving underneath your dress, grazing the soft skin of your inner thigh.

You laughed, taking Tommy's hand in yours and placing it against your throbbing core. "I think I can manage to behave myself, Uncle Tommy," you responded seductively, arching your back to press your breasts against his chest. "Just make sure to remind me of your threats when the time comes," you added with a devilish grin.

Tommy's eyes twinkled with amusement and lust, and he pulled you closer, his large hands wrapping around your waist.

"Trust me Love, I will do more than just remind you of my threats," Tommy teased, a devilish glint in his eyes.

As your bodies swayed together, you couldn't help but marvel at the connection between you both. There was an undeniable chemistry that had always existed between you two, one that transcended the boundaries of blood relations.

"Now, let's go before more coppers get here, eh?" Tommy commanded, his deep voice resonating through you.

His fingers laced with yours, leading you out of the room and towards the staircase.

The atmosphere in the house was eerie, almost as if the air itself held a secret. Your eyes scanned the dimly lit hallways, searching for signs of danger or witnesses who may have seen what happened. As you passed through the grand entrance hall, Tommy guided you towards the exit, the cool night air greeting you as you stepped outside. He helped you into his car, ensuring that you were comfortable before starting the engine. The streets were deserted, casting a sombre shadow over the city. 

"So, what happens to the body?" you asked as Tommy drove off into the night, his eyes focused on the road ahead.

"That's not your concern, Love. My men will take care of it," he replied gruffly, a faint trace of unease crossing his face. 

"It sure sounds like you have done this before," you commented with a raised eyebrow, catching Tommy's hesitation. 

"You know I have," he answered simply, his tone betraying a hint of darkness. "And don't ask questions you wouldn't want answers to, eh?" Tommy's warning was clear, yet you didn't back down, instead choosing to remain silent and let the conversation trail off.

"I still love you," you teased with a soft laugh, knowing full well how much Tommy craved your affection.

"Good," Tommy smirked arrogantly as he parked his car near his house. "Because I'm not letting you go again,” he announced as your gaze met his, the intensity of your feelings for each other palpable as you exchanged looks that seemed to hold entire universes within them. This wasn't merely a physical attraction; it was something far more profound, an undeniable connection that defied logic and reason.

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[fairyhaos]

. ˚ love at second sight

pairing: non-idol!junhui x gn!reader

genre: fluff, meet cute, non-idol setting, libraries

word count: 1823

warnings: none

notes: the junhui brainrot from earlier was so strong that i ended up writing a whole entire fic for him. enjoy!

summary: it's a quiet, peaceful day at the library, and even though the person you meet is anything but quiet or peaceful, he makes you begin to wonder whether those cheesy scenarios in books can, sometimes, be real.

You don’t believe in love at first sight.

How does that even happen, anyway? How can you look at someone for the first time and immediately think that you’re in love? Personally, you think that sounds incredibly shallow, because if you’re falling in love with someone you’ve only just seen, then it’s mostly likely that you’re falling in love with the way they look.

That’s what’s on your mind as you’re walking to the library that afternoon, to return a book that you hadn’t particularly enjoyed reading. The female protagonist had fallen in love way too fast with the male love interest who, in your opinion, was far too toxic and problematic.

The library is relatively empty when you walk inside, only a few people milling about around the shelves. There rarely ever were many people here, anyway, and it was one of the reasons you loved the library. The peace. The calm. The lack of other humans. 

Leisurely, you browse the shelves, looking for something different to read. Something more light-hearted with a sensible protagonist who is able to see red flags.

You duck into another shelf, fingers trailing wood, dark and shiny under your fingers. You smile a little as you get to one author, trailing the book spines with your fingers. You’ve read almost everything by them, you recall, recognition lighting up as you read all of the book titles. As a child, their books were your favourite. Abruptly, you stop at one series, eyes widening.

“No way,” you whisper to yourself, looking at the book.

This is incredible. The author, the one that you’d loved, had one series which had always remained unfinished by one book. They’d always said they’d get back to it someday, and as you look at the last book of the series on the shelf, the spine unbroken and brand new, you can’t help but marvel at their determination to finish the series.

You have to read this.

As you reach out for the book, a hand comes up beside you and grabs the spine just as your fingers land on it.

“Mine,” you automatically say, and the person next to you laughs.

You look to your side, and suddenly your heart floats up and lodges itself in your throat. This person… this man… well, he’s just gorgeous.

This mysterious man with his hand on your book just grins, and the first thing you notice is that he has a little mole next to his lips, and on his cheek, and for some reason it makes him look even more attractive.

“Hmm, no, I think it’s mine,” he says, still grinning, and you snap back to the task at hand. No. You need this book.

“I touched it first,” you shoot back.

He shakes his head vigorously. "No, it was me."

"No, me!"

You go back and forth like that several times, and honestly it's incredibly childish, but you are determined to take this book and read it, even if it means resorting to childish arguments. 

"It's mine," you say firmly, attempting to wrap your hand more securely around the spine of the book, but then he steps closer to you and now, your heart is no longer in your throat but seems to have disintegrated entirely.

"No, it's mine," he says back, voice low, and it makes your breath stutter. 

You back away as he steps closer, and now he has you practically pressed against the bookshelf, eyes bright and teasing. He’s not actually touching you but the proximity is heart-fluttering and he looks like he knows that, because one minute both of your hands are on the book and next, your grip has loosened and it’s firmly in his.

And then he’s stepping away and you can breathe again, but you’re breathing very annoyedly because he’s grinning down at your book and damn why does his jawline look so good?

“Hey,” you protest. “That’s not fair.”

He looks up at you, tilting his head innocently. “What’s not fair?”

“You… What you just did.” You frown, crossing your arms, and you kind of want to pout like a little kid but that's probably taking it a step too far. “That wasn’t fair. Come on, please, I’m literally this writer’s biggest fan. I’ve read all their books, like hundreds of times, and this is the brand new book of the series they started ages ago that they always—”

“—promised that they’d come back to eventually,” the man finishes, eyebrows raised in surprise. “You do know their work.” He looks at you for a long, long moment, before nodding. “Okay. What’s your name?”

“What?”

“Your name,” he repeats. “I’ll tell you mine. I’m Junhui.”

Junhui? Now that you look at him, you recognise that he does indeed look like a Junhui, which explains why his accent was so soft when he was speaking. You consider against giving your own name for a moment, because stranger danger and all that, before ultimately deciding that you’re probably never going to see him again, so it doesn’t really matter.

“Y/N,” you tell him, and he nods.

“Nice to meet you, Y/N.” Junhui smiles, dazzling, and he’s so handsome that your head starts to spin. And then he shifts the book into one hand, and the dazzling smile morphs into an almost comical look of concentration on his face as he holds out his hand. “Now. Rock paper scissors to see who gets the book.”

You gape, utterly confused. You’ve only just met this man, and he’s making you feel far too many emotions. “You really want to decide the fate of this book on a game of rock paper scissors?”

Junhui just shrugs, fist still outstretched. “Do you have a better idea?”

You don’t, and you've basically been engaging in stupidly childish warfare for this book already anyway, so you just silently hold out your fist too. It’s then that it occurs to you that you’re in a library, and you two have probably been a little loud. It’s a good thing the library is so empty.

Then, you’re both mouthing the words silently, and you pull out scissors, and he presents his hand in a fist before unfurling it into the paper position a beat later. It’s obvious that he was cheating to let you win, but this means that you get to have the book, and he’s smiling at you so sweetly that you can’t help but let him.

“Oh no, I lost,” he says, and something about the way he says it makes you laugh, and he’s grinning too, shushing you. “Go on. Take it.”

You take the book from him, grateful. “Thank you, Junhui. Are you sure, though? I can always just come back another time if you want to read it first…”

“No, no, don’t worry about it,” he assures you. “In fact, that’s not the book I want to read at all. I came here to get…” He picks up a random book off the opposite shelf, squinting at the title. “...’The Song of… A Chills’?”

You stifle a laugh behind your hand, watching him struggle with the unfamiliar word. “Achilles.”

“Exactly. I love this book.” He grins back at you, and he looks so devastatingly adorable and handsome all at once. You’re not sure you’ve ever seen anyone manage to do both at the same time. You’re not sure you ever will.

You shake your head, smiling. “If you say so.”

He salutes you with two fingers, grasping the random book he’d picked up. “Have fun reading, Y/N,” he says, “and tell me how it goes—wait, no, don’t tell me how it goes, I don’t want spoilers.”

That makes you chuckle, and he’s grinning too, giving you one last wave before disappearing behind the shelves.

You leave the library that afternoon, your precious book in your arms, a smile on your face. That’s probably the most interesting first encounter you’ve had with someone, ever. Junhui was just so… interesting.

Oh well. You shake your head. It’s not like you're ever going to see him again, anyway.

————————————— 📜

You see Junhui again not even a week later, in the library just like last time.

Sometimes, you come out into the library to study, because the relaxed ambience of the place makes you feel as if you study much better, surrounded by the sounds of paper rustling and the warm colour of wood and the distinct smell of books. It’s calming here. 

You don't have your headphones on, comforted by the quiet atmosphere of the library, and when someone pulls up a chair on your study table opposite you, you look up instantly. 

And there, you're greeted with Junhui's grinning face, and the first thing you register is that he's still as gorgeous as he'd looked the first time you'd locked eyes with him. Which, ew, that was cringey. But it's still so, so true. 

The next thing you register is that he has his fist held out in 'rock paper scissors' position. 

Without thinking, you automatically hold out your hand, and his scissors cut through your paper. 

"I win," he declares, proud. 

"What was that for?" You're smiling at him, endeared, because he just looks so pleased with himself and honestly it's really cute. 

"Nothing," he says, and you see that he actually has 'The Song of Achilles' with him. Looks like he ended up really reading it after all. "But you won last time. I wanted to win, at least once."

You blink, a few times, because the words 'you've already won my heart' are flashing inside your head and you have no idea how that happened or when that happened and you definitely do not want to say that out loud. 

"I see," is what you say instead, and Junhui nods vigorously in agreement like a child. 

He grins. "How is your studying going? You doing anything important?"

"Oh…" You look down at your laptop and all your notes laid out in front of you. "Studying for finals, actually."

He winces. "Ooh, good luck."

"Thank you."

You lapse into silence again as he picks up his book and starts reading, but oddly, it's a comfortable silence. Which is strange, because you've only met Junhui once before. And yet, you're already able to be so comfortable in each other's presence. 

Thinking back to your first encounter, you think of that horrible book you'd been returning on that day. You tilt your head contemplatively. 

You still don't believe in love at first sight. But love at second sight? 

You look over at Junhui, who's diligently reading his book opposite you, still sitting at your table when he could have totally moved to the comfy reading seats that the library offers. As if sensing your stare, he looks up at you, lips curving into a sweet smile. 

It makes you flush, smiling back shyly. 

Well. Perhaps you believe in love at second sight. 

[macgyvermedical]

Inpatient Mental Healthcare

This was a request from someone (actually 2 someones) who requested not to be named.

What is it like when you go to a hospital for a psych problem?

In the emergency department:

The first place most people go for a psych problem is the emergency department. The only thing they determine here is whether or not you are a threat to yourself (actively or via an inability to take care of or protect yourself) or someone else. The person that makes this determination is a psychiatrist. Depending on when you come in and how many other people also need the psychiatrist, it may take a long time for them to come see you.

Until that time, the goal of the emergency department is to keep you safe. This usually looks like either putting you in a specific room that has no cords or sharp objects, or putting you in a room with a "patient companion" or "sitter".

A patient companion is usually a nursing assistant. They are not trained to counsel you or provide any psych care. They are simply there to make sure you do not hurt yourself (and provide nursing-assistant-level care if you need it. This is help cleaning yourself, going to the bathroom, or dressing yourself). From this point on, you will not be alone, even in the bathroom. This is to keep you safe, even if it is at the expense of some privacy.

From this point on, the hospital is also responsible for keeping you and everyone around you safe. If you threaten another person in the hospital, such as staff or visitors, the police or hospital security will be called. You will also be offered medication to help you calm down. If you do not take it, but continue to threaten, you will likely be given the medication involuntarily.

Once you see a psychiatrist and they determine you need inpatient care, they will ask you to sign a "voluntary form" (called different things at different places). This basically says you are voluntarily admitting yourself to a psych facility until a psychiatrist says you are fit to leave. Understand this. You cannot decide to leave tomorrow once you sign the form. You will have to wait for a psychiatrist to clear you to leave.

If you don't sign the form, but you have said you have a plan to die or hurt someone else, or are deemed incapable of taking care of or protecting yourself from harm, they can write an emergency order to admit you for 72 hours to further evaluate you and see if you need additional inpatient care.

In a standard hospital:

Once an admission order is in place (voluntary or not) If you have medical needs (say, you made an attempt on your life already and need medical care for any injuries, or if you just have a serious medical problem on top of your psych problem) you will go to a standard hospital floor with a patient companion. You may also be admitted to a standard hospital floor if there are no beds available in psych.

In this location, you will see a psychiatrist at least daily to work out which meds are best for your condition, and to re-evaluate your mental health status.

The unfortunate part about this is that you do not get the benefit of group therapy or educational activities directed at psych patients. You also do not get the perspectives of other psych patients that you would in a psych facility. This is usually just to keep you safe until you can go to a psych facility.

In a psych facility:

If you are medically cleared and okay to go to a psych facility, you will be transported there by ambulance (if it's in a different building). Yes, even if the building is across the street. You will be given a room or a bed (depending on how the facility is set up). You will be read the rules of the floor. Your belongings (including phones and wallets) will be locked so they cannot be stolen or used to hurt someone. You may have access to things like clothing or shampoo if you brought it, while other facilities may insist that you wear their clothing and use their toiletries.

A psych floor is usually set up as a relatively free space like a day room, a hall of rooms or dorms, then a couple meeting rooms for counseling, and classrooms. Furniture in psych facilities is either too heavy to pick up or else bolted to the floor. Doors that lead off the floor are locked in both directions.

Days are structured differently at different facilities. Usually this is something like breakfast at a set time, then time to clean yourself up for the day, then group therapy, then a break, then an educational session, then lunch, then free time, then a meeting with your psychiatrist, then a meeting with a counselor, then dinner, then free time. Generally, unit phones and TVs are turned off during activities like group time or educational sessions to encourage people to attend.

[roosterforme]

A Love You Don't Find Everyday Part 2 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley just wants a little reassurance from you, and no matter what he does, he's not getting it. 

Warnings: Fluff, angst, swearing and smut

Length: 3800 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots! Check my masterlist in my profile for the reading order!

Bradley was kissing along your neck, rubbing his nose against your hair and inhaling your sweet scent. 

"Roo, I'm working." 

Of course you were working. It was the only thing you have been doing lately. You were sitting at the dining room table, eating a room temperature hot pocket and answering emails.

"I think you should take a break...with me."

Instead of responding, you just hummed and continued typing away on your computer. It was actually cruel, the way you had come home late from work, undressed right in front of him, taken a quick shower, and changed into his UVA shirt. All without acknowledging him at all.

"Sweetheart, come on, it's late. Let's go to bed."

"Bradley. I have a lot to get done," you mumbled, refreshing your browser and revealing a bunch of new emails. 

"You can pick up again tomorrow," he whispered, squeezing your waist through the cotton fabric. "I've been thinking about you sitting on my face all day. Let me make you cum on my mustache, Baby Girl."

You sighed and looked up at him. "Not tonight, okay?"

He swallowed hard. "Sure." He turned and went to the bathroom to get himself ready for bed, trying to keep the hurt expression from his face. 

If you didn't want to spend time with him in bed, there was no way he was going to get you to have a conversation about the wedding either. Bradley leaned against the bathroom vanity and examined his face in the mirror. He looked older than his thirty-six years at the moment. He also looked miserable. He brushed his teeth and fell asleep alone in the king sized bed. 

-----------------------------

You were trying your best to keep yourself organized, but the wall in your office was starting to look solid yellow from all of the post-it notes you had hanging there. And now you couldn't locate the one you needed. "Shit," you muttered, trying to determine whether or not it had fallen behind your file cabinet. 

The sound of your growling stomach was distracting you, so you started eating your lunch while you searched for the note. You groaned at the sound of knocking on your door. If your team scheduled one more surprise meeting for this week, you were going to scream. 

"Come in!" you called, still trying to pull your file cabinet away from the wall.

"What are you doing, Baby Girl?"

"Roo!" you gasped, rushing around your deck to give him a hug. 

He squeezed you tight, and you buried your nose in his uniform shirt. He smelled good, and now you just wanted to go home and snuggle with him.

"You okay?" he asked you, kissing the top of your head. 

"Mmhmm. Just tired. And I have a meeting that doesn't even start until five, so I have no idea when I'll be home later."

He sighed deeply. "So you want to go to the movies a different night?"

Shit, shit, shit. That was probably listed in your personal calendar somewhere, but you hadn't checked. "I can skip the meeting," you told him, looking up into his brown eyes. "I can skip it."

He just shook his head. "No, we can go another night. It's fine." 

But he sounded annoyed. You needed to figure out a way to make this better. "Listen. I'm almost maxed out with my days off. I really need to start using some of them so I don't lose them before the end of the year. We can both take a day off and do something fun."

His lips twitched as he looked at you before he said, "Won't you need the days off for the honeymoon?" Then he cautiously added, "You said we could get married this year."

Your mind was overworked enough already without adding wedding planning to the agenda. "Yeah, I mean, as long as we can find a venue that can accommodate us and everything else."

"You ready to start looking at venues, then?" he asked hopefully.

"Roo, the next couple weeks are not going to be a good time for me to do that."

He pressed his lips together. "It's already mid-September. I was hoping to get a jump on this last month."

You squeezed him and said, "We'll figure it out." 

He rubbed your back and placed a gentle kiss to your forehead. "Yeah... we'll figure it out. I love you," he told you before he left. And as soon as he was gone, you realized he could have helped you move the file cabinet.

-------------------------------

Bradley was so lonely with you constantly working late. He took Tramp on so many long walks, the poor dog was exhausted. He also helped the elderly neighbors with their yard work, and he played piano by himself. And he barely ever saw you before seven o'clock. 

The worst part for him was that he was the only one initiating intimacy. Not just sex, but anything. You were either tired or working or thinking about working. Last night when he started kissing you in bed and running his fingers along your neck, you moaned, so he thought that was a green light. But then you literally yawned against his mouth, and told him you were too tired. The night before that, you were sitting up in the kitchen on your computer until who knows what time. You told him you would be in to say goodnight, but you weren't.

It was short-term. He knew that. And he knew your work was important. It was literally paramount to his own safety whenever he flew his F/A-18. But he fucking missed you. He missed you whining about how you needed him to get you off during the cookout. He missed shower sex. He'd give anything for you to call him Daddy right now. 

Fuck. Just thinking about it was making him hard, but you probably wouldn't be home for hours. So he ran his own hand along his cock. Again. He jerked off like he did before you and he were dating: to the mental image of your legs in a short skirt, to the thought of him sliding his hands underneath said skirt. 

He came easily, but he didn't actually feel any relief.

--------------------------------------

Bradley was trying to be patient, but it was supposed to be Hard Deck night, and you were currently pacing around the kitchen on the phone with Sonya from your lab.

"Did you try saving it first and then opening it in a different format?" you asked, walking back around the island. "Hmmm. I'm not sure. Email it to me, and I'll try to open it."

Bradley watched you open your laptop as you put your phone on speaker. You glanced over at him when he twirled his keys around his finger, and you winced. Then you held up one finger in his direction, and he took Tramp out back.

You'd been like this for the past two weeks, and his patience was starting to wear thin. Every day you came home exhausted, and unfortunately he had been making dinner most nights. Which meant it never tasted very good. He was craving one of your fancy homemade meals, but he didn't want to ask you to make one for him. You were so busy at work as it was. 

Bradley knew how you were. Work was important to you. And you were important to him. So he would just have to wait it out.

"Sorry!" you said, poking your head out through the sliding glass door. "Sonya and I got it sorted, so we can go out now, Roo."

"Yeah, okay," he replied, tossing the ball one more time for Tramp. 

When he was alone with you in the Bronco, everything was perfect. You queued up one of his favorite playlists and laced your fingers through his. You sang along badly to the song which always made him smile, and he played with your ring. 

"Did you have a chance to look at any of the wedding vendors on that list I gave you?" he asked softly as he pulled into the parking lot. 

You shot him an apologetic look. "Not yet, but I'll look at all of them tomorrow. I promise."

Bradley just grunted as he shifted into park. He climbed out and helped you out of your door. "Please look at them," he said, grasping your chin and guiding your face up until you would meet his eyes. "It's important to me."

"I will," you whispered as you leaned up to kiss him. "It's important to me too. I just have got to get past all of this shit at work."

Bradley kissed you harder and you wound your arms around his neck. He let you soothe his nerves with your soft lips and your little noises. It would be okay.

------------------------------

As soon as you and Bradley were inside the bar, Phoenix had a beer in your hand. "Unless you're pregnant. Are you pregnant?" she asked, about to pull the drink back out of your grasp. Bradley was already on his way over to the pool table.

"No!" you said, surprised. "What the hell, Phoenix? Do I look fatter or something?" you asked, looking down the front of your body. If anything, you thought you might have lost a little weight, because you kept forgetting to eat when you were at work. You really needed to start setting reminder alarms in your phone. 

"No, but we haven't seen you in like two and a half weeks," she replied, pushing the beer in your hand closer to your lips. "We started making up conspiracy theories for fun. I thought maybe you were home with morning sickness. Bagman said you probably moved out, and Bradley was just pretending to hold it together. Fanboy assumed you went to the Comics convention in Philadelphia without inviting him, and that's why we haven't heard from you."

You pressed your lips together, simultaneously trying not to laugh or cry. "I'm sorry. I have been so busy with work. My boss is up for a promotion and I really want one by next year as well."

Phoenix eyed you closely before asking, "How are the wedding plans coming along?"

You glanced past her to see your fiancé taking a shot at the pool table. As much as you promised him you would start looking at venues and photographers and florists, you found you just didn't really want the added stress. You knew Bradley would be okay with just doing something simple in Maryland, if you told him that's what you wanted. You also thought you could get him to agree to an elopement if you really pushed him. But you just didn't know what you wanted, and you didn't have the energy or time to sit and think about any of it right now.

"Um, we haven't really started," you told Phoenix while you played with the label on your beer. 

She leaned in a little closer until you met her eyes. "Well, you should start," she told you, all hints of joking gone. It felt like a warning. 

"Yeah," you agreed. "I know that."

"He will do whatever you tell him you want to do, but please, tell him something." You had never heard her use this tone of voice before. 

You swallowed down a sip of your beer. "Did he say something to you?" you asked softly. 

"Yes."

"What did he say?" you asked, chewing on your lip.

But Phoenix just shook her head. "I don't want to tell you." Then she walked away, leaving you alone and upset.  

You tried your best to blend in with everyone. You had missed them. It wasn't like you hadn't. But now you felt like you were letting Bradley down, and you still had almost two weeks left of deadlines for work. But if he was talking to his best friend about you, and Phoenix wouldn't tell you what was said, that was bad.

You wrapped your arms around Bradley from behind and he chuckled. "Come here," he told you, pulling you into a hug. You pulled him down for a kiss before agreeing to play some pool. You saw Nat eyeing both of you quietly as she sipped her drink. You would do better. You would make time to talk about wedding stuff.

And you'd give Bradley a blowjob later. That would probably make both of you feel better. It had been a few days.

---------------------------------

Bradley liked this a lot. It felt really good to be enjoying your mouth instead of his own hand. As soon as you both got home, you started undoing his jeans. 

"Right here?" he asked you softly, in the dark entryway. 

"Right here," you confirmed, dropping down to your knees. He had honestly been hoping to have sex with you, but this felt so good, he didn't want to stop you now. 

You sucked on him so well, and when you released his dick in favor of gently teasing his balls with your mouth, he groaned. "You know I love that."

"Mmm," you hummed, and he wrapped his fingers in your hair. "I know what else you like," you whispered, before taking his cock in your mouth again and getting sloppy. 

Yep. You knew exactly what he liked. 

Once he was sated and you were standing and kissing his neck, he said, "Why don't you go lay in bed? I'll get you off with my mouth and fingers, Sweetheart."

You ran your nose across his Adam's apple but shook your head. "I'm going to get a little work done before bed, okay?"

Bradley felt like he had been slapped in the face. You just got him off, and then turned him down. He felt like something cheap. Or like a chore you had to do. Like something less desirable than work. He felt like nothing more than an obligation as he watched you flip on the light and sit at the kitchen island with your computer. 

"I'm going to bed," he told you and headed down the hallway. He never thought you could possibly make him feel badly about himself. You. You were the one who always made him feel wanted and important. He had never imagined he could be so happy with someone. You stood up for him. You nursed him back to health. You were his teammate.

But right now he felt like he was going to cry. And it's not like he could talk to anyone about this. That would be mortifying. His wife-to-be would rather work at midnight than let him go down on her. He'd already talked Nat's ear off about the fact that you wouldn't commit to any wedding plans. You wouldn't even tell him where you wanted to get married. He couldn't get one detail out of you. He named three songs he thought you could use for a first dance together, and you just told him you would think about it. 

You kept telling him you would think about things, but you weren't getting back to him with any information. He was starting to get terrified that he would end up getting deployed again and have to leave you for months without even a wedding date to look forward to. 

He sat on the edge of the bed with his face in his hands. The urge to talk to his mom was so strong right now, he actually did start to cry. 

-----------------------------

You joined Bradley in bed after he was already asleep, and you were awake before he was the next morning. You dressed in your last clean uniform and drank a mug of coffee. You really needed to make sure you did laundry tonight. You scowled at the coffee and drank it as quickly as you could. Somehow Bradley had become better than you at making your coffee the way you liked it. You smiled for a minute as you remembered how weird he thought your french press was when you first moved in with him. 

It was still early, and you didn't want to wake him, so you left him a note on the counter. 

Roo, I love you. Fly safely. 

Then you grabbed your bag and left. Today you would find out if you had to go to Annapolis at the beginning of October with your team to help present your research. You were practically vibrating with excitement. 

You had promised Bradley you would look at wedding stuff today. And you would. Probably while you ate lunch. But you just didn't see how the two of you would possibly have enough time to plan everything and get married this year. September was almost done now, and you didn't know how hard it would be to find a date that was available somewhere. 

If you had to talk him into next year, you would. It would be fine. 

So you got to work right away, and everyone ended up working through lunch. You were planning on taking a break soon, and then you'd text Bradley and see how his day was going. And during your break, you would scroll through some wedding venues and see if any of the locations appealed to you. 

"We're going to Annapolis," Bickel announced from the lab doorway. 

"Are you serious?" you asked him, slowly standing and trying to see if he was joking. 

"I'm serious," he said with a smile as the lab erupted in cheers. It was hard for you to imagine that just a few months ago, you thought you might have to take a leave of absence or switch locations to avoid having to work with Josh. Now you would be presenting your work on a national scale in your home state. 

You took your phone out of your pocket to text Bradley, but Bickel was already loudly telling everyone to join him tomorrow night for dinner and drinks on him. You had rescheduled tomorrow night to be movie night with Bradley. He already bought tickets. You were going to have to cancel on him a second time. And you were going to have to tell him you'd be in Annapolis for a week next month. 

You were also probably going to have to tell him there was no way the two of you were going to be able to get married this year. 

--------------------------------

"I'm so sorry, Bradley. Can you take Jake or Nat to the movies with you instead?" you asked him.

"Sure," he answered, not even looking at you as he poured himself a bowl of cereal for dinner. 

"Great. And um... well... I'll be gone for a week next month. But it's good! Because I get to present my work in Annapolis."

He turned to look at you and nodded. "I'm really proud of you," he told you quietly. And he was. You had worked hard, and you had earned this. 

"Thanks, Roo," you said, wrapping your arms around his waist. "You've made everything so much easier for me. And in a few weeks, we can really start to get back to normal, you know?"

He swallowed hard, letting his hands come to rest on your hips. He hadn't touched you like this in a few days, and he had missed it so much, it was almost painful now. "That sounds nice."

"I need to do laundry and make sure I have something to wear to dinner tomorrow night," you said, pulling out of his arms and heading to the bedroom.

Bradley just wanted to feel close to you again, so he followed you and sat on the edge of the bed while you perused your dresses. 

"What about this one?" you asked, holding up your black wrap dress. 

"Bronco sex," he said, and you started to laugh. "Reminds me of Bronco sex."

"Yeah... me too," you told him, hanging it up again. "Better not wear it to a work dinner. I'd be thinking about you the whole time."

He rubbed his hand across his face. "Would that be such a bad thing?"

"No. Just hard to focus. How about this dress?" you asked, holding up the blue one you wore when you picked him up at the docks a few deployments ago. 

"Sex against the inside of the front door," he whispered. But you were already pulling out a sweater to wear over it.

"I know you like this one," you said, holding it up in front of your body for him to see. 

"Loved it since the first time you wore it, Baby Girl."

You took a deep breath. "I guess I should start thinking about what kind of wedding dress I want."

Bradley immediately jumped up from the bed. "Yes! Do you want to talk about it?" he asked, but you were already shaking your head.

"I'm not supposed to talk about that with you!"

His heart sank again, but he supposed you were correct about that detail. "You want to call your mom and talk to her about it?" he asked. 

"Roo, it's almost midnight on the east coast. I'll worry about it later."

He didn't want you to worry about your wedding dress. He wanted you to be excited about it.

"Let's go watch a show," you told him, headed for the living room. A few minutes later, Bradley was the big spoon to your little spoon. You put on a show he didn't even like very much, but he was too embarrassed to ask you to switch it to Real Housewives of Atlanta, so he just held you close. 

Then he started to kiss your neck, working his lips and his mustache next to your ear. "Roo," you whispered, and that tone of your voice was like a shot of adrenaline through his body. 

"Sweetheart," he whispered, already growing hard for you. "Can we get in bed?"

You sighed. "I'm too tired tonight." So he stopped kissing you and just held you. Soon your breathing evened out, and he could tell you were asleep. So he watched the end of the show by himself, and then he scooped you up and carried you to bed. He tried to tuck you in gently, but you woke up. Now he was terrified that you were going to go back to the kitchen with your computer instead of at least sleeping next to him.

"I'm sorry I'm so tired," you told him before you yawned. Even the way you were arching your back as you stretched had him aching for you. When you pulled your shirt and bra off and replaced them with his UVA tee, his mouth went dry.

"I hate to say this, but... can we schedule some sex into your calendar?" Bradley asked you.

You laughed. "We can have sex this weekend."

"Last weekend, you worked all weekend. Same as the weekend before that."

"Well, I won't this weekend, okay?"

He just nodded as you headed to the bathroom.

------------------------------------

Poor Roo! Come on Baby Girl, he just wants you to plan the wedding!

Part 3

@hotch-meeeeeuppppp

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[blessedarethebinarybreakers]

Hey, this is going to be long and wordy but I’m kinda desperate. Lately I’ve been having doubts about whether Jesus actually said what’s recorded in the gospels and whether those accounts are true, and the uncertainty there scares me, especially since I know the gospel writers almost certainly had their own agendas and that’s why accounts of the same event can sound different, why the birth narrative was skipped over or not, etc. On top of that I’ve seen posts from Jewish users outlining why Judaism typically doesn’t accept Jesus as Messiah/why you can’t be Jewish if you believe that, and their arguments seem pretty sound. So it all boils down to this big scary question of “What if this whole Jesus-as-Messiah thing was just the result of projection onto some random guy who seemed to be the real deal because the writers were so desperate to be rescued from the Roman occupation?” It sucks cuz I’ve been enjoying my renewed interest in church (for the most part) and while I’ve tried my best to learn not to take the Bible literally all the time (yay for growing up in an inerrantist doctrinal tradition 🙄), I still want to take it seriously and I still want to believe in Jesus as savior/Lord/etc. I don’t want to just be like, “Yeah I don’t buy the whole Messiah thing but I can still follow his example!” I want there to be meat behind why I follow, if that makes sense. So inasmuch as this could be my OCD being bored and trying to take hold of whatever it thinks would bug me the most (wouldn’t be the first time!), I would really appreciate any advice you have. I know there may not be any certainty or reassurance to be found here, but I still want to hear from someone who’s been there before so I can chart a path forward, and I think this is an important question to wrestle with. Plus I remember from one of your posts you said you have seminary notes on this exact topic so I’m curious lol.

"Gospel Truth": how do we know what Jesus really said and did?

Hey again! Sorry for the long delay on this one but I wanted to do some research before responding! You're right that these are important questions, and you're absolutely not the only one to feel doubt and anxiety over them. You're also right that I can't offer you certainty, but I do hope you'll find encouragement here, and places to go as you continue your journey.

This got super long (as always lol), so let's start with aTL;DR:

In this post, you'll find that there's a lot that we can surmise is very probable about Jesus' life story, but that ultimately we can't know much for certain — and that's okay. In Evolving in Monkey Town: How a Girl Who Knew All the Answers Learned to Ask the Questions), Rachel Held Evans gets to the heart of the matter:

"I don’t know which Bible stories ought to be treated as historically accurate, scientifically provable accounts of facts and which stories are meant to be metaphorical. I don’t know if it really matters so long as those stories transform my life."

This is a time where scholarship & faith go hand-in-hand: using the minds God gifted us, we study and learn what we can; and we cultivate faith in the things we can't — a faith that doesn't deny doubt, but makes room for it, and calls us into community so that we can wrestle out meaning together.

A couple other notes before we kick off:

Please know that you don't Have To Study All The Things if you decide it's healthier for you not to go chasing those rabbit holes. You don't need to be an expert in Biblical studies to be a "good Christian" or to take scripture seriously or to get to know God deeply.

I trust you know yourself and how your OCD works better than I could. So I'm going to share the information I have, and leave it to you to determine for yourself how much information you need in order to feel reassured, without giving your mind new problems to ruminate over.

So here's a link to a Google doc that has A Lot of information — like, too much lol. But save it for after you read this post; I'm putting the most relevant & important info here! If you finish this post and feel satisfied, you never even have to look in the doc.

However deep you go, if you find yourself getting overwhelmed, know that whatever you are feeling is valid and probably pretty common, and take a break! Do a calming meditation or an activity you enjoy to help regulate your mind and body. If possible, have someone you can unpack this stuff with — or have a notebook ready to journal in. <3

Okay, all that outta the way, let's dig in!

Who wrote the Gospels?

Tradition goes that the authors of the four canonical Gospels are three of Jesus' closest disciples — Matthew, Mark, and John — plus a disciple of Paul — Luke. But academics have determine that this tradition is very improbable; it's much more likely that none of the four authors knew Jesus personally, and that the earliest of them (Mark) wasn't recorded till the 60s — decades after Jesus lived and died!

When people learn this, it often leads to something of a crisis of faith. If these writers didn't even know Jesus firsthand, where the heck did they get their information?? And come to think of it, why do their accounts differ? Is some of it made up? Is all of it made up??

The anxiety and fear that wells up is normal, and it's healthy to acknowledge that you're feeling it. But once that first shock abates, it's possible to discover a sort of freedom in the knowledge that the Gospel writers (and all the authors of the biblical texts) were human, with human biases and specific goals fitting their unique context; and that they didn't have all the answers!

This realization can free us to approach scripture without certain expectations (that it's all inerrant and prescriptive, etc.), and allows us to bring our doubts to the table with us. If something in the text seems questionable — particularly if it seems to promote bigotry and injustice rather than God's love — we can consider whether something in its author's cultural context might be responsible for that part of scripture.

So taking some time to learn the unique contexts of each writer can be quite enriching to how we engage the Gospels. For a chart that sums up the Gospel writers' unique contexts, audiences, and priorities, see this post.

For even more, you'll want a book that digs into that stuff — I recommend Raymond Brown's An Introduction to the New Testament (the abridged version!!). As you learn about the Gospel writers, I hope several things become evident:

First, that they weren't just making things up whole cloth, or relying on a game of "he said she said" telephone for their information! Each one drew from different primary or secondary sources, eyewitness testimonies or written texts (many of which no longer exist, but scholars have pieced together evidence of, like the famous "Q source" that both Matthew and Luke drew from).

Yes, each author does have an agenda in writing about Jesus, and in how they tell his story. But that's not a nefarious thing; it's true of any text, whether biography, poetry, novel, song — you don't take the time to write something without a purpose in mind! With variation between their specific goals, overall each Gospel writer's agenda was to persuade their audience that Jesus is worth following, and/or to offer encouragement to those who already believed.

Another thing that modern readers sometimes interpret as intentionally deceptive is that, yeah, the Gospels contain things that aren't strictly factual, and that the writers knew weren't strictly factual. This is because ancient ideas about history & biography are very different from our own. When we read a biography, we expect it to be all facts, with citations proving those facts. But the ancients were much less concerned with making sure every detail was accurate; instead, they were focused on making their specific point about whatever thing or person they were writing/reading about. So yes, they might embellish one detail or leave out another in order to fortify their desired message. They cared more about the Truth as they interpreted it than a purely factual account.

On a similar note, each Gospel writer understands Jesus and the meaning behind his story a little differently — hence why they all tell things in slightly different orders, and characterize Jesus differently, etc. This is also understandable — we all interpret stories differently; we all come to different conclusions even when we have the same or similar information. See the section in the google doc titled "each Gospel's essence" to learn more about the different ways each writer characterizes Jesus, and why they may have interpreted him the way they did.

On that topic, let's get to your question about...

Jesus — Messiah, or no?

If you read the Gospel of Matthew and take it as pure fact, you'll determine that Jesus is the Messiah his people were waiting for — that he did indeed fulfill various scriptures. But if you read Mark, you won't find that argument at all! To the author of Mark, Jesus clearly did not match the stipulations of the awaited-for Messiah — and for Mark, that's kinda the point: that Jesus is something new and surprising, unlike anything human beings expected, upturning our ideas of power and salvation.

...So how did they come to these vastly different views??

Well, Matthew was a Jew writing to persuade his fellow Jews that the Jesus movement was worth joining; to do so, he felt he had to "prove" that it fit into Jewish tradition. So he prioritizes showing how Jesus is a righteous Jew who abides by Torah, and that he is indeed the Messiah they've been waiting for.

(It's also worth noting that when Matthew writes, over and over, about Jesus "fulfilling" various bits of Hebrew scripture, that verb "fulfilling" doesn't mean what it might sound like to us — that a given text was always and only about Jesus, with the prophet having Jesus in mind when they wrote it. Rather, to Matthew "fulfilling" the text meant "filling it up" with more meaning — adding to its meaning, not replacing the old meaning. More on that, with citations, in the Google doc.)

Meanwhile, Mark's author was a Jew writing mostly to gentile members of the early Jesus movement. He knew they wouldn't care whether or not Jesus fit the Jewish expectations for a Messiah! (In fact, giving Jesus a bit more of a "Greek" flair would appeal to them more.) So Mark doesn't perform the mental and rhetorical gymnastics that Matthew does to try to make Jesus fit the Messiah requirements.

So which Gospel got it right?

For many matters of scripture, I say "it's open to interpretation!" or "Maybe both are right in different ways, conveying different truths!" But for this particular case, it is very important as Christians to accept that Jesus absolutely does not fit the Jewish requirements for their Messiah. To argue otherwise is antisemitic — it's supersessionist, meaning it claims that Christianity supersedes or replaces Judaism.

We might understand, as the author of Mark did, Jesus to be a messiah — which just means "anointed one" in Hebrew (the Greek counterpart is "Christ") — without making antisemitic claims that Jews "failed to recognize their own Messiah." (In fact, there are multiple messiahs in scripture, e.g. in Isaiah 45, the foreign king Cyrus is referred to as God's messiah; though later scriptures like Daniel do start talking about a specific Messiah who will usher in redemption & a new age for the Jewish people.)

We can understand why some of the biblical authors, like Matthew, interpreted Jesus as this specific Messiah as a result of their own specific context, without agreeing with their view. See this post about “Anti-Jewish Content in the New Testament: Why it’s there and what we should do about it” for more on this important topic.  (You can also find even further resources on supersessionism in this post.)

...Okay, so we've looked at the authors of the Gospels a good bit. We've learned that their idea of a "biography" is very different from ours — that they didn't consider it bad to rearrange, leave out, or embellish accounts — but what does that leave us with when it comes to knowing who Jesus "really" was?

What can we know for sure about Jesus?

Let's look at the facts. The first one is: we don't have any. Not any 100% certain ones, anyway. The guy lived before audio recorders and cameras; we're relying on written and oral accounts, which can be fabricated.

However, there are points about the Jesus story that are regarded as almost certainly historical by the vast majority of historians today, so let's look at those first:

Jesus almost 100% certainly existed. There is enough historical evidence (both inside and outside the Bible) to confirm this — even non-Christian historians almost unanimously agree that there was a historical Jesus. (Phew, am I right?)

Almost all historians also agree that several parts of Jesus' story almost definitely happened: that he was baptized in the Jordan; that he traveled around teaching and offering miracles (whether or not they agree he actually had the power to perform real miracles, of course); and that he was arrested and crucified by the occupying Roman Empire.

Some of these almost-irrefutable claims lend plausibility to others: if he traveled around teaching, what was he teaching? Why not the sermons, the parables recorded in the Gospels? And if he was crucified — the death of a criminal, an insurrectionist — what did he do to get himself crucified? He must have done something to cause Rome to see him as a threat to their Empire — why not some of the sayings and actions that are recorded in the Gospels, like his claim to be "Son of God" (a title used for Caesar); his protest march into Jerusalem satirizing Caesar; and his disruption at the Temple?

The attempt to determine which parts of scripture are "authentic," i.e. things that really happened / things Jesus really said," is often called "The Quest for the Historical Jesus."

Over the decades, scholars interested in this pursuit have developed various "criteria of authenticity," which they use to try to determine how probable any given bit of the Gospels is. In the google doc, I summarize the history of this "quest" and describe some of the most popular criteria. But what's important to understand is that these criteria have major limitations — they're often applied somewhat arbitrarily, for one thing, and ultimately they can't "prove" for sure whether something in the text is definitely historical or definitely not. So honestly, this is not a field of study that I recommend everyone go immerse themselves in! When I do, I have fun for a while, then kinda end up more overwhelmed by how much we can't know.

Still, sometimes these criteria of authenticity do yield some interesting points. For instance, the "Criteria of Embarrassment" (yes, that's what it's called lol) asserts that anything in the text that would have been embarrassing to its author is more likely to be historical fact — because why would the author have made something up that puts them in an unflattering light, or might be used to argue against their message?

For example, a lot of Gospel stories depict Jesus' disciples being kinda clueless, or saying petty things, or failing miserably (e.g. the denial of Peter). Why would the Gospel authors have wanted to make these earliest believers, who are meant to be role models for their audience, look so bad? This criterion says that wouldn't — that they must include those stories because they really happened, rather than being things the author made up to make their point.

Or take the Criterion of Multiple Attestation, which determines how many sources include a certain saying or event. The more sources contain a specific story, the more plausibly "authentic" that story is, since it means that different unconnected communities knew that story. Logical enough.

So yes, there are ways to consider the historicity of the Gospels — but not definitively. So the question becomes: is the historical knowledge we do have enough for me to feel some level of, I don't know, peace? stability in my faith?

And, at the end of the day, how important to me is it that every single thing the Gospels say is completely factual?

Back to what matters: the Good News

Facts are great — God gifted us our minds, and various scripture stories show God encourages us to wrestle with the text! — but we are called to faith as well.

Furthermore, taking the Bible seriously means accepting it for what it is — a collection of ancient texts compiled by humans, even if guided by Divinity — rather than insisting it be what it is not. For the Gospels, that means accepting that they are not biography, but story, and prioritize Truth over fact.

My pastor friend Roger puts it like this:

“For me, it isn’t about deciding which things Jesus really said or didn’t say. That’s a road that goes nowhere. As a pastoral response, I take scripture at face value and work to empathize with the people in and behind the text. Through that empathy, I can find some meaning that connects with what we’re facing here and now.”

When we acknowledge that the Bible includes human interpretations of the Divine, and that we bring our own human interpretations to our reading of it, where does that leave us?

It leaves us in need of conversation, of an expansion of our perspectives by talking through scripture in community. We do that conversing with friends, or attending Bible studies at church, or reading a variety of theological texts — getting as many unique understandings of Jesus as we can, joining our ideas together to get an ever broader glimpse of the Divine.

There's a reason Jesus taught in parables: he didn't want there to be one definitive answer to matters of life and faith! He wanted to ignite conversation, to draw us into community — because it's in community that we are the image of God, the Body of Christ.

So keep on wrestling, wondering, talking it through (taking time to rest when needed — there's no rush!). We discover scripture's meaning for us in our own place and time through the wrestling, together.

[sunscreenstudies]

A Step-by-Step Guide for Socially Anxious Email Senders

Read the horrible, horrible email you have to reply to and then feel relief at the fact that "well, at least it's not a phone call!"

Determine what parts you have to reply to i.e. if they asked you a question about something or if there's a part where you need to ask them a question about something

Set a timer for 2 min, 5 min, or 10 min depending on the importance of the email, but no longer!

Write your greeting: "Hi [their first name]" for friendlies, "Dear Mr/Ms/Dr [their last name]" for acquaintances

Write your ending (Yes, we're doing this now before we write anything else): "Best wishes, [your first name]" for friendlies, "Kind Regards, [your first and last name]" for acquaintances

Write "Hope you're well!" This is a game changer because now they know you're thinking of them BUT they don't feel like they have to answer in the way that typing "How are you?" does. Plus, the exclamation mark always helps to lighten up an email that otherwise might feel stuffy.

Answer their questions. If they asked multiple, then split up your answers with filler phrases such as "In relation to...", "In regard to...", "As for...", etc. Finish your paragraph with "I hope this helps, but if you have any further questions, please feel free to ask!"

Ask your questions. If you don't have any questions, then find the most complicated/unclear part of their email, rephrase it, and throw it in after a "Just a quick note to confirm my understanding of the project: [the rephrased bit]". This will let them know that you did thoroughly read their email, and it also provides them with an excuse to email you back with "yes, you're right" or "actually..." which removes the awkwardness they might be feeling as to whether there's any need to reply to your email or not. Finish your paragraph with "Thank you!" (it never hurts to be nice)

Check for spelling or grammar mistakes (if you don't have an extension like Grammarly, then copy and paste your email into Google Docs/Word doc/LibraOffice doc/etc. to check for errors there. Once you've corrected them, copy and paste the corrected text back into your email, replacing the original text)

Reread your email three times. Look at me. Look. At. Me. Three times. That's it! No more and no less! Your timer should have gone off by now, so times up, tough luck, you have to send it, the timer said so. If your timer hasn't gone off yet, then congrats! You beat the clock! Now let's celebrate by sending that horrible email immediatley.

Check your "sent" email box once - just once - to make sure that your email did successfully send and to shut up that part of your brain that's going "but what if they didn't get it?!" They got it. Exit your email browser/app.

Turn your phone/laptop on "do not disturb", leave your desk, make yourself a big mug of something hot (I personally prefer black tea, but you could make tea, coffee, hot chocolate, soup, etc. - whatever you enjoy the most!). Bonus Points: If you're at home or in an enclosed office, then throw on your favourite song or a dancing playlist, and spend five minutes dancing and shaking off that nervous energy before getting back to work. Congratulations: You did it!

[alovelyfox]

Chapter 2: An Awkward Encounter

Was it left? Or right? Oh crap, were you even on the right set of stairs? You couldn't for the life of you remember, and the sweat trickling down your back was starting to stick. You had rushed into the law firm without bothering to check your appearance after biking three miles and getting into an accident. A stare from the receptionist however, made you realize that it was probably worth a trip to the bathroom before meeting your new colleagues. The young man at the front desk took pity on you, and gave you a list of directions which would take you to the secret bathroom hidden in the stairwell where you could fix herself up. But the ringing in your ears from running up the stairs meant you couldn't understand a word he said, which leads to you now wandering aimlessly around while your body grew more tired by the second.

However, the glint of a restroom sign on the flight of stairs below gave you a much needed boost of energy. Determined to not be any later than you already were, you hurry down the steps, inadvertently bumping into a tall man who was heading upwards. His scent was familiar, but your eyes were focused on the sign, so you squeak out an apology and practically sprint down towards it.

Luckily the bathroom was unoccupied, so you quickly lock the door and get to work. Looking in the mirror, you wonder if this was how you looked like to the man you crashed into with your bike this morning. Your mind thought back to his curly red hair, standing out against the black and white of his suit. The freckles which were smattered across his face, his lucid green eyes gazing into yours... Deciding that it would be fate if you ever met again, you take a look inside your purse. You had luckily overpacked due to where you were going in the evening, so you take out some deodorant and perfume and eliminate the smell of sweat which was wafting from you.

You fix your makeup, smooth down your hair, and pat down your clothes, before smiling to yourself in the mirror. After long years of study, you were finally here. Your dream job, helping make society a better place. It didn’t pay as much as the fancy corporate jobs many of your classmates took, but you had just gotten a new roommate with whom you could split your rent/living expenses with. And anyways, it didn’t matter. You were doing what you loved, and that was enough for you.

…

Finally making it to the office looking much more presentable, the receptionist introduces himself as Sam, and takes you to meet everyone else. The office’s designated floor was pretty small, with a big open bullpen for the junior lawyers and separate offices for the senior lawyers. But it's in one of those high-rise buildings with a view over the city anyone would die for. You sneak glances towards it while being acquainted with everyone else, who are all extremely warm and welcoming.

“Oh, there’s one more guy you’ve gotta meet, Kyle. He’s gonna be your supervisor while you’re here, so you better make a good first impression. He was the one meant to greet you, but when he came in he ran straight into his office and shut the door. I actually prepared some coffee for you both so you could sit down and have a little meeting, do you mind taking it to him now? He’s in the office down the hall on the left”. Sam winks as he hands you two cups of coffee and sets you on your way.

…

The nameplate on the door reads ‘Kyle Broflovski’ in gold letters, and you can't tell whether it intimidated or intrigued you. You mean to knock but your hands are full with the coffee, so you sort of thud against the door. When there's no response, you figure he might not even be in there, so using your elbow you push the door handle and open it.

You have no idea what you're expecting Mr. Broflovski to look like, but it's certainly with more clothes on. The man standing behind the desk is half naked, his muscled back facing you while deciding on which dress shirt to take from a closet. He shrugs a white one on and turns around, only to yelp in surprise and take several steps back from where he was standing. Your feet are planted firmly in place, trying to figure out whether or not this is your new supervisor, and avoiding all eye contact with his abs which are barely concealed by his unbuttoned shirt.

“Who are you?” He asks, a slight hint of panic in his voice.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you sir, but I’d rather tell you who I am when you’re fully clothed and I can actually see your face”.

“Oh right”, he mumbles before turning back around to haphazardly button the rest of his shirt. Taking a seat down on his desk chair, he looks at you up and down before his eyes widen from recognition.

“I know you. You’re the girl from this morning, the one who spilt coffee all over me, then bought me an apology bagel. What the hell are you doing in my office?”

You finally make proper eye contact with him and realize he’s completely right. You were the girl who spilt coffee all over him, and he was the guy with the gorgeous green eyes. And of course just to smite her, God made him your new supervisor with whom you'd had the most awkward introduction with ever. Twice.

“I’m Y/N L/N, your new junior lawyer, Mr. Broflovski. I’m so sorry for barging in like this, I’m normally so polite I swear. Well, I mean, when I’m not crashing into people with my bike. Sorry about that again by the way. Haha…”

You try to laugh off the last part, but it comes out sounding insincere so you shut your mouth and wait for him to react. He rakes a hand through his red curls then motions for you to sit down on an empty chair in front of him.

“Call me Kyle. Sorry, I shouldn’t have reacted like that, I knew you were coming. I just didn’t know you would be… you.”

He reaches for the cup of coffee and you get a closer look at his face than this morning. Upon closer inspection, you can see the dark circles that outline his face, making him look twice as old than you assume he is. His eyes are still as absorbing however, and you can now notice his hooked nose when he turns to the side and takes a sip of his cup. He still looks extremely attractive, something you now realize you’ve already told him. Heat rises to your face and you pray that he doesn’t remember how awkward and weird you were, so you sit up straighter in the chair and speak in a strong, confident voice.

“Look Kyle, I know we got off to an unfortunate start, but I’ve worked my ass off to get into this law firm, and I’d hate for a bad relationship with you to ruin it. So, let’s start over. I already brought you two cups of coffee this morning so I’d say we’re even for me ruining your shirt. The other stuff I’m sure we can get over, so if you don’t mind, Sam said you wanted to have a meeting with me and I suggest we get that underway.”

You nod at him, watching his reaction, really just seeing if he was going to kick you out of his office for how blunt you just were. But a small smirk appears on his face, and he nods back at you.

“Alright then.”

He spends the next hour explaining to you the inner workings of the company, what you’ll be needing to do in your position, etc. You're quite passionate about the job, so you listen carefully to what he says, his face only being a little bit distracting. He then hands you some paperwork to sign in order to complete your employment, but you notice how intently he's staring at you while you fill it out. Like you're a puzzle, and he's trying to figure you out. After you finish signing every dotted line, he extends out his hand to welcome you officially to the company. You shake it warmly, taking note of how much bigger it is than your own, and the slight crackle of electricity you feel crawl up your skin when the two of you make contact.

He leads you out into the hallway, and tells you what to do for the rest of the day and where to do it. You give him your thanks alongside a big smile, which makes the tips of his ears go slightly red. He turns away without saying a word and shuts the door, which you find somewhat rude but assumes he's a busy man with more important things to do than smile back.

…

The rest of the day goes by in a flash. Kyle had given you a lot of work to get started on, so after wrapping it all up it's around 5:45. You start to panic as you're meant to be at the bar by 6, so you swiftly pack up all your belongings which had been scattered across your new desk and head towards the stairs. You're about to start running down when someone's arm pulls you back. Kyle's standing behind you, with an amused expression on his face.

"You know, this is one of the best buildings in the city. We do have an elevator." He points his head towards the two metal doors a little further left than where you're standing, something you must've missed in your rushed state both this morning and now. You smile at him and make your way over, and he comes in with you. Both of you reach to press the ground floor button, and your fingers lightly graze each other. You snap your hand back, that familiar electric spark from shaking his hand in the morning returning back to tingle on your fingertips. He pushes the button and both of you head down.

The ride is quiet, the elevator being filled with a silence both of you are comfortable with. You exit the building and are about to wish Kyle a good night but a feeling of anxiousness spreads across your body and face.

"Is everything okay? You look... scared." Kyle asks, as you pace around the outside of the building.

"Shit, I can't find my bike. I padlocked it here this morning, where the hell is it?" You spend the next couple minutes searching for it to no avail, but with the clock ticking down you eventually give up, all the while Kyle watches you carefully.

"You need a ride? It's getting kind of late and with the high chance that you don't find your bike it's probably not a good idea to be walking home alone."

"Really? That would be amazing."

"Cool. My car's parked near the coffee cart from this morning."

You don't really wanna go revisit the place you made an absolute fool of yourself, but you start walking with Kyle anyways and once inside the car you give him an address.

…

His car's pretty nice, not surprising considering that he probably definitely gets paid shitloads from the firm. He also keeps it rather clean, a nice contrast to the guys in your college whose cars looked like a visual representation of a landfill. You decide you like this, and want to know more about him.

"Do you normally leave the office this late?" You ask, considering it was almost 6 and everyone else at the office had left at 5 on the dot.

"Yeah. You could've left earlier though, it's only your first day. No one expects you to work late in your first week. Or at least, I don't."

"I wasn't expecting to work that late. Actually I meant to leave early, but I got so absorbed in the work that I just forgot." Your face heats up slightly as you say this, and you hope he doesn't think that you're sucking up to him or anything. You genuinely did enjoy everything you got given to do today.

"Any particular reason for needing to leave early?" He asks, and your face heats up more.

"Uh, yeah. I have a date. That's actually where you're driving me now."

His hands grip the steering wheel slightly harder, but he keeps his tone apathetic.

"Oh, you have a boyfriend?"

"No no, it's just a first date. Kind of like a blind date. He was the one who set it up actually. I wasn't planning to go, but he's been pretty persistent about going out with me, and I figured that if my first day at work went badly I could blow off some steam."

Kyle doesn't respond to this, but you can see his shoulder relax. He doesn't probe further, so you spend the rest of the ride alone with your thoughts, thinking about how you even got roped into this date in the first place. You don't even really wanna go now, but it's too late to cancel. Plus, you told your new roommate that you'd be home late, and you didn't want to seem lame by coming back before 7. She seemed super nice, way nicer than the one you had in your college dorm. You helped move her in last weekend, then split a bottle of wine. She told you that she recently landed a job working at Greenpeace, and you both bonded over your shared passion about saving the world. She mentioned a little about her time growing up in a small town called South Park in Colorado, but mainly talked about her excitement of getting out of there and starting a new adventure in the city. You hadn't seen her much since that night with both of you being busy preparing for your new jobs, but you secretly hoped you would become closer. You don't keep in touch with many of your college friends, and want a best friend to confide in about everything. Especially things like how hard it was to sit next to your boss right now when he smelt so good and his face looked so cute all concentrated on driving. You dash these thoughts out of your mind and stare out the window until you reach the bar you're meeting your date in.

"Thank you so much for driving me, Kyle, I really apprecia-"

"You should give me your number." He says bluntly.

"I'm sorry?" You ask bewildered. You would've given it happily, but the way he asks makes it seem more like a command rather than a question.

"You said this was a blind date, right? If the guy ends up being a creep, you won't have any way to get home. I can come pick you up instead."

He doesn't seem to realize you could probably call a taxi to pick you up, but the idea of your number being saved into a guy as handsome as Kyle's phone wasn't something you were gonna give up. He hands you his phone and you type it in, before expressing another thank you and heading into the bar. He waits until you're safely inside before he leaves, a fact that shouldn't make you smile but does anyway. You text your guy and he directs you to where he is, sitting in a small booth in the corner.

"Hey, I think you're my date. Stan Marsh, right?"

He smiles.

[auroramoon-draws16]

Time for the current crossover stuck in my head:

Assassin’s Creed x Percy Jackson

Because no duh. Now the question is how would this work?

Assassin at Camp: isekai Desmond

- reborn as the son of Minerva/Athena or maybe Apollo (because of the sun shit and ha ha irony that the assassin is now a healer lmao)

- becomes a new minor god that builds up his own faction of assassins to help the demigods when he realized how unfair it is for them

- an immortal that trains the demigods at camp and definitely smuggles in some of the more mortal luxuries of life because fuck you gods let the kids be kids and enjoy things

- it’s just Desmond getting wrapped up in this shit and accidentally forms a new Brotherhood with demigods because he sees them and go “is anyone gonna parent them? No? Alright, mine now” or at least trains them with Assassin skills and hang out with Chiron and Mr D, who just sees this random ass man with suspicious glowing eyes and a knife strapped to his arm go “tf?”

Gods + Assassins: gods have always existed

- Assassins are a whole faction who focus their skills on mortal threats (the PoE shit), but are willing to assist the demigods occasionally because holy shit those are actual children

(maybe the PoE are left overs of another petty war the gods had? More lore needed)

- the Assassins were formed by a minor god (sort of like Artemis and her Hunters) who passed down the Eagle Eye trait and was determined to help humanity regardless of what the other gods say, because fuck y’all and the Templars

- maybe the Templars also aren’t a fan of the gods, but got their own god complex going on and said gods didn’t care enough to stop them, so the Assassins have to clean up that mess

- what pantheon was the minor god from? Who tf knows, I don’t know enough about the origins of the Brotherhood and the gods to know how to write this shit properly, maybe an interesting point could be that this minor god has turned their back on the gods so long ago that even they forgot their own origins, that’d be cool

- I think it’s fair to say that if this did function sort of like Artemis’ hunters, then they would pledge to the creed instead to one person, but whether they would be immortal or not is up to y’all

- considering that the Assassins are pretty big on Choice (at least the fanfics I read, lmao) if they do decide to leave the brotherhood, then the others have to respect that decision, but if they break the creed then either that immortality is broken, they get let go (or are stripped of their rank Idk), or are put to the blade (last one is unlikely, unless it’s something big)

- I imagine that they can be given a second chance, but shit like that requires a really big “prove yourself” mission (cough cough Altair and Arno cough)

- omg assassins all over the world seeing this godly bullshit all the time and go “oh wtf, anyway”

Everything else is up to y’all I just think it’d be fun to see how they’d interact with the Demigods and maybe Percy and his friends, Idk

[caltropspress]

RAPS + CRAFTS #33: Gabe 'Nandez

1. Introduce yourself. Past projects? Current projects?

Gabriel Matias Fernandez Traoré aka Gabe ‘Nandez. Past projects in chronological order - H.T., Sifu, Disconnected, Plaques (a compilation), Cliquetape, Diplomacy, Grove, Ox, Seven, Strife, Canis Cascus, Pangea, H.T. III, H.T. III (Deluxe), Object Permanence. Upcoming projects - False Profit produced by Thomas Maggart, a collaborative album with U.K. rapper Louis Jack, and more.

2. Where do you write? Do you have a routine time you write? Do you discipline yourself, or just let the words come when they will? Do you typically write on a daily basis?

My desk, at home. If I’m not at home, then any desk. Or something desk like, if available. I tend to write at night and during twilight, generally speaking.

And yeah I try to write every day, and usually do. That being said, I ultimately need a few days off after writing every day for an extended period of time. But that in itself is also part of my writing process, it’s holistic.

3. What’s your medium—pen and paper, laptop, on your phone? Or do you compose a verse in your head and keep it there until it’s time to record?

Pen and paper always. I’ll take walks and write bars in my head but it all comes together when I pull the pen and notebook out.

4. Do you write in bars, or is it more disorganized than that?

I write in bars, it’s all organized. Scientific. 

5. How long into writing a verse or a song do you know it’s not working out the way you had in mind? Do you trash the material forever, or do you keep the discarded material to be reworked later?

Depends. Sometimes I’ll write 32 bars and decide I don’t want to use them after all, but that doesn’t happen often. I haven’t trashed an entire verse in a minute, there’s usually always a few gems in there that I can re-purpose. If I do trash something forever, it’s usually like…four bars in. Might read it back later and go “What the fuck was I on here?”

The first two lines tend to dictate everything. The first two bars cannot be trash. That’s the headline, it has to be strong because it sets the tone for the entire verse. I make sure the first two work and then it usually stays good from there.

6. Have you engaged with any other type of writing, whether presently or in the past? Fiction? Poetry? Playwriting? If so, how has that mode influenced your songwriting?

Honestly, the text messages I’ve sent women read like straight poetry sometimes. Like I’ll structure them like a poem, stanzas and shit like that, with rhythm and shit. I’m not even trynna come off like Casanova right now, I’m just being honest. Those texts are romantic as fuck and I’m proud of them. 

I’ve had to mess around with other mediums during academia but haven’t done so since I left. 

And ultimately I consider what I do with this rap shit poetry. Not crazy about labels but I’d still classify my writing as that.

7. How much editing do you do after initially writing a verse/song? Do you labor over verses, working on them over a long period of time, or do you start and finish a piece in a quick burst?

There usually isn’t much editing involved and I rarely trip over finishing stuff once I start it. I might take a long time to actually start the verse though, the first two bars. So I’ll just listen to the music for as long as I need to until the first two bars come to me, and then it’s pretty much smooth sailing from there. Usually. Every song is different though.

8. Do you write to a beat, or do you adjust and tweak lyrics to fit a beat?

Ideally, I tailor the writing to a specific piece of music, but I’ve transplanted verses to other beats before, definitely.

9. What dictates the direction of your lyrics? Are you led by an idea or topic you have in mind beforehand? Is it stream-of-consciousness? Is what you come up with determined by the constraint of the rhymes?

It really depends. There are general themes in my life that dictate the themes in my art, and I can just go stream-of-consciousness while sounding topical in my creative universe on any song. Sometimes a specific thing will inspire me, like my song “Commerce God” for example, which was inspired by the god Hermes/Mercury, and riffs around the statue of Mercury on top of Grand Central Station.

10. Do you like to experiment with different forms and rhyme schemes, or do you keep your bars free and flexible?

I would say both.

11. What’s a verse you’re particularly proud of, one where you met the vision for what you desire to do with your lyrics?

Good question, and a hard one. I’ll say “Ox” 'cause it’s the song of mine that’s reached the most people so far. I think it’s cause it has a balanced amount of depth and flexing. That beat goes crazy too. Stars just aligned on that one.

12. Can you pick a favorite bar of yours and describe the genesis of it?

“Self emancipated from a place of permanent ruin” is one that comes to mind. It’s a comment on how I kicked narcotics and alcohol but also sounds real fly and rolls of the tongue well. 

It’s from a track called “Semtex.” Wrote that one in like half an hour off of no sleep at 5:00AM type shit . Always fond of those type of sessions.

13. Do you feel strongly one way or another about punch-ins? Will you whittle a bar down in order to account for breath control, or are you comfortable punching-in so you don’t have to sacrifice any words?

I’m cool with punching in 'cause I’m good at it and can make it seamless. Or at least seamless enough where I’m cool with it. But there are times where I know I can just one-take a section of a song, so I’ll do that.  I’m with whatever needs to get done to get the song recorded, and the procedure is never exactly the same. It’s all very instinctive when I’m in the booth.

I’ve one-taked an entire song before, my song “Up Top.” First take, one take. That was crazy. But I don’t go in there planning on doing that. That just happened organically.

14. What non-hiphop material do you turn to for inspiration? What non-music has influenced your work recently?

Old books and stories. Theology, mythology, some philosophy. From different cultures. 

Otherwise life. People, the interactions I have or have had with them. Dreams sometimes.

15. Writers are often saddled with self-doubt. Do you struggle to like your own shit, or does it all sound dope to you?

Self-doubt isn’t something I struggle with in general. All of my music is objectively great because it’s tediously well made. I might cringe at some of my old stuff, but I don’t at most of it.

16. Who’s a rapper you listen to with such a distinguishable style that you need to resist the urge to imitate them?

Off top, Prodigy. But, to be honest, I’m at the stage where I’ve found my voice, so I don’t really run into situations where I’m writing and go, “Nah, that’s his shit.” It does happen sometimes, but it’s rare. 

Sometimes I’ll throw a dart in someone else’s style on purpose as an homage.

17. Do you have an agenda as an artist? Are there overarching concerns you want to communicate to the listener?

I’m here to express myself through art. By doing so, my viewpoints are shared, my energy is felt. This action, in turn, communicates the essence of my being and my spirit, which does what it’s intended to do, according to or regardless of my intention. 

I can’t control how someone is going to react to an action I take, let alone how my art is going to make them feel. I’m confident that I can direct and influence accurately - I’m confident that we all can. But, ultimately, I don’t have a desire to sway people in a particular direction, through art or in everyday life. That’s up to people.

RAPS + CRAFTS is a series of questions posed to rappers about their craft and process. It is designed to give respect and credit to their engagement with the art of songwriting. The format is inspired, in part, by Rob McLennan’s 12 or 20 interview series.

Photo credit: Sebastian Thompson

[peskellence]

Pairing: RK900/Gavin Reed

Tags: Post Pacifist Ending, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Eventual Smut, Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Masterlist

Read on AO3 here:

Summary: A lot has changed since the revolution. Crimes against androids are now punished in the same way as crimes against humans. A reluctant Gavin Reed and his new partner RK900 have been assigned to investigate a string of disturbing murders. Despite the shift in Detroit's social climate, Gavin still holds reservations about whether or not androids are truly alive. Will his developing feelings for 'Nines' be the thing to change this?

Warnings: Graphic Violence, Depression/Self Destructive Behaviour, Eventual Smut

Word Count: 2.9K

Gavin was bent over the canteen table, squeezing his half-empty coffee cup and groaning deeply. He had held himself up to an extent, but with all the fight leaving his body, his head flopped forward and hit the wood with an audible smack. Tina seldom reacted, sipping her own coffee as she watched on, amused.

"I'm going insane. I don't know how much more I can take of this".

"Gavin, it's been less than a week".

"I know that", Gavin tried to say back, but with his face pressed against the polished wood, the words were barely audible. Tina said nothing else as if waiting for her friend to pull himself out of his self-imposed slump. Reluctantly, Gavin sat back up, ignoring Tina's giggles as she stared at his aching forehead.

"It's been the longest week of my goddamn life", he mumbled, rubbing the sore patch with the palm of his hand. He couldn't see, but he was confident he'd left a mark. "You don't get it. The thing is unbearable".

"That's what I thought when I first met you", Tina gently teased, batting her eyelashes. "Seriously though. I think you should give him a chance".

"Why should I?" Gavin lifted his cup to his lips, draining what was left of his coffee and rubbing his mouth on the back of his sleeve. "It's not like it's given  me  a chance. Five minutes in, and it's already telling me what a waste of space I am".

Tina paused, swirling the liquid in her cup and staring at it thoughtfully. Her lips were pulled into a sympathetic frown. "Gav, I know it sucks, but that's just how RK900 is. He says exactly what he's thinking, much like yourself, and sometimes that can hurt – but he's never going to change his mind if you keep giving him reasons to hate you".

Tina glanced back up at Gavin, brow furrowed in determination. Gavin sighed, recognising the look almost immediately. He knew full well that he was about to be subjected to an interrogation and simply prepared for it:

"How many times have you tried to hit him? Think fast".

"Just the once" So far , Gavin silently added. 

"And how many times have you insulted him for being an android?" Tina pressed on, "Robocop? Plastic prick? Any of those ringing a bell?".

"Oh, come on, Robocop is great!" Gavin vehemently defended, throwing up his hands. "It is the perfect evolution of 'android detective'".

Tina sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "I just can't with you sometimes. Right, last one – and this is important – have you pointed your gun at him?".

Gavin bristled at this, thinking back to the 'fight' he'd had with Nines and imagining the sort of torture that the android would have subjected him to if he had actually attempted to use his gun.

"No. Hell no," Gavin insisted, shaking his head aggressively. "This isn't Connor we're talking about. The thing would flatten me".

Tina hummed, motioning for Gavin to hand her his empty cup. She stacked it into her own before crumpling them together and throwing them into a nearby trash can. "Sounds to me that all hope is not lost. You just need to try being nice".

Gavin grumbled in response, "Tell me. What am I supposed to do that it would consider 'being nice'? I don't know if you've noticed, but it doesn't  like  anything. Except licking up blood and skulking around alleyways like it's my goddamn sleep paralysis demon".

"Oh, come on, you're being ridiculous", Tina insisted, rolling her eyes. "I'm sure he likes lots of things. Why don't you take him out to lunch and try to get to know him better? You might have more in common than you think".

"I'm sure that'll go down like a lead balloon. Where am I supposed to take him?  Sal's Premier Gas and Auto Repair ?".

"Take him wherever you like, Gav. It doesn't really matter. It's more about the gesture than anything".

Gavin felt his interest in the conversation fast waning. It was no longer serving the escape he had hoped for. He looked at his watch, sighing at the time, before pushing his chair back harshly, causing the legs to screech along the linoleum floor.

There was a moment of contemplation as he considered what Tina had said. There was no way that his relationship with Nines could possibly get any worse. Perhaps it may be worth humouring his friend's suggestion, even out of morbid curiosity. This did not, however, prevent the doubts from continuously slipping into his mind.

Gavin took a long breath, closing his eyes. "There's no way in Hell this is going to work", he protested. "It fucking despises me. Why would it ever agree to spend a second longer in my company than it needs to?".

"Look, I'm not saying you have to be besties" Tina had also stood up, albeit much less aggressively than her counterpart, "but not completely hating each other would be a start. You never know. He might like your tamer side. You do have some endearing qualities, Gav, buried deep,  deep  down in your soul. It's time to let them shine".

Gavin's eyes shot back open as he gaped at his friend with a mixture of offence and disbelief. He turned on his heel, making his way to the canteen exit "Wow. Thanks a lot, Ti. I don't know what I'd ever do without your glowing words of encouragement".

Tina poked out her tongue as Gavin shot her a final piercing look. With his hand hovering over the buttons of the wall-mounted panel, he had not had a chance to press anything when the security doors suddenly glided open.

Gavin was greeted with the towering frame of his android partner, glowering down with clear disapproval on its stony face. They were stood uncomfortably close, to the extent that – if Nines could breathe – Gavin was confident he would be able to feel the warm puffs drawing down his neck.

"You said you were going to the bathroom, although I anticipated I may find you here", Nines looked over Gavin's shoulder as if refusing to acknowledge him directly. Gavin could see Tina tensing up out of the corner of his eye, and he instinctively stepped back to meet her position.

"Good Afternoon, Officer Chen. I must request that I have my partner back now. He is supposed to be working".

"How long were you standing there?" Gavin intended his words to sound forceful, but they had trickled from his lips as a laboured rasp. Apparently, he had been holding his breath and had failed to notice until that moment. "Were you eavesdropping on us? Creepy motherfucker”.

Nine's expression did not shift, although its LED flickered slightly, showing that it had acknowledged Gavin's question. Whatever the answer was, it refused to provide one, holding its focus on Tina as if he didn't exist.

"Honestly, it's totally fine", Tina insisted, a little too enthusiastically under the pressure of Nines' intense stare. "I think Gav is just tired. Really needs a  break , you know?".

Gavin looked sidelong at his friend. He could see the scheming wheels turning behind her flawlessly plastered smile. He opened his mouth to say something but was swiftly met with an elbow to the ribs. She looked at him expectantly as if to signal this was his cue.

Gavin froze in disbelief over what he was about to do. If Tina was wrong about this, he would never let her forget it. 

Even if she was right, Gavin would be reluctant to forgive her. When the best case scenario meant one-on-one quality time with 'Detroit's Most Pompous Android', there was no way he could actually win.

"Yeah... Tina's right, actually," Gavin said, trying his best to sound genuine. "I'm just really worn out from reviewing all these case files. Need to get out and stretch my legs. What do you say we head to lunch?".

Nines flinched, albeit subtly, with its eyes widening in surprise. It's LED shifted to yellow and appeared to get stuck, blinking and cycling endlessly without any sign of progression "I'm sorry, Detective Reed, but I believe I have misunderstood. By 'we', I assume you are referring to yourself and Officer Chen, correct?".

Gavin's mouth pulled into a painful half-grimace as he desperately fought back the urge to scream in the android's face. Taking a moment to relax, he was somehow able to contort the expression into something more pleasant "Actually, I meant you and me".

The android blinked wordlessly. Once, and then twice. With its head tilted to one side, it appeared utterly stumped. Gavin wondered if he might have broken it. Overloaded its sensors or triggered a soft reset. 

"I understand that android physiology may not be your area of expertise, but surely you know I do not need to eat?".

Gavin shot Tina an accusatory look, to which she seemed entirely unfazed, mouthing the words " Go on"  back at him.

"Yeah, well, I do", Gavin paused, feeling utterly foolish. "So I thought it might be nice if you joined me...dipshit".

Tina's shoulders slumped as she looked back at Gavin despairingly. He met the look with a mouthed " What?"  and a subtle shrug of his shoulders.

It was apparent that their silent pantomime had not escaped Nines' attention. Its eyes darted between Tina and Gavin before narrowing on the former suspiciously. Tina locked into place again as if anticipating the fact that she was about to be called out:

"This invitation is unexpected, to say the least, Detective. Almost as if it may be have been encouraged by some outsider influence".

"Wooow, would you look at the time" Tina abruptly announced, pulling her phone out of her pocket and staring at the screen. "I better be going; I'll leave you guys to it" As she pulled away, she leant towards Gavin one final time, speaking lowly into his ear:

"Good luck".

"Judas",  Gavin hissed back, watching with ire as Tina carefully side-stepped around Nines, pressed the exit button on the canteen door and speedily retreated.

Gavin and Nines stood in silence. There was a mounting air of discomfort as the android folded its arms, seemingly anticipating Gavin's next move. In all honestly, he wasn't sure of the next move himself. With his backup now gone, all he had to work with was the questionable advice she had left behind. As much as he loved Tina, she seemed to land him in just as many uncomfortable situations as she ever helped him escape from.

"So", Gavin whistled awkwardly before clearing his throat ", Are you in or out?".

Apparently, this was not the move Nines had expected, with a look of surprise returning to its face. "I beg your pardon?".

"Lunch", Gavin clarified. Reluctantly "Are you coming with me?.

Then there was silence again – and damn if it wasn't getting painful. Gavin willed Satan's minions to rise up and drag him to Hell already. It would be a long time coming, and at least then, he wouldn't have to deal with any more plastic detectives.

"I suppose it needn't be a complete waste of time", Nines rationalised, the LED that had seemed to stall on yellow finally returning to blue "It may give us a valuable opportunity to review what we know about the case. Away from the distractions of the station".

Of course, it would make it about work. Of-fucking-course. 

“Yeah. Sure. Whatever".

Gavin led Nines out of the station, allowing it to trail behind him like a guard dog. The android seemed a little perplexed as they cleared the station parking lot, heading for the nearest traffic lights.

"Are we not taking a car?".

"Nah, this place isn't far. We can walk," Gavin insisted, tapping his foot impatiently as he waited for the crossing lights to change. "Besides, I did say that I wanted to stretch my legs, or were you not paying attention to me?".

"I find that much of what you say lacks substance, although I pay attention when I feel it is warranted".

Gavin tsked quietly, shaking his head in disbelief. He almost wanted to laugh but decided against it, feeling more frustrated than he did amused. "You are  really goddamn rude, you know that?".

"I do not believe that I am", Nines said back, seemingly without missing a beat. "It is not targeted at you specifically, Detective. Humans have quite a knack for dancing around the issue. Even those who claim to be direct often fail to say what they mean...I find it incredibly frustrating".

"Yeah, well, humans are tricky like that", Gavin mused out loud, willing the lights to change faster. The sidewalk was beginning to build up, and he couldn't help but notice a few people staring at Nines. One little girl seemed particularly intrigued, tucking on her mother's pant leg and pointing upwards.

"Mommy, why does that man look so angry?".

Nine's gaze shot downwards, meeting the source of the tiny voice below him. Unblinking, it answered the little girl's question – its voice loud and imposing "I was a model created to assist in police investigations. My appearance was designed to intimidate criminals and to encourage swift cooperation".

The little girl retreated immediately, eyes bulging wide in surprise. The mother was evidently unimpressed, holding her daughter back as she shot Nines a spiteful look. "Do you mind not speaking to my daughter like that? She's a kid; she doesn't understand what you are saying".

Nines seemed a little put out, face crinkled in confusion. Ultimately, he nodded quietly before turning his attention back to the crosswalk.

THE LIGHT IS GREEN.

"Fucking finally..." Gavin muttered to himself, stepping from the sidewalk like it was on fire. As Nines and Gavin cleared the crossing with the rest of the pedestrians, the latter could hear a flurry of whispers from those passing by them:

" Do you think it's a deviant?"

"Hell no – What deviants do you know that speak like that?"

"I haven't seen an unconverted model in months"

"It could be unstable...oh damn, I think it's looking this way. Keep walking, don't look back". 

For a city that was supposed to be the cornerstone for new android acceptance and tolerance, it didn't escape Gavin's notice that many people still seemed to treat the machines with considerable trepidation. 

He understood. 

The revolution terrified millions, and many were yet to overcome that fear. Even those who wanted to believe that the androids could be fully integrated would always live with a sense of lingering uncertainty.

"Detective, you appear to be leading us blindly through the streets", Nines deadpanned. "Did you have a destination in mind for your lunch, or were you simply trying to get out of work?".

Indeed, uncertainty seemed the optimal word to describe how Gavin perceived his partner. He couldn't place exactly what Nines was. Where it fell on the spectrum of 'fully converted deviant' and 'semi-liberated machine'.

It would show glimpses of sentiment from time to time, such as how it appeared almost guilty at having scared the little girl. Other times, it seemed unyieldingly cold. So preoccupied with its primary directive that it had little time for anything else. 

Despite his uncertainty, Gavin couldn't help but analyse the situation with deeper scrutiny. It was second nature for a detective, after all. Labouring on his thoughts through several sleepless nights - he had begun to devise a theory. One which he was about to put to the test.

"You never broke away from your code, did you?" Gavin watched Nines closely for its reaction. Failing to receive much of anything, he decided to press on before his more rational mind could stop him. "Not completely, anyway. It's like you half-deviated but couldn't make it the whole way. No matter how much you think and feel for yourself, you still do it like a damn robot".

There was a flicker of instability in Nines' eyes, like the pigment was suddenly shifting and changing. It seemed conflicted on how to respond – to the extent that it grounded to a halt in the middle of a busy walkway. It appeared deaf to the grunts and grumbles of pedestrians as they tried to bypass their way around the idling android. Gavin wondered if he might have sincerely fucked up as Nine's stared him down with a look of quiet malevolence.

"Detective Reed", Its voice was low and dark, laced with some foreign emotion. It did not escape Gavin's attention that its LED had shot straight to red and was stuttering violently. As if threatening to blink. "Let me make something clear: 

Unlike my contemporaries, I do not delude myself with pretenses that I will ever 'become human'. I am a machine who is free to live for itself, but a machine nonetheless. I refuse to adjust my behaviour in order for it to be perceived as more 'agreeable'".

Gavin gulped down a nervous breath, looking back at Nines with trepidation. "Well damn, sorry if I struck a nerve there. Touchy subject for you?".

"You could say that - I would kindly ask if we could avoid broaching this subject again".