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ingek73 · 9 months

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FACT & REPORTAGE

#MediaToo & The Crisis in British Journalism

MailOnline and The Sun Hid Serious Dan Wootton Claims – While Attacking Huw Edwards and the BBC

In the fifth part of our three-year special investigation into the private and professional conduct of GB News star Dan Wootton, Byline Times can reveal how The Sun and MailOnline have been protecting their star celebrity journalist

Dan Evans

28 July 2023

MailOnline knew of serious criminal allegations of a sexual nature about its columnist Dan Wootton in May yet failed to report them to the police and continued to publish his work on five occasions, Byline Times can reveal.

Wootton’s former employer The Sun also failed to report the same detailed allegations to the police despite knowing about them since at least 7 June 2023 – a month before running a controversial front page about a BBC presenter lawfully paying for sexual images.

The matter was reported to the publications by a former male adult entertainer whom Wootton employed to help him catfish men of sexual interest and secretly record them in their homes having sex.

A further allegation was also made, and is known by both newspapers – details of which we are unable to report at this time.

The man told Byline Times: “The Mail said they couldn’t touch the story as Wootton worked for them. They said it sounded like a very serious criminal matter, and said that I should go to the police – which I did.

“I also told The Sun about it and the fact that Wootton had paid one of my colleagues for sex work from their own accounts by pretending he was a source on a story about Amber Heard. They also told me to report it to the police. So, I did that in June.”

Neither publication has since reported at all on the three-year special investigation into the personal and professional conduct of Wootton that Byline Times started breaking 11 days ago, yet The Sun did cover Wootton’s denials in a 143-word piece on 20 July. News UK, its publisher, has since set up an internal inquiry and MailOnline has unofficially ‘paused’ Wootton’s column.

However, the failure of publishers Associated Newspapers Ltd and News UK Ltd to act sooner is attracting strong criticism, given both took aim at the BBC during the same period for its handling of the Huw Edwards affair.

“The fact that Dan Wootton’s employers and previous employers knew of allegations against him and did nothing for at least six weeks before Byline Times started reporting them means that the public interest here is not just on his alleged actions but their actions too as supposedly responsible publishers and employers,” Paul Wragg, Professor of Media Law at the University of Leeds, told this newspaper.

‘I Was Really Surprised they Didn’t Seem Interested’

Today, in the latest part of Byline Times’ #MediaToo investigation into abuses of power in publishing and broadcasting, we can reveal how the ex-adult entertainer first contacted MailOnline on 29 May amid a mounting scandal about the former ITV This Morning presenter Philip Schofield and his lawful relationship with a younger man he worked with.

In a subsequent email to MailOnline on 31 May, the man – who we are not naming for legal reasons – wrote: “After Philip Schofield, the next one on This Morning who should be investigated is Dan Wootton [the presenter previously worked on the magazine show].

“I am an ex-porn star and escort. I have worked for Dan on several occasions. The things he has asked me to do were illegal. He used to ask us to film others without their consent… He also used to pay myself and others to use our Facebooks [profiles] and message who he wanted us to encounter with. How much for a story like this? I have more information on him.”

Wootton has denied any allegations of criminality.

The complainant has since told Byline Times that his interactions with the now GB News star, left him suicidal and living a chaotic life of self-medicating drug use and mental trauma.

Communications with MailOnline continued until this Wednesday, 26 July, during which the man says he was told it could not consider reporting on Wootton because he was an employee of Associated Newspapers.

“After that, I went to The Sun and told them about Wootton and the Amber Heard stuff – evidence of which they obviously have on their own account system. After lots of calls, they just said it was for the police to deal with, not them.

“They said there wasn’t any evidence, even though I was directly involved. I even told them the name of the accounts person who dealt with it. I was really surprised they didn’t seem interested.”

Byline Times has verified the email and other communications with MailOnline and can confirm that at least eight phone calls were made to and from The Sun newsdesk between 7 June and 27 July about Wootton, who last night was still presenting a prime-time show on GB News.

The Huw Edwards Parallel

During this period, both MailOnline and The Sun broke stories about Huw Edwards, who is no longer on air for the BBC and has been receiving help, according to his wife, with “serious mental health issues”.

In a defence of its articles about Edwards, which have been heavily criticised, The Sun wrote in a comment piece on 13 July: “A desperate couple approached us with firm evidence that he was paying large sums to a young person with a spiralling drug addiction – and that the star had been sent sexual pictures.

“But police said nothing could be done and, despite a detailed complaint to the BBC, it did nothing either. What do our critics, especially Mr Edwards’ pious media friends, think we should have done? Told the family to shove off? Turned a blind eye to what appeared to be a clear abuse of power by a household name… ?”

MailOnline has been similarly critical of the BBC for posing as the “moral conscience of the nation” over the Edwards saga.

On Wednesday, its columnist Brendan O’Neill wrote: “Their authoritarian urge to elevate certain stories and diminish others robs ordinary people of the right to know what is really happening in this country. There is nothing ‘virtuous’ about it. On the contrary: these are the despotic antics of people who think they should have the power to control the flow of information itself.”

For Prof Wragg, “Dan Wootton has set himself up as a moral arbiter whose job it is to condemn others for moral flaws – and that means that his own moral flaws are a matter of clear public interest”.

“He is a man who has been instrumental in exposing the highly sensitive details of the private lives of many people in public life, including the television presenter Philip Schofield and the musical entertainer Duncan James,” he told Byline Times.

“He’s made a career out of subjecting others to vitriol but now seems to want the protection of the law as a matter of privacy and defamation now that his own alleged actions are being subjected to scrutiny.”

He added: “During this precise time-frame, The Sun was breaking a big story about the BBC News anchor Huw Edwards and it seems extraordinary that they would not have taken the opportunity to refer the serious allegations against Mr Wootton to the police themselves.

“At the very least, this inaction and the decision by MailOnline to allow Mr Wootton to continue to publish columns under its name seriously undermines the moral stance it has taken by criticising the BBC’s conduct in relation to Mr Edwards.

“It also undermines their credibility as a serious news organisation. This is a clear ethical failing that IPSO, the press complaints handler, should investigate given that it claims to uphold high editorial standards.”

Wootton has written five columns for MailOnline since the man first contacted it with his allegations.

In one column on 30 May, Wootton discussed Philip Schofield, saying: “I would have thought in this day and age that a mainstream broadcaster such as ITV ought to be seen to be doing all it can to deal with issues like this, find out where the truth lies and, in the meantime, suspend those who the rumours concern.”

Wootton also called for “the truth, this time; not the saccharin fairy-tale Schofield offered up on the sofa to an unsuspecting British public”.

In a follow-up column on 15 June, Wootton wrote of ITV’s treatment of the Schofield affair: “As a result of this cover-up and PR disaster that has followed, many loyal viewers will never trust This Morning or the channel its broadcast on again.”

Byline Times put a series of questions connected to this article to News UK and Associated Newspapers but received no response. This newspaper will update this article if it does.

A spokesperson for the Metropolitan Police said: “In June 2023, the Metropolitan Police was contacted with regards to allegations of sexual offences committed by a man. Officers are assessing information to establish whether any criminal offence has taken place. There is no police investigation at this time.”

Dan Evans is a former colleague of Dan Wootton’s from the News of the World. None of the sources in this article were paid for their testimony

Earlier stories(see link below)

#dan wootton #dan wootton exposed #the sun #daily mail #byline times #hypocrisy

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vulpiano · 4 years

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From the Video Hook-Ups Archive:

Music Videos as “Low” Filmmaking?

Over the past couple of years I received a question from two different academics in regards to my focus on making music videos. Both of them asked me the same thing:

“Do you plan on moving on from music videos?”

I found the question a bit strange. Why should one “move on” from music videos? Is there something arrested in filmic development about the music video? Some people like to make shorts. They may continue to make shorts while also making feature films, or perhaps they’ll stick with shorts. Music videos are a kind of short film, so what’s going on here? What’s wrong with continuing to make music videos? I was most vexed.

I told both of them that I intended to explore different types of film in time, such as fictional narrative and documentary. In fact, I had already made a couple of works that were not music videos (though they had music in them). Nonetheless, I said I would probably always be interested in making music videos due to the central importance of music in my life, the influence of music videography on my filmmaking style, and the visual images that listening to certain music evokes for me; I have always had an automatic link between sound and color or shape in my mind. I saw at that time no reason to justify it further, but the comments have continued to trouble me to the extent that I must explore this question further.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jrwjiO1MCVs

One of my earliest memories in life, for whatever baffling reason, is watching Jane’s Addiction’s “Been Caught Stealing” on MTV. According to my parents, I’d toddle right up to the TV when I was very little whenever Siouxsie Sioux or Kurt Cobain was on the screen. Two of my favorite VHS tapes to put on when I was a kid were Fantasia and Pee-Wee’s Christmas Special, both rather music-heavy.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=98JrWm9IMMA

Due to being between 1 to 3 years old for all of these incidents, unpacking just why music is so important to me has been an immense challenge. When something has swirled around you your whole life, how do you figure out why it is important to you or what it really means?

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HpcNaqkrPm8

Certain music has become a kind of shorthand for identity for myself. My partner Dan and I realizing that we had both grown up hearing Soft Cell — thanks to our parents — made us both joke that this must explain our sexual orientation. When I find out that someone likes the Manic Street Preachers, the likelihood that we’ll be in the same neighborhood politically or in terms of literature increases dramatically. Sorting out which men in rock I was attracted to and who I wanted to be like in terms of gender — or both — was integral to sorting out my identity. The list goes on: music underpins my very sense of selfhood in a way that no other medium does and stands in for all kinds of other bits and bobs of who I am and how I view others.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hQS1czT0Egg

I fell into filmmaking quite by accident. Compared to listening to music, reading books, or playing video games, my film education was quite weak. I grew restless when I was taken to the theater and was easily bored or disappointed. Even at home, I was frustrated at how I couldn’t listen to music while watching a film, as one could with books or even video games on occasion; there’s only so many times you can hear a looping dungeon theme or battle music. It took me some time to break out of the notion that any time spent not hearing beloved or new music is time I must surely be wasting. You only live once and there’s a lot of musical treasure to hunt for — what if I missed something important because I spent 2 hours and 30 minutes watching some dreadful film I desperately wanted to escape from the whole time it was on?

At age 21, I started to go through queer film lists. Perhaps threading film in with identity — as I’d done subconsciously with music — would enable me to more fully enjoy film. I began to watch Derek Jarman’s films and music videos and felt as though a switch had been flipped. I become engrossed in tracking down and watching as many as I could, even watching some more than once (!), something I’d almost never done with film before unless I hadn’t seen the movie in ages. There was a lyrical quality that felt familiar to my own way of thinking, of pairing images with sound, and all kinds of other colorful textures and poetic meanderings. Jarman’s books too filled me with inspiration and admiration, Chroma: A Book of Colour being my favorite.

Emboldened by my Jarman appreciation, I steadily found other films that appealed to me and also turned a more critical eye to music videos. As a teenager, I had previously neglected to look into music videos for the majority of bands that I had been a fan of, unless I had found one or more members attractive. Now I could confidently branch out and find more to enjoy and think on, though male aesthetics is still very much a topic of critical interest for me.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vajUGdZe1EI

During my education at San Francisco State University, I enrolled in a digital video course. I had previously done very little with video and didn’t know it come to anything more than fulfilling a credit requirement. What I found was that the video editing process was incredibly relaxing and that I’d completely lose track of the passage of time once I really got going. My final project was a music video for my partner Dan. I knew then that this is the medium I wanted to keep going with above all others. I made music videos for other artists on my netlabel Vulpiano Records, as much as gifts to them as creative exercises for myself. I approached artists I value like Pictureplane and Momus to present them with music videos I made in tribute to their work. Everything was going so smoothly as I learned new techniques, incorporated virtual worlds like Second Life into my work, collaged in public domain and Creative Commons resources, and so on.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q-idB3AQtCk

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2aC6_C0JPXo

Up until I was suddenly asked if I planned to “move on” from music video.

I first tried to see whether there was any point in this suggestion. I was thinking of fan video edits such as anime music videos, video slideshows set to music of dead or beloved rock stars, and amateur music video work that uses music as a base to cut footage too obviously or simplistically (these colors will flash to the beat, these shots will be cut to the guitar riff, a soaring vocal or synth will be accompanied by a fade to another scene, etc.). I thought of the entanglement of the music video with pop culture, the nostalgia of what MTV used to be at its outset.

Hand-waving away the possibility of the music video is part and parcel of the denigration and oversimplification of pop culture as an inherently stupid wasteland where the intellect is cast off into the dustbin. Accomplished filmmakers must cast-off this embarrassing relic of their past, when they were still learning, surely! Much like the dim view of comic books and video games, and (longer ago) photography and film in general, I think this is another erroneous assumption of the lowbrow or juvenile, viewing the music video as an ephemeral promotional tool and nothing much beyond that. This is nothing to do with what can be achieved with the format itself or whether the music video in question bears any resemblance to the mainstream notion of what a music video is.

In Music Video and the Politics of Representation, Diane Railton And Paul Watson write:

Music video is a significant and interesting form of contemporary popular culture, one which is widely circulated, complex and important. This claim is, however, a potentially controversial one. For it is easy, as many critics have done, to either dismiss music video as a worthless by-product of capitalist business practice or, worse, to ignore it all together. Graham Fuller spells out this situation in ‘A Good Music Video is Hard to Find’ in claiming that ‘the search for the art and artistry of the music video goes on but the consensus is that El Dorado or Santa Claus will turn up first’. He goes on to say that, since the inception of MTV in 1981, ‘what critical evaluation of music video there is relegates it to the trash can of popular culture’.

…while reviews of albums, singles and live performances now regularly occupy a significant number of column inches in both dedicated music magazines and the review sections of the press more generally, reviews of the latest video releases are notable only by their absence. And in many ways this is understandable if we think of music videos only as advertisements. You wouldn’t expect a review of the latest perfume or mobile phone to make reference to the television commercial which was used to advertise it. However, when we consider that music videos have a life of their own – with television channels and websites dedicated to screening them – which other commercials do not, this critical neglect becomes difficult to understand. For music videos are not simply advertisements; they are, rather, as Thomas Doherty suggests, both ‘promo and product’ and, as such, have ‘revised the nature of contemporary music’.

I would go one step further to suggest that, while perhaps not to the extent of music videos, commercials for products have also occasionally attained a life of their own. Sometimes this is through the inclusion of external music that recontextualizes the original content, highlighting or exaggerating the capitalistic fantasy world they embody. Vaporwave is particularly rich with such examples:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ygAY6IAfpL8

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OrR1TGQY20Y

At other times, this is sheerly through the merit of their own artistry or weirdness. The ‘product’ in question is secondary or forgotten in the wake of the surreality of what we’re seeing on screen:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kq97QAYDDoI

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_r7yKaDxGvc

Assuming that a whiff of the advertisement is enough to make something no longer art (or, at the very least, less than fine art) is falling into the trap of assuming the value of art is lowered or annihilated as soon as moneybags — even the assumption of their presence — are looming overhead.

How many times have you groaned at the strangely pervasive notion of the “starving artist” or the shocked takes on artists who work on commission?

Association with commercial interests or pop culture should not be enough to bar the music video from artistic creativity among videographers and a critical, careful eye and scholarship among viewers. Unquestioned elitism doesn’t do filmmakers or fellow academics any favors.

#videohookups #music videos

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sailsinstorms · 1 year

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Legacy of the Girls - Part 9

Lets continue reading, shall we?

Beginning this update with a bit of a look at Winter while she's at work. I kinda love this photo because the light goes straight through the kids head. Haha! I thought it was a cute touch.

Winter wanted to get to know this guy called Marcel. I'm pretty sure he was a patient of hers at the hospital. She meets a lot of people that way. Either way, I had her invite him over.

The very first thing this Marcel fellow does when he comes over is shove his tongue down Radley's throat? I mean I know I complain that Radley can't properly meet people - but you're taking it too far Marcel. You don't even know her.

Loren: Yikes bro.

I'm not surprised the rest of their conversations were a little bit dull and dreary to be honest. Winter seems to like him though. Who am I to judge?

I took Loren out on a date with the boy with the alphabetically challenging name again. She really likes him, but...

...between their last steamy date and this one, something has changed. I don't know what, but all of a sudden his preferences have changed to men. I guess he had some kind of awakening? Or my Mod's are tweaking. It couldn't possibly be the second.

Well...this is awkward guys. Should we just... go?

So these are the three prospective males that were happening in Loren's life and all of them have suddenly decided they're not into her. Uh... but they definitely find each other attractive, so...

I don't know Loren. I guess we will have to start your manhunt all over again - which is fine. We'll get those aspirations done don't worry.

We're back out and about meeting people at ThriftTea today - with Molly this time because why not?

Molly finally got that picture with a celebrity she's been dreaming of.

And Loren became instant friends with this gentleman in the bizarre eye wear. His name is Hiroki. I don't think he looks like that all the time. I think there was just some weird fashion show happening and everyone was dressing up for it.

Loren does not agree with people's fashion choices.

I was surprised to see Father Winter in the background. I didn't realize he was like a townie. I thought he was like the Reaper - you only see them at certain times. Interesting.

Things progressed really quickly with Hiroki (thankfully he likes the ladies, and Loren!, so that's a plus!) and now they're official!

Official boyfriend and girlfriend!

I thought it was cute that they took a photo to mark the special occasion. Loren doesn't know this yet (but I do because I sussed him out), but Hiroki is actually married. To an Alien. And they have a Kid.

So there's that...

Just Radley watching Molly sleep - because that's not ominous and creepy and slightly worrying.

And now it's finally WinterFest. My oh my does the time fly by around this place. It's time to get our holiday cheer up in this household!

I made everyone give each other gifts :3 They mainly swapped trinkets they had got from the vending machines at Mt Komorebi when they went skiing. It was super cute <3

Radley was giving out flowers - because she gardens, obviously.

And then it was time to sing around the tree together <3 Which didn't work so well in such a small room but hey, they gave it their best shot.

Solar having a hard time hitting those notes in the back there.

Holiday Dinner prepared by Loren; which seems to be a running theme in this household. Loren cooks most of the food.

We did invite some of the boys over for Dinner - it is WinterFest after all. Hiroki came over with, uh, his father? I don't know who this man is - but he rocked up and was super grumpy and it just made sense to let him stay and eat the food.

Hawea, the guy Molly kissed, was also invited over.

Marcel was there but immediately left - so...I guess he had other plans.

Loren: Even though you hate me, I made a special turkey that you can eat too. Radley: *highly suspicious*

Look at them being cute on the sofa! <3 Damn Molly, you a bitch but you also a sweetheart <3

Just a bit of holiday smooching around the tree - don't mind grandpa.

When did Winter's one-night stand get here? Derumk, go home to your cat, seriously! Do I even want to know what you two are flirting about? He's either built like a tank or has *somethingsomething* the size of one. It's WinterFest; keep it PG guys.

Solar: Oh my God, Father Winter is that you? I knew you'd come! May I have a present please sir?

Father Winter: For the little lady who's spent most of the year depressed and anxious. Enjoy and Happy Holidays <3

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#ts4 #simblr #thesims #sims legacy

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yasminbenoit · 3 years

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“A Romantic Partner Won’t Complete Me, Because I Was Born Complete”: How Identifying As Asexual & Aromantic Brought Me True Freedom & Happiness | Yasmin Benoit for British Vogue

There is a phase in our lives where everyone seems asexual and almost everyone seems aromantic. It wasn't until puberty kicked in that platonic relationships seemed to take a backseat. My peers stopped wanting to play together and started wanting to 'date' each other. That was when I started to realise that there was something different about me. I didn’t seem to be experiencing the same urges as those I was around. I chose to go to an all girls school in the hopes that – in the absence of boys – everyone would stop caring about sex and dating. It actually had the opposite effect. There was a sense of deprivation in the air and the heightened desire to project their sexuality onto anything and everything.

Therefore, my lack of interest became even more obvious, and it became a not-so-fun game to work out the source of what should be troubling me, but hadn’t been until that point. Having a sexual orientation isn’t just natural, it’s essential. It’s part of being a fully-functional human being. And to be romantically love and be loved by another is the ultimate goal. It’s part of being normal, which made me both abnormal and puzzling. When your asexual, people think there’s something wrong with your body. When you’re aromantic, they think there’s something wrong with your soul. Even for a teenage girl who internalised all of Disney Channel’s “be yourself” messages, it’s never nice to have people publicly debate your supposed physical and psychological flaws.

My nickname in school was “hollow and emotionless.” I was a joker with a decent amount of friends, but I was lacking something crucial, the kind of love that really mattered and the kind of lust that made life exciting...so I was practically Lord Voldemort with braids. I sat through the regular DIY sexuality tests, having my peers show me graphic sexual imagery, have very sexual conversations in my presence, and ask me inappropriately intimate questions to gauge how far gone I truly was. These tests lead to the development of theories, most centred around me having some kind of mental problem. After a while, you start to wonder if everyone knows something you don’t.

When they said that I must have been molested as a child and “broken” by the trauma, I wondered if I had somehow forgotten about sexual abuse that actually hadn’t happened. I looked at some of my own relatives with suspicion, the same people who would later ask me if I didn’t experience sexual attraction because I was a pedophile. It was suggested that I was “suffering” from my “issues” because I was socially anxious and insecure. The suggestion that my ‘issue’ was pathological stayed with me for a long time, but not as much as the widely accepted theory that I was mentally slow. Unfortunately, that one stuck. I was referred to as “stupid” and I started to believe that was the case. It would impact my experience in education for the next eight years, long after I realised that there was a word for what I was.

Asexual.

I first heard the word during one of the near-daily sexuality tests that I was subjected to. I was asked if I was gay, to which I said that I wasn’t interested in anybody like that – men or women. At fifteen, I was asked, “Maybe you’re asexual or something?” but it wasn’t quite a lightbulb moment. How could it be when I had never heard the word outside of biology class? After an evening of Google searching, I realised that there were many people with my exact same experience, complete strangers whose stories sounded so strangely similar to mine. I also stumbled across the word ‘aromantic,’ but at the time, I didn’t understand the need for it. "Wouldn't all asexual people be aromantic? A romantic relationship without sex is just friendship with rules,” I thought.

Either way, my discoveries showed me that I wasn’t alone, but that only half helpful. I now had an identity that no one had heard of or understood. Most didn’t believe that being asexual or aromantic was a real thing, and I doubted it to. I had been taught to after years of armchair pathologisation. If asexuality was real, why did no one tell you that being sexually attracted to nobody was an option? What if it was just an internet identity made up to comfort people with all of the issues that had been attributed to me? I didn’t have to go far down the rabbit hole to realise that asexuality, like many non-heteronormative identities, had been medicalised. What I had experienced as just the tip of the iceberg. As someone who hadn’t been prescribed drugs I didn’t need or subjected to unnecessary hormone tests, I was one of the lucky ones.

My activism would be my gateway to the community. Despite being the ugly friend at school, I ended up becoming a model while in university. I decided to use the platform I had gained through my career to raise awareness for asexuality and aromanticism. It gave me the opportunity to encounter a range of asexual and aromantic offline, it was then that I learned the significance of having an aromantic identity. There are many asexual people who still feel romantic attraction, as well as aromantic people who still feel sexual attraction. They have their own range of experiences, their own culture, their own flag, and like the asexual community, I was relieved to see that they are just normal people. These intersecting communities are not stereotypes. They weren’t just thirteen year old, pink haired kids making up identities on Tumblr to feel special. They were parents, lawyers, academics, husbands, girlfriends, artists, black, white, young, old, with differing feelings towards the many complex elements of sexuality and intimacy. Most importantly, they were happy.

I am proud to be part of both, and I know that while being asexual and aromantic, I am a complete person and I can live a perfectly fulfilling life. Since meeting members of my communities, I’ve become more open about my identities in real life, and a reaction I’m often met with is sympathy. “You must feel like you’re missing out,” “I can’t imagine being like that,” “It must be hard for your family,” “Do you worry no one will want you?” “How do you handle being so lonely?” “You’re so brave and strong,” “What will you do with your life now?” Even in 2021, a woman who isn’t romantically loved or sexually desired by their “special someone” is perceived as being afflicted with some kind of life-limiting condition.

Asexuality doesn't make undesirable or unable to desire others. It is a unique experience of sexuality, not a deprivation from it. Even if it was, there is so much more to life than what turns us on and what we do about it. Romantic love is just one form of love, neither superior nor inferior to any other. Being aromantic doesn't mean that you can't love or be loved, it does not mean you are void of other emotions or capabilities. I am not lonely with my friends, family, co-workers and supporters. I feel confident not when someone wants to date me but when I meet my goals and form worthwhile connections with others. My success isn't determined by whether someone will want to marry me someday. What we want out of life is our decision alone, our sources of happiness should not be defined by our ever-changing, culturally relative social standards. The love of a romantic partner won't complete me because I was born complete. Feeling sexual attraction to others won't liberate me because my liberation is not dependent on other people.

Valentine's Day is on the horizon. It's an occasion that amps up the focus on (and the pressure to achieve) a very specific type of love and sexual expression, one that is actually alienating for people inside and outside of the asexual community. During a pandemic where many relationships have been strained, tested, formed or distanced, it's important to keep the diversity of romantic and sexual feelings in mind. Many expect me to feel annoyed or lonely during this time of year, but I actually feel empowered and excited by the way sex, romance and love are discussed more deeply around this time. These conversations are constantly expanding to become more inclusive for everyone, and that's what we need to see all year round.

https://www.vogue.co.uk/arts-and-lifestyle/article/asexuality-and-aromanticism

#yasmin benoit #valentines day #british vogue #asexuality #aromantic #aromanticism #aroace #asexual #this is what asexual looks like #thisiswhatasexuallookslike

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cloudytaemin · 2 years

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Sugar (Teaser)

Pairing: Taemin x Reader

Genre: Sugar Daddy AU, Smut, PWP, PWF

Series Warnings: Mentions of Abuse, Mental Illness, Depression, Alcohol, Sex, Daddy Kink, BDSM

Teaser Warnings: Pet names

WC: TBA

Teaser WC: 790

A/N: So.. listen. I'm not back permanently, this is a very small teaser that I have no clue if it'll become anything but.. jesus Taemin bogoshipda hit me in the fucking face LMFAO but no seriously I'm back! At a very different schedule, I'll post every few months most likely.

Taemin sighs as Dahyun looks at him, puppy-eyed. "I told you not to show up. I'm done with you, I'm finding someone else."

"B-but master!" Dahyun pleads, biting her lip.

"You got old, what more is there to say? I don't have time for worn out toys," he explains, ushering her outside of the door to his penthouse. "And I never liked being called master anyways." He slams the door in her face and slumps onto the couch nearby.

The young businessman picks up his smartphone and begins to scroll through his sugar baby app, as usual. Unlike most of the men around him and in his field, he was not in his late 30s and early 40s. At 25, Lee Taemin had made his name from the bottom up, but his hard work didn't mean he wasn't horny. Constantly.

As he scrolls, he comes across your profile. It took but a few seconds for him to click the chat button, sending you a short and sweet message.

T: Hello y/n, my name is Lee Taemin, your profile piques my interest, does coffee tomorrow at 3 pm work?

y/n: oh hi

y/n: sure, who's picking me up?

T: My driver will be at whatever location you please by 2:45.

y/n: sounds good, ill text it to you in a few minutes

Taemin found you to be particularly unenthusiastic seeing as you were on this app, but he ignored it for now. He knew you would learn how you should treat him once the two of you met.

The next day, he prepares the newest MacBook model and a pair of Beats for you. Since he was unaware of your fashion tastes, he decided that it would do until he could take you out properly.

You, on the other hand, hadn't put much effort into anything. While most people on that website used it for designer clothing and new things, you used it to pay your college tuition. It came with perks, sure, but school came before anything else that those old men wanted to give you. Taemin was nothing special to you, he had the same old message that every one of the about-to-croak old guys gave you. You'd suck their dicks and give it to them for a few weeks before moving on again.

Not expecting anyone attractive, mildly decent, or even nice, you wore a skimpy laced crop top and high-rise black ripped jeans. That usually gets them. His driver picks you up at exactly 2:45 like your newest source of income had said he would.

The cafe is surprisingly small and quiet, but still expensive and fancy. You're confused when there's only a single table sat at, the man being attractive and young. Exactly the opposite of what you're expecting. His smooth voice fills the air along with the soft instrumental in the coffee shop as he speaks to you. "You must be y/n, if I'm not mistaken?"

"Yep, that's me," you respond, suddenly feeling underdressed for the occasion in front of Taemin. "You're Taemin?"

"I am. But that's not really how you should address me, is it?"

"No, daddy," the word rolls off your tongue easily, like butter. You've said it hundreds of times, but for him it somehow doesn't feel fitting in public. "I'm sorry... forgive me?"

"Anything for you, princess," Taemin responds, motioning for you to sit down. "Let's not start out with any sugarcoating, I'm not like your previous men. I'm sure you figured that out from the second that you walked in based on your facial expression. I don't consider myself to be a very rude person, I simply ask you follow the rules I set. Understood?" You nod.

"Number one is most likely the easiest to follow, listen to what I say. Number two, if I call for you, I expect you to be there unless someone is dying. Last, you don't give the orders. I do. If I ask for something, I expect it to be done by you. You don't get to ask me to do something for you if it doesn't involve money, especially in bed. Keep in mind these are loose terms and mean whatever I want them to. Got it?"

"Yes daddy," you reply.

"Now, princess, go home, and I'll take you out tomorrow. Nothing happens for the first week besides interaction. I should know you before I feel you." Taemin stands shortly and is gone in just a moment.

You spend the night pondering over the young businessman, wondering how in the world you had managed to make such a score. He paid your college tuition AND wouldn't be a pain to fuck? It's your dream come true.

#taemin x reader #taemin scenarios #taemin smut #taemin fanfic #shinee smut #shinee x reader #shinee fanfic #shinee scenarios #kpop fanfic

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blackswaneuroparedux · 3 years

Text

Anonymous asked: Your cool literary takes on James Bond made me want to ask you this. I have to wear a tuxedo for a special occasion, can you give me some advice? I would welcome some style pointers from you as I respect your refined taste. What are your thoughts on men wearing the tuxedo? I think it’s a dying tradition because here in the US, where the tux was invented, it has all but disappeared as the choice of evening wear for any social events. Great blog posts but I only wish you would post more.

Thank you for your kind words about my most recent posts on Ian Fleming’s James Bond and also generally liking what I post. I too wish I could post more but unfortunately my time is taken up with the reality of work and other things even during these tough times of the Covid pandemic. But when I get a moment to myself I do enjoy posting as a way to detox from the pressures of work. I appreciate your continued support.

I got this question before Christmas so the thought had occurred to me that you were asking because you had a decision to make over the festive period. If so, I am sorry for tardy lateness of my response. But I trust what little advice I can give will help you in the future.

I always remember the maxim by the fashion designer, Tom Ford, who said, “Dressing well is a form of good manners.”

To me, for a man to wear black tie (or tuxedo) is the height of good manners. It used to be the case that every gentleman had one and it was perhaps the first suit to pack into a suitcase. Perhaps one of the few times I was ever envious of my older brothers as men was accompanying them with my father the first time they went to get fitted for a bespoke black tie at Henry Poole & Co - the Savile Row tailors that had been the regular choice of my grandfather and father for their clothing attire. Although both siblings later gravitated to other Savile Row bespoke tailors as they got older, that first Henry Poole black tie lasted them for a long time. The whole ritual around taking measurements took on a hushed sacred tone of a liturgy. Looking back it felt like a rite of passage for them as they passed from boyhood to adulthood.

The choice of wearing a tuxedo epitomises the desire - among people of means and social standing - to be fresh, clean and as attractive as possible when meeting on evening social events and attending high spirits affairs. This tradition was maintained also with the beginning of the use of the automobile, when there was no practical justification.

Before the Second World War, tuxedos and tails were still considered the only appropriate clothing for all the elegant social evenings. However, after the war, the traditional suit, or the work suit, began to be accepted more on informal evening and daytime occasions, and so the use of the tuxedo was limited to just formal evening gatherings only.

The tuxedo was completely remade in disco's image by the 1970s. A young, revolutionary generation looked at the conservative styling of the tuxedo and threw out nearly everything, keeping only the vague silhouette. Huge, floppy bow ties, colourful patterned jackets, shirts with ruffles and lace, and trousers that looked more like bell-bottoms became much more prevalent. The typical tuxedo in the '70s usually had at least two of these elements, if not all of them.

By the 1980s, a return to classic styling had thankfully re-emerged and tuxedos started looking more conservative.

By the late 2000s, as dress codes became diluted and misunderstood, formal-wear took another hit. Business-casual was the predominate dress code of the workplace and shiny black suits with matching ties had nearly supplanted traditional black-tie. Coloured dress shirts also began to trend in this era. Those who continued to wear traditional black-tie made it as simple as possible to match the casual aesthetic that a new generation preferred.

These days I think more and more young men are adopting the black-tie styles of the '30s and '40s. Midnight blue tuxedos have even made a comeback. I think high quality period dramas like "Mad Men" are at least part of the reason for the shift, with men growing nostalgic for a bygone era of neater, more crisp look.

People forget, as often as they do, that the original purpose of this elegant clothing was to replace the suit worn all day, allowing men to leave behind the dirt and smell of a day spent on horseback, not to bring it around the dining table.

These days the emphasis on informality has made it easier to make excuses for men (and women) to dress down to a street level of casual indifference (laziness) that I find aesthetically displeasing.

Moreover I find it a tad disrespectful to the sense of occasion and also an unkind ingratitude to the efforts made by the host or hostess in organising such an event. For those who think wearing black tie is a sign of social superiority, then respectfully they have not understood its true purpose. In following the dress code, it is in effect a sign of respect towards your fellow guests, as it has been put in place to ensure attendees are on the same level.

The origin of the tuxedo is a controversial subject of conversation in some circles. I know in the US it’s common to assume the tux was invented there but many have pointed out it was in England that its origins lie. Some fashion historians trace it back to the 17th Century as a tailless ‘smoking jacket’. In England during the 17th century, after dinner the gentlemen might put on a smoking jacket and retreat to a den or smoking room. Indeed in the beginning it was believed that the purpose of the ’smoking jacket’ ensured that their evening coat would not be burned by ashes nor absorb the smell of tobacco which the women found distasteful.

However these days there remain two theories about the first ever proper tuxedo that we would recognise today. In the first theory the tuxedo was invented by Pierre Lorillard IV of New York City according to one school of thought. Pierre Lorillard's family were wealthy tobacco magnates who owned country property in Tuxedo Park, just outside of New York City. At a formal ball, held at the Tuxedo Club in October 1886, the young Lorillard wore a new style of formal wear for men that he designed himself. He named his tailless black jacket the tuxedo after Tuxedo Park. The tuxedo caught on and became fashionable as formal wear for men.

The second theory, according to English clothing historian James Laver, has it that the idea of wearing black for evening wear was first introduced by the 19th Century British writer, Edward Bulwer-Lyttonn who wrote in 1828 that "people must be very distinguished to look well in black." It was only until later in the century that a village resident of Tuxedo Park, New York, James Brown Potter vacationed in England in the summer of 1886. Potter and his wife, Cora were introduced to the Prince of Wales {who later became King Edward VII} at a court ball in London. Potter asked the Prince for advice on formal dress. The Prince sent Potter to his own Saville Row tailor, Henry Poole & Co. Potter was fitted with a short black jacket and black tie that was unlike the formal tails with white tie that was worn in the United States for formal occasions.

The new tailless formal wear was said to have been designed by the Prince of Wales. It was Edward VII who in 1865 commissioned to his tailor Henry Poole to create a short blue evening jacket (midnight blue), to be used for informal evenings in his country estate of Sandringham. The Prince and his tailor drew inspiration from the British military uniforms of the time, which used short jackets with black ties.

This is where the two origins meet. James Brown Potter took the design back to the Tuxedo Club, where Pierre Lorillard modified it, named it, and made it popular during the Autumn ball. And so from that blessed bespoke collaboration between the Prince and Henry Poole & Co was born the ancestor of what everyone call today as tuxedos, the English ‘dinner jacket’ and the Americans ‘tuxedo’ - because of its original word spread starting from the homonymous village of Tuxedo Park.

Whatever the exact truth of its origin, black tie remains the evening attire par excellence. I’m flattered that anyone should ask me for style tips, especially regarding grooming and clothing for men.

I like to think that the true purpose of a man wearing black tie was to help the man show the humility to be an unassuming gentleman in effortlessly blending into the background so that his female companion could shine more by his side. A man in black tie was a gentleman who stood steadfastly there with an outstretched arm to make women feel more beautiful, but also to reassure them that all is right in the world.

If you get the opportunity to wear black tie then do please take it. The fact that you desire to wear one is already a great choice that makes you stand out from the loud bling-bling hoi polloi. But please don’t confuse wearing a black tie with snobbery. It isn’t, it’s just good manners. Manners maketh man as they say and so it’s not something one is born with but can only be learned. And don’t confuse fashion for style. The two are very different. Fashion is what you copy from others and style is what you express about yourself. Don’t conform to the passing fancies of the day (the loud, the garish, the attention seeking), or as Coco Chanel put it, ‘elegance is refusal’.

Always remember that style is a way to say who you are without having to speak.

In theory, the elegance of the tuxedo stems from its simplicity - it’s an ultimate classic, the one outfit one doesn’t mess around with. In practice, many men find the rules governing this suit and its accoutrements to be annoyingly complex and complexly annoying.

My basic rule for men is ‘kiss’ - Keep It Simple, Stupid.

Rule 1: Buy, don’t rent

It’s better if the black tie that you have is yours, and not rented. For one thing it’s a question of comfortability. You’ll be comfortable in your skin if you’re more comfortable in a suit that actually fits. Secondly, a rental doesn’t mean it’s good quality. The fabric is an important consideration.

In an ideal world you should get a bespoke tailored black tie made - ideally from any of the excellent tailors on Savile Row. But not all tailors are equal. Henry Poole & Co would be the traditional choice. I know for my older brothers they prefer Gieves & Hawkes and Huntsman because they have a more military draped cut, traditional but not stuffy.

In the long run it’s a once in a lifetime worthy investment if you take in consideration the cost of each potential rental along with how many times you would be wearing one throughout the coming years.

But I understand for many that may be an impossible proposition. The next best thing is to get a less expensive ‘made-to-measure’ black tie which is an increasing and welcome avenue for men to still have a suit or black tie made to fit them.

I would hesitate recommending buying off the peg because many high street brands have a rather relaxed attitude to tailoring and quality. If you must buy off the peg or rent then make sure the fabric is wool.

Rule 2: Black or Midnight blue and no other colour

Your black tie should be, to state the obvious, black. Not only is it the correct choice, it is the stylish choice. You can never go wrong with black. But if you’re feeling a tad adventurous go with Midnight blue. Midnight blue, being blacker than black, is not merely an exception to the rule but an exceptional choice for shimmering with distinction under the moonlight.

But what about white dinner jacket so beloved of James Bond or Indiana Jones? Yes, quite.

Traditionally, white was worn in place of a traditional black suit to deflect heat. This made it the perfect alternative for black-tie events that were held in the afternoon, during the Summer or at sea. The white jacket variation of black tie began was adopted in the early 1930s as a way for well-heeled vacationers to dress formally in the tropical heat without having to endure the heavy and dark-coloured fabrics that were standard for evening wear at the time.

While dinner suits have become much more lightweight since then, the light-coloured jacket has remained a popular warm-weather alternative to its ebony progenitor. However, without a proper understanding of its form and function, the white dinner jacket easily becomes a flashy gimmick. Subtlety and restraint are the keys to the successful execution of this classic variation.

Avoid other colours like the plague. I do notice from time to time in the shop windows here in Paris (as well as London and elsewhere) that some menswear boutiques display bright coloured dinner jackets.

Usually it’s the Italians (like Canali and Brunello Cucinelli who give in to their worst Italian impulses to show off their peacock flair) and others who really should know better (yes, the wine red velvet dinner jacket is very fetching but it belongs by log side fire, a cigar, and a cognac, so thank you Tom Ford). I even think some of them look nice and charming but it’s not black tie.

Besides a non-traditional black tie will be much more vulnerable to the whims of passing fashion where as traditional unfussy black tie can give peace of mind that it will never go out of style and thus will last longer.

Rule 3: Put yourself in a straight jacket

The first thing to decide is single or double-breasted and number of buttons. A safe and elegant option is one-button single breast which is both timeless and classical. Two buttons are fine, worn with the lower button undone. Double-breasted styles of any button configuration are also appropriate, but keep in mind that double-breasted jackets add some ‘bulk’ to the body. So take a hard look at your body type before you decide which one best flows off your shoulders. The buttons should be fabric-covered.

Hand in hand with the button style goes the lapel. The classic, formal option is peak lapel. Shawl lapel is somewhat less formal, but perfectly suitable. Shawl has become very popular, especially in slim versions. Notch lapels are frequently seen on off-the-rack tuxedos, but this is a more casual style, which should be reserved for suits. My preference would be to go for the peak lapel but make them sufficiently wide and not too slim.

The jacket was traditionally without vents, to keep seams (i.e. details) to a minimum, but double vents are also acceptable, providing comfort and movement. The pockets should be straight piped (slit without flap) and there should be a breast pocket.

Rule 4: Trousers, brace yourself

The trousers are ideally made without pleats or cuffs, with straight pockets following the side seam, in order to make them less visible. Black tie attire should never be worn with belts, so skip the belt loops. Traditionally one would use suspenders (braces) as it straightens the body shape as well as holds up the trousers. Choose black or white braces in fabric, rather than in leather, or in any case they should be matching the colour of the tuxedo. But I should note that side-fasteners are also a convenient option for some flexibility in the waist. The front closure should be clip-only, avoiding the button. Classically, the trousers will have a satin silk stripe covering the outer side seam on each leg, matching the lapel facing. This is a lovely detail, but nowadays sometimes considered old-fashioned. For this reason alone I would insist on it.

Rule 5: Don’t get shirty

The shirt should be plain white cotton, with a few distinct features. It should always have a ‘bib’ running down to front, which provides starchy stiffness (i.e. a higher level of formality). I’ve seen shirts in which vertical pleats in matching fabric are designed. I think they look plain and boring. Similarly if someone suggests to you a fly-front placket panel that covers the buttons and leaves a clean look then walk away immediately. Both these kind of shirts are for the lazy because they both want to avoid having to deal with those troublesome studs where the buttons would be.

I would advise always make sure your shirt has a starch like ‘bib’ that is attached made up of a textured pique fabric (pin dots), usually called Marcella. They look so much more elegant and classy.

Many would say that collar can be a normal Kent variety or a wing collar, which has little points turned down where the collar wings would be, but otherwise exposing the collar band. I personally think a wing collar is subject to whims of fashion and something best left in a 1920s set movie. Some can wear them very well (see Paul Newman in The Sting) but it depends on the girth of your neck. I think the wing collar can portray a man’s neck in an unflattering way.

I think the normal Kent collar is cleaner and classical, and it will never go out of style. The Duke of Windsor made the Kent collar hugely popular in his prime.

The cuffs should be double (French cuff), to accommodate cufflinks.

Many people also forego the buttons on evening shirts, instead leaving holes where you can attach studs (often matched with the cufflinks). If you are going to do that make sure that they’re mother of pearl studs.

Rule 6: Accessories are in the details

The shirt should not be visible at the waist, which calls for a something covering the gap between trousers and jacket, unless you opted for a double-breasted jacket. Traditionally, this is non-negotiable, but these days you often see people wearing no waist covering. My advice is unless you’re wearing a double breasted black tie (for which there is no need to wear a cummerbund) then always wear a cummerbund with a single breasted black tie.

You either use a cummerbund matching the bow tie (a cummerbund folds upwards, for convenient opera ticket storage) or a waistcoat. Please don’t commit the faux pas of making your cummerbund a colour other than black. Often people match their bow ties to their cummerbunds in garish bright colours which just defeats the object of why one wears black tie in the first place.

For the waistcoat, there are a few style options. Often, black tie waistcoats will have a rounded (horseshoe) cut with shawl lapels but a regular cut waistcoat is also acceptable. The key is to go simple and match the jacket fabric, facing and buttons. The back can be wool or lining, where we’d recommend the latter, to make the ensemble cooler. A stylish fob watch with chain would be a nice little detail that one can drop without telegraphing it loudly.

Consider having a white silk pocket square. You can fold it any way you like, but the so-called straight presidential fold is simple and sharp looking.

Socks must be knee length. Make them black. Again, the principle is one of clean lines and elegance. Disruptions below the trouser leg - stripes, shins, whatever - threaten to ruin the whole effect.

Shoes. Your shoes must always shine. This is one detail many men neglect. The shoes should be black patent leather. My preference would be for high quality Oxfords. I know some purists would insist that only opera pumps walk the one true path, but it is obvious on its face that those precious ribboned things, also called court shoes, are not completely in step with modern life. I know too that bit-toe loafers (thank you Tom Ford) are also more of the modern rage but I find them a little effeminate. So while I don’t see it as a style concession I do think Oxfords shined to a high sheen is the modern and best choice I would opt for a gentleman to go for. To me being comfortable in your shoes is also an equal and valid consideration.

Cufflinks and studs should be simple and classic, luxury metals and mother-of-pearl or onyx insets are nice touches. I know some punt for more personalised cuff links - like their regimental or college or some other institutional affiliation - and there is nothing wrong with that but I am on the fence about this. Generally I would leave that for your day time business suits. Showing off defeats the ethos of wearing the black tie in the first place.

Rule 7: ‘Sprezzatura’ up your bow tie

‘Sprezzatura’ is a gorgeous Italian word - first appearing in Baldassare Castiglione's The Book of the Courtier in 1528 - that means a disheveled elegance by way of studied carelessness. This perfectly sums up how one should wear the centre piece of the black tie - the bow tie.

Don’t be taken in by the very modern fad - thank you Hollywood and modern music pop stars - of wearing long neck ties (even if they are in black) as part of your black tie attire. Just don’t. It doesn’t matter how swish you may look you still are a prat for not dressing in real black tie.

Plain black silk and entirely self-tied. That’s a real bow tie.

Anyone and his dog can always identify a pre-tied bow tie by the fact that it's just a little too studied. Perfectly straight, perfectly symmetrical, and perfectly balanced. Just like plastic surgery, clip-on bow ties just look too perfect to be real. It is one of the most obvious signs that you're a style amateur.

Avoid pre-tied bow ties (and its ugly sibling the stick-on bow tie) like the plague....unless you’re a child who is unable to tie his own bow tie. But what if you don’t know how to tie a real bow tie? It’s never too late to learn. It’s the same level of difficulty as tying your shoes. If you don’t know ask someone who does know. If you’re buying a bespoke tailored black tie the tailor would most definitely show you how to do it. Easy peasy.

Remember bow ties are supposed to be imperfect and worn. That’s what makes the wearer authentic.

Perfect symmetry is not a goal worth pursuing here. Being an elegant gentleman is.

And that’s it. Those would be my informal rules for any man wanting to be a gentleman wearing black tie for a special occasion.

Thanks for your question.

#question #ask #black tie #tuxedo #dinner jacket #menswear #fashion #style #bespoke #savile row #gentlemen #culture #personal #henry poole #bow tie #monarchy #edward VII #etiquette

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irishseeeker · 3 years

Link

rules don’t apply

Having a crush on your boss is embarrassing. Inappropriate. Wrong. Especially when your boss is Anthony Bridgerton, the most insufferable man on the planet whom you actively despise.

What does Kate have to say on the matter?

…No comment.

–

read chapter 1 here or here

read chapter 2 here or here

read chapter 3: here or here

read chapter 4 here or here

---

chapter 5: an (unadvised, unprofessional, unconventional) agreement

---

“I’m worried about you.”

Kate paused, the large scoop of green tea ice cream inches anyway from her mouth. Edwina and Kate had gone straight to Marys after an eventful brunch at the Bridgertons, spending the rest of the evening at hers and eating dinner. Since Edwina had told Mary the events of the morning and afternoon, Mary hadn’t stopped giving Kate the look.

Kate knew the impending inquisition was lurking all evening.

Mary had never been a parent to give out to her children. Kate couldn’t even remember a time Mary had raised her voice at Edwina or Kate. Mary took the disappointed route.

That was much worse. Her father used to shout at her and be done with it, Mary would sigh loudly, shake her head and eventually come out with, “I’m not angry, I’m just disappointed.”

So when there was something amiss or something she wanted to talk about, Mary would sigh, cast those pointed looks at Kate or Edwina until she eventually came out with what was on her mind when she had one of them cornered.

She had given Kate the talk when she was in the bath.

Like right now, when Kate was sitting in the living room distracted by ice cream and Edwina had gone to take a second shower because she was convinced she still stunk of pond water.

“Mary,” Kate started slowly, putting her spoon back into the ice cream tub. “I’m fine.”

“Kate, I worry you work too hard. You’ve always worked so hard and you know how incredibly proud I am of you,” Mary said, pausing to reach over to pat Kate’s hand. “I’m worried you’re not putting yourself out there more. I want you to enjoy your life.”

Kate felt something inside of her chest sting a little. She took a deep breath, trying not to let the anger bubbling inside of her takeover. Kate knew Mary was coming from a good place. She did. She wanted what was best for her. This wasn’t the first time she had been worried about Kate’s social life.

It was difficult sometimes, having a sister like Edwina. Kate hated herself for thinking it, she loved Ed more than anything in this world. Ed was her best friend.

It was just exhausting constantly being compared to her. Edwina had always flocks of friends throughout her entire life, whereas Kate had them, there just wasn’t many of them. It had been hard to keep up with her friends from school when she went to university. She had made lovely ones in university, but then they had all moved to different places when university ended. They chatted often and met up every few months, but it wasn’t the same as it had been when they’d seen each other everyday.

Then there was the boyfriends.

Well, boyfriend.

Kate had only introduced one boyfriend to Mary and Edwina. He had been the only guy she could introduce them to. Edwina had always had boyfriends or boys who wanted to be hers. Why wouldn’t they? She was beautiful and she was Edwina.

Kate was...Kate.

It was her only relationship in her twenty-nine years of (pitiful) existence. His name was Mark and they had dated for a year in university when Kate was twenty-one. They had broken up when university ended, Mark moved to Edinburgh and Kate to London. Long distance wasn’t something they were interested in. Breaking up had been the practical thing to do.

It still hurt, not because of him but because the one relationship she had ended because it was the practical thing to do.

She hadn’t dated on and off since then, but work got busier and busier and nothing ever was serious. Kate was better on her own. It was easier that way.

“I am enjoying my life,” Kate said, abandoning the ice cream entirely. She wasn’t in the mood anymore. “I work hard because I love my job and I want to be successful. That doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy my life, Mary. Just because I’m not like Edwina doesn’t mean I’m not okay.”

Mary let out a deep sigh. This wasn’t the first time one of their conversations had led to this point. “That’s not what I meant, Kate. This has nothing to do with Edwina. This is you we’re talking about. When was the last time you went out with your friends? Or on a date?”

“Ah,” Kate said, everything clicking into place. It always came back to her non-existent dating life. “So this is an interrogation about my dating life.”

“Is it such a crime to be interested in my daughter’s life?” Mary’s tone sharpened slightly and Kate felt a tiny bit guilty. “Do you remember my friend Bernadette? She came into the cafe the other day. She has a lovely son your age who happens to be single.”

Kate’s head fell back, groaning loudly as the guilt she had been feeling quickly faded into stress. Not this again. “Mary. No.”

“Why not? He’s a solicitor! He’s very handsome,” Mary said, picking up her phone and glasses before tapping on the screen with her index finger slowly. “Bernadette showed me a picture. Here, look.”

“I don’t need my mother setting me up, that’s why!” Kate’s eyes flicked towards the door, praying Edwina would appear any moment to put this excruciating conversation to a stop. Well, actually Edwina would probably join in. Her family had a lot to say about her non-existence dating life. “My dating life is private and it’s going perfectly fine.”

“I would understand you not wanting to meet someone else,” Mary had a very suspicious look on her face and she looked slightly amused, tilting her chin up in the air with a small smirk. It made Kate uneasy. “I suppose, it would make sense. If there was something going on between you and Anthony Bridgerton.”

Kate gasped. Her head was still swirling from the events of the day and the fact that he had said I didn’t do it for them, Kate. She hadn’t been able to get him out of her mind since. “Mary! He’s my boss.”

“He’s also a man,” Mary replied quickly. “An attractive man that you have not stopped talking about since you started working there. A nice man. He’s also a man who ended up in a pond with you today and had you over for brunch.”

Kate spluttered, trying to find something comprehensive to say. What could she say? She wasn’t about to admit to her mother about the strange feelings she was having for her boss, a man she had actively loathed for so long it had become a hobby. “His mother invited us to stay for brunch. Believe me, he did not want me there.”

“Are you sure?”

Mary’s question lingered in the air.

The anxiety and uneasiness simmered in Kate’s stomach. It hadn’t left her since she had left the Bridgeton's. Well, since she arrived at the Bridgertons door covered in pond water and had brunch with his family. Since he walked her out and said those words. “I didn’t jump into that pond for Edwina or Newton, Kate.”

Was Kate sure?

She had absolutely no idea.

Kate didn’t know what to expect the following Monday morning at work.

She should have expected that she would spend her day arguing with Anthony Bridgerton.

Kate had woken up feeling uneasy. She felt nervous. She woke up at seven am, an uncomfortable feeling sitting in her stomach. It remained there as she showered, washing her hair with her fancy overpriced shampoo and conditioner that was only meant for special occasions.

Today wasn’t a special occasion. It was a Monday.

She blow dried her hair, putting a few extra minutes into styling her hair and straightening her usual curls. She even spent ten minutes torturing herself by putting on eyeliner. What was she doing? Why was she putting a significant amount of effort into how she looked? Why did it feel like she was compensating for something?

This wasn’t her.

It was just another normal day at work.

But it wasn’t.

Most of the people at work would have seen the article that came out over the weekend. Most of them, London really, read Whistledown. They would have seen the pictures of Kate and Anthony. They’d be presuming things. They would also be wondering what the hell was someone like Anthony Bridgerton doing with someone like Kate?

Men like Anthony Bridgerton didn’t go for women like Kate.

She didn’t need to be reminded of it.

Kate wanted to disappear. She didn’t want to go into work. She debated taking a sick day, which she hadn’t taken once willingly during her entire time working at Bridgerton & Family. Kate had been forced to leave work once after she fainted presenting during a meeting. It had been last summer during London’s heatwave and it was a day full of budget deadlines and presenting them to the board.

Kate had been working so hard in the last year to be eligible for a promotion. That finance manager role was hers.

Kate just needed to prove it.

She would have stayed presenting if it wasn’t for Anthony Bridgerton and his saviour complex.

Anthony had forced her to go home after she insisted she was fine, even going as far as calling Mary, who she had down as her emergency contact at work, to take her home. Kate couldn’t escape Mary’s clutches after that. Mary would have dragged her out of that office herself if she had to.

Mary had loved Anthony since then, of course.

Kate just found him more irritating.

Kate stood in front of her closet, glancing between her usual pant suits, tops and skirts and a few dresses she never really had the nerve to wear. A few of them had been gifts that Edwina had gotten for free from shows that didn’t fit her and some had been impulse buys Kate had loved but hadn’t worn yet.

She always managed to convince herself out of wearing them. It was too tight or she was too bloated or her arms looked strange. Her self-consciousness won every time. Edwina wouldn’t think twice about wearing what she wanted. Kate wanted to be the girl who wore what she wanted. She always went with the safer option, a simple shirt, top or skirt.

That wasn’t going to be today.

She needed a lot of nerve today. She picked out a long sleeved black ribbed dress she had bought on a whim a few weeks ago, that was tight around her waist and had a sweetheart neckline with a pair of black heels.

Kate kissed Newton goodbye and left her flat before she could change her mind. She kept her eyes glued to her phone as she arrived at work, checking her endless emails and calendar for the day as she got the elevator up to her floor and walked to her office. When she glanced around, she could hear their whispers and see people snapping their heads away from her, previously staring at her.

Deep breaths, Kate.

Thank god she had already texted Sophie to cancel her meetings for the morning.

She smiled at Sophie as she walked past her desk, relief filling her chest to see a friend. “Morning, Soph.”

“Good morning, Mrs. Bridgerton.”

Kate stopped dead in her tracks, turning to glare at her assistant, who was cackling behind her computer screen. “That’s not funny.”

Sophie leaned back in her chair, the smirk still plastered on her face as she looked Kate up and down. “You look hot.”

“Thank you.” Kate fiddled with the material of her dress, smoothening it out and breathing deeply out of her nose. She didn’t need to hide behind her coat and feel self-conscious. She was bloody Kate Sheffield.

Fuck what anybody else or some gossip column had to say.

She was hot. She was qualified. She was important. She could do this.

“Dressing up for anyone special?”

Kate’s confidence dissolved into annoyance as she narrowed her eyes at Sophie, shaking her head. “Is there something you’d like to say, Sophie?”

“I don’t think there’s anything I could say that Lady Whistledown already hasn’t implied.” Sophie said, the smirk spreading further across her face.

Kate scowled. “You’re a pain in the arse.”

“You love it. Oh, Good morning Mr. Bridgerton!”

Kate gasped, turning around so quickly her arm whacked Sophie’s stapler right off her desk and onto the floor. When the doorway was empty, she turned to glare at Sophie. Shit. She needed to relax. She would inevitably see him today-he owned the bloody company. Kate would just avoid him, and the meeting he would definitely be at, until she didn’t have a choice.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Sophie said, biting her lip to minimize her grin as she looked at her computer screen. “I’ll shut up now.”

Kate, desperate for Sophie’s cackling to end and a swift change of topic, remembered what happened at the gala. “Benedict Bridgerton asked me about you at the gala.”

That wiped the smirk off her face. “What?”

“He asked about you at the charity gala I went to with Edwina,” Kate said, sitting on the edge of her desk. “He seems interested. He couldn’t stop gawking at you in Anthony’s office and you couldn’t stop blushing.”

“I was not blushing,” Sophie murmured, avoiding Kate’s eyes as she tidied away some paperwork on her desk. “It wouldn’t work, anyway.”

Kate frowned, not expecting that answer from her friend, who was certainly making googly eyes back at Benedict. “Why not?”

Sophie smiled at her sweetly, also wanting to change the topic. “I think there’s only room for one romance with a Bridgerton out of the two of us.”

“That’s not funny,” Kate said dryly, knowing there wasn’t a chance she was telling Sophie about what happened at the park if this was the level of teasing she was getting from the article alone. “Or accurate-”

“Hello, Ladies.”

There was only one presence so unsettling, it made the hairs on Kate’s arm stand up and identical grimaces and frowns form on Sophie and Kate’s faces.

It belonged to a man that had enough grease in his hair than an English breakfast, a pungent stink that clung to your clothes when you were in his presence for more than five minutes and a yellowish tint to a chilling smile.

Nigel Berbrooke was the type of man women avoided at all costs.

That was difficult when you were stuck in the office next to his.

He stared down their tops and at their legs, had to touch their waists and arms every time he greeted them or moved past them, made comments about how surprising it was that there were so many women in the workplace considering their biological clocks were running out and regularly ranked them by attractiveness. The only reason he was here was because of good old nepotism and his father’s place on the company’s board.

He was a sexist, dimwitted, misogynistic pig.

Out of all the people her office had to get stuck beside, it had to be Nigel Berbrooke.

It was the very reason Kate knew someone out there was out to get her.

Their floor was covered in desks but for those who had their own offices, as small as hers may be, it was still an office and it was attached to another one. You shared an assistant with your neighbour. There were a good few offices on their floor, the larger ones detached and separate from the rest.

Kate knew it wasn’t under Anthony’s authority to relegate offices but she liked to blame him for it anyway.

It had been two years since Kate had gotten her promotion to finance manager and she had been given her own office. That’s when she met Sophie, the first assistant she’d ever had-who unfortunately, Kate had to share with Nigel Berbrooke. He had been promoted at the same time.

Kate had her eyes on that senior manager promotion that had been announced a few weeks ago and when she got it, she would be taking Sophie with her, far away from the unsettling presence of Nigel Berbrooke. They were both in the running for the promotion, both having the same management experience except Kate’s clientele and numbers were higher and better than Nigel's. She deserved it. There wasn’t a chance he was beating Kate.

That didn’t mean much. His father was involved in those types of decisions and he had a lot of influence on the board. Kate didn’t have anyone on the board vouching for her and the one person who could, Anthony, her boss-despised her.

“Kate,” He greeted, his beady eyes alarmingly wide as he leered at her. She had never hated the sound of her name more. “Are you not joining us for the meeting?”

Kate shook her head, silently exchanging an apology with Sophie who was doomed to walk across the floor with Nigel to the meeting room to take notes. “I have a client call.”

“Such a shame,” His patronizing tone as he clicked his tongue. “I do try to have my calls around meetings but we all can’t be as efficient as I am.” The bark of laughter that followed afterwards made Kate and Sophie simultaneously jump. “I suppose being organized it’s a man’s natural intuition, eh?”

Kate wasn’t in the mood. Clients didn’t want to talk to Nigel because he was, well, Nigel. “I’d hardly call you a man, Nigel.”

Sophie’s muffled snort was hard to disguise behind her hand. She wasn’t exactly trying, either. Nigel spent more time at her desk than his. Kate insisted Sophie spend as much time in her office as possible working and Kate spent any spare time with Sophie, keeping him away.

His false smile fell momentarily, staring at her in disbelief. He chose to laugh it off, “Oh, no need to be so sensitive, Kate. Did I catch you at that time of the month?”

“We better go, Mr. Berbrooke. It’s time for the team meeting.” Sophie interrupted swiftly, standing up and directing him in the direction of the meeting room before Kate committed murder on the fifth floor. Kate made a mental note to go to the bakery around the corner and grab them doughnuts for lunch.

Kate spent her morning sorting through her mountain of emails, calling a few clients, checking in on a few budgets and reviewing Anthony’s hotel proposal again. She was making edits to it, extreme edits-trying to find some type of compromise and solution.

Anthony.

When did she start calling him Anthony?

Well, she had always called him Anthony. It was his name. It had never felt right, it had always left a sour taste in her mouth. Now, it felt..normal. Right.

It shouldn’t.

The buzzer from Sophie knocked her out of her scrambled thoughts. “Kate. Violet Bridgerton is on the phone. She wants to know your dietary requirements for Kent?”

Kate’s stomach dropped, internally panicking. Kent? It took her a few seconds to remember. That party Violet had mentioned. At their family house. In Kent. Bloody hell, there were too many Bridgertons to avoid before 11am. She pressed “Please tell her I’m sorry and I’m in a meeting. I’ll call her back as soon as I can but it’s unlikely I’ll be able to make Kent. Thanks Soph.”

Kate banged her head against the desk, groaning loudly. This time, a beep from her computer made her lift her head off her desk.

Her chat popped up.

Anthony Bridgerton: Why weren’t you at the meeting?

Her heart stopped then began beating rapidly, echoing in her ears. Kate sat up straighter, her fingers lingering over her keyboard as she thought of a reply. He had never messaged her, he had emailed-usually to complain or with a snotty message-but he had never chatted with her before.

Kate Sheffield:Good morning to you too, Mr. Bridgerton.

Anthony Bridgerton:Anthony.

Anthony Bridgerton: Good morning.

Kate Sheffield: Something came up, I had to make a few calls. Did you not get my message?

Anthony Bridgerton: I did.

Kate: Sophie ran through the minutes with me and everything seemed to be in order. Was there something you needed?

“Kate?” Sophie's voice rang through the intercom, snapping Kate out of her intense staring competition with her computer screen as she watched the three dots beside his name bounce up and down, waiting for his reply.

“Yeah Soph?”

“You’re wanted in HR.”

Kate felt her stomach drop. Not today. Please, not today. "Oh god. Is it-"

"Yup. Agatha Danbury."

Someone was truly out to get her. "Bloody hell."

Nothing good came from a meeting with Agatha Danbury. The famous head of Human Resources who knew everything about everyone and it usually wasn’t good.

Kate admired her but she was equally terrified of her. “Did she say why?”

“No but she asked if you could come down now. Well, asked is putting it lightly. More like demanded.”

Sophie saluted her as Kate stepped out of her office and made her way to the lift, stepping into it, clicking the button for the second floor.

“Hold it.” A voice shouted, Kate quickly holding her hand out to stop the doors from closing and gulped when she realized seconds later who it was, coming face to face with Anthony Bridgerton.

“Kate.”

Kate visibly gulped, quickly breaking their uncomfortable eye contact and pressing the close the doors button. “Mr. Bridgerton.”

They stood in silence for a few seconds, Kate focused on the floor numbers slowly falling to the correct floor. He looked good today. His black suit didn’t have a wrinkle in sight, neatly fitting him but it wasn’t too tight, it was just the perfect fit to show the outline of his muscular arms without straining the fabric.

Stop thinking about his arms, Kate.

“How are you?” His deep voice, still waking up from the slight croak in his voice, snapped her out of her thoughts.

This was so awkward. She could feel her palms beginning to sweat, the clamminess making her silver ring slip up and down her index finger. “I’m...good, thank you. How are you?”

“Good, thank you.” It was so polite, so robotic, so unlike them.

Kate chose not to respond, choosing awkward silence over whatever this conversation was. It was barely a conversation, more an exchange of plastic, uncomfortable words as the events of the weekend and his

Anthony, regrettably, chose to open his mouth.

“You look different.”

Kate snapped her head to look at him. “What?”

“It’s your hair,” He said, moving his head up and down, his expression unreadable as he inspected her straightened hair, different from her usual bushy curls. “I liked your hair before.”

Now they were back to normal. Kate felt the familiar rage fill her body, the tension making her neck sore and shoulders heavy. “I don’t remember asking.”

He let out a harsh breath, shaking his head slightly as a flash of regret washed across his face. “I didn’t mean-“

The doors opened and Kate practically jumped out of them, not hearing the end of his sentence as she made her way towards the head of Human Resources office, Miss Agatha Danbury.

Kate checked in with her secretary, who informed Agatha Kate was waiting for her. The anxiety brewed in her stomach, making her feel nauseous and she felt so uncomfortable. It felt like her dress was clinging to her and she couldn’t stop fiddling with her hair.

The last person she wanted to see appeared beside her, checking in with Miss Danbury’s secretary, who blushed as Anthony spoke. He looked apprehensive as he approached Kate, a guilty look on his face. “I have a meeting with Danbury.”

Kate frowned, the anxiety in her stomach warping into pure nausea as reality set in. “So do I.”

“Ah” Agatha Danbury said, holding her arms out as she smirked at the pair of them. “If it isn’t the couple of the hour. Please, come in.”

Kate shot a look of alarm at Anthony, who didn’t look phased in the slightest. His calmness only provoked Kate more. They stepped into her office, closing the door behind them as they took a seat in front of her desk.

“Miss Danbury.”

“Anthony, Kate,” Her smirk only widened as she spoke, twirling a pen in her hand on her desk. “I’m sure we’re on a first name basis at this point in our careers.”

“I hoped I’d see more of you two after the charity run incident last year,” Miss Danbury said, her eyes lighting up with amusement as she recalled the events of last year. “That was quite entertaining.”

They had spent the entire run trying to beat each other.

Kate crossed her arms. “Not because of me.”

Anthony scoffed, shaking his head. “You pushed me!”

“You deliberately cut me off-“

This time, he actually snorted. “I’m faster and you’re a sore loser.”

Kate gasped. “I only lost because you cheated-“

Miss Danbury swiftly interrupted their conversation, knowing if she didn’t they could go on arguing forever. “I’m sure you know why you’re here.”

Kate shook her head.

“I have to say, I’m not surprised. I always thought there was something more going on here. But rules are rules.”

They stared blankly at her. Miss Danbury frowned slightly, staring at the two of them with a slightly frustrated look. Her message wasn’t clicking. “One of the requirements of being in a relationship is disclosing it.”

Kate looked at her horrified, the ball finally dropping.

Anthony snickered under his breath.

“There is absolutely not-”

“Agatha,” Anthony said sweetly, in a tone so polite it made Kate’s skin crawl. He certainly didn’t reserve it for her. “Could I speak to Kate alone for a second? If you would be so kind.”

He didn’t fool Miss Danbury, who smirked before nodding her head slowly, making her way towards the door. “Of course. I’ll check in with my assistant.”

Kate had no doubt she would be listening in through the intercom.

“What?” Kate hissed, glancing back at the door and back to glare at him.

Anthony, who was thinking exactly like Kate, covered the intercom with his hand as soon as Miss Danbury clicked the door shut. “This could be good for us.”

Kate stared blankly at him. “There is no us.”

“Obviously,” Anthony said dryly, letting out a deep sigh before turning back to her. “But no one else needs to know that.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“When am I not?”

How was she the only one with sense in this situation? “You’re my boss. This is highly inappropriate.”

“Nothing about our relationship is appropriate, Kate.”

He had a point but she wasn’t bloody well going to give him it. “There is no relationship!”

“To us, yes.” Anthony pressed, his frustration showing in his wrinkled forehead and pressed lips. “It looks like one to everyone else. We could make this work. To our advantage.”

“We are in human resources,” Kate said, refusing to listen to anything he was saying. He had officially lost it. There was no possible advantage to a pretend relationship, or whatever he was suggesting, with him. “I could report you.”

“You could,” Anthony said, his voice dangerously low as he spoke. It sent chills down Kate’s spine and they weren’t the bad kind. “But you won’t, will you?”

She hated how right he was. Of course she wouldn't. Kate finally took the bait. “What is in this for you?”

“My publicist, mother and I don’t see eye to eye on how my reputation has been perceived, lately. I need to do some reparations for my reputation. I also need someone to distract my mother from trying to set me up with every bloody woman she meets.” He looked Kate up and down, nodding his head as if he had made some decision. “You’re a good fit.”

“Well,” Kate said, scoffing slightly in disbelief. “That’s a backhanded compliment if I’ve ever heard one. Why would I ever want people to think I’m dating you?”

That caught his full attention, sitting up straighter and frowning. “Why wouldn’t you want to date me?” He actually looked offended.

Good.

Kate glanced at the white clock on the wall and back at him. “How long do we have? This might take a while.”

He wasn’t the slightest bit amused as he glared at her, shaking his head. “It would just be for a while. An easy façade. A few appearances. Mainly during my family’s party in Kent. There must be something that you want.”

There was.

No. She couldn’t possibly be entertaining something so insane. That was a dangerous game to play, not to mention an absolutely insane one-this wasn’t some romantic comedy that had a happy ending. This was Anthony Bridgerton. Her boss. People were already talking. Mary would be pleased, so would Edwina. For some reason, they both actually seemed to like him. Kate wouldn’t be seen to be alone, no matter how alone she felt. No. No. It was crazy. It was absolutely crazy to even debate it.

But.

But-

The opportunity was right there in front of her. She just had to grab it. What did she have to lose? “I want that senior manager promotion.”

She put her hand up before he could speak, and surprisingly, he let her finish. “Nigel Berbrooke is an incompetent idiot whose father is on the board and will get him that promotion. I’m smarter and more qualified. You know that. Everyone knows that. My numbers and clientele are higher. It’s the only opportunity open for the next five years and I deserve it.” Nigel Berbrooke could not be her boss. She’d rather quit.

Anthony stared at her, slightly suspiciously as her words sunk in. “I can’t guarantee that.”

She was already standing up. “Then we have nothing more to discuss.”

He relented quite quickly. “Fine! Fine. I’ll handle it.”

She was taking any “I also want Sophie exclusively as my assistant and a higher salary for her.”

“Any more requests?” It was definitely rhetorical but Kate didn’t really care at this point. It was so ludicrous, this fake facade she was signing up to-she might as well get the most out of it. People already thought they were dating, they already had their own opinions on who Kate was. She would let them. At least this way, she was getting something out of it, knowing she actually deserved it. As painful as the process of getting it may be.

“An office as far away from Nigel Berbrooke as possible.”

He extended his hand towards her, nodding hastily. No one could blame her on that request. “Do we have a deal?”

“We do.”

They shook hands and just like that, Kate had sealed her fate.

“You know,” Anthony said, clapping his hands slightly as if he had finished signing a business deal. That’s what it was to him, some twisted agreement that she had no idea how would play out. Could she really lie to her family? Her friends? “A lot of people would be happy to be seen dating London’s eligible bachelor.”

Kate rolled her eyes, before turning to smirk sweetly at him. It was easier to pretend she was amused and ignore the sickening feeling in her stomach. “I wouldn’t, though. I’d be dating you.”

“Do you save this wit exclusively for me?” He asked, giving her

This time, her smile was slightly genuine. Only slightly. “Always.”

He turned completely around in his chair, properly looking at her. Under his gaze, she felt uneasy. Exposed. “Come on, Kate. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Famous last words.

#bridgerton #rules don't apply #kate x anthony #anthony bridgerton #kate sheffield #just a few weeks late #fanfiction #ao3 #mary sheffield #edwina sheffield #sophie beckett #my fics

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isitgintimeyet · 4 years

Text

Just A Friend

Hope you are all having a good weekend. I’m the only one awake, the sun is shining and I’m enjoying my coffee in peace and quiet. Bliss!

Thank you for the continuing support for this story. it’s lovely reading (and re-reading) all the comments.

Hope you enjoy this next chapter.

Thanks to @wickedgoodbooks for the beta.

AO3

Previous Chapter

Chapter 3: From Relationship To Release

You know, I’m a great believer in relationships. Relationships come in all shapes and sizes — take my relationship with Geillis, for example.

I met Geillis on my first day of postgraduate training at Glasgow Royal Infirmary. I was spending three months in orthopaedic surgery and she was just finishing her training as a theatre nurse. We somehow kept bumping into each other at social gatherings and found we had many things in common — a childish sense of humour, an intolerance of pomposity and snobbishness, and a love of cheesy rom-com movies.

From there, our friendship snowballed, and for many years now, I’ve called her my best friend. Even the arrival of a fiancé and her forthcoming nuptials haven’t lessened our relationship in any way. Our careers have developed in parallel too. So when a vacancy came up for a senior theatre sister at the Children’s hospital, I didn’t hesitate to recommend her for the post. We work well together. For all her joking around and flippant comments she is damn good at her job. And I love her.

I don’t think I love many people. I’m very fond of a lot of people, mainly my friends. But love? No. And certainly not the romantic, live-our-life-together type of love.

I see how it can work. I look at Robbie’s parents, for example. The way they are there for each other, supporting through all the worries with their son, their comforting touches and reassuring glances.They are a solid unit and I admire that.

I also see the way that Geillis’ face lights up when she talks about her fiancé, Dougal, and the way he watches her when we are all together in the pub. And I think it’s great, I really do.

But it’s not something that I’m seeking out for myself. I don’t think I’m cut out for that type of relationship. I don’t think there is someone out there, my soulmate, to spend the rest of my life with. And I definitely don’t think that I need someone else to complete me, make me whole.

That doesn’t mean that I’m a hermit. Far from it, in fact. I do date and enjoy it, but try to steer clear of any where-is-this-relationship-going type discussions.

It may well be to do with my childhood. I’ll admit, I’ve not had the most normal upbringing and that could have coloured my view of happily-ever-after love.

I’ve never been part of a conventional family unit. Well, I mean, I was for the first four years of my life —until my parents died in a car accident. And, at that age, how much can you remember? I do have some vague memories — rough tweed fabric against my cheek as my father’s strong arms lift me up, the smell of ‘Miss Dior’ perfume as my mother’s soft hands caress my cheek, the sound of laughter as we dance around the living room to Michael Jackson. But these are only fleeting recollections, ephemeral, gone in an instant.

All my real childhood memories are centred around one man — my uncle, Lambert Beauchamp. He, unhesitatingly, took me in when my parents died and became my guardian, my parent, my rock. He and I were a team, and I miss him every single day.

He was a confirmed bachelor, and I don’t mean that in a euphemistic way. He lived his life by his own rules and if he had been gay, he would have seen no reason to hide it. No, he had no need for romantic entanglements, no complicated relationships, no messy sexual encounters. He had two loves in his life — me and his work. He was a professor at the University, teaching archaeology and could, quite happily, get lost for hours in the bowels of the archives, studying ancient Somarian drinking vessels.

Growing up he was my role model, my yardstick against which to measure boys.

And over time, I've come to realise that I've always found myself attracted to the type of men which have certain ‘Lambert-esque’ qualities. Which leads me, I suppose, to Frank.

Just like my uncle, he’s a professor at the university. In history — more recent than Lamb’s studies only three hundred years ago, not three thousand. He’s single minded about his research, like my uncle, and he cares deeply about me, which makes me feel bad because I don’t feel the same way. Of course, I care about him, just not enough for a serious relationship that’s going somewhere.

All of this is a long winded way of saying what I’ve actually known for a while now... I need to break up with Frank.

*************

I’m just contemplating whether to brave the canteen or grab a sandwich from the hospital shop, when there’s a knock at my office door and a hand appears brandishing a couple of distinctive Gregg’s paper bags. This hand is closely followed by the rest of Geillis, who plonks herself down on one of my visitor chairs. A wonderful aroma of freshly baked goods wafts across the desk. My stomach rumbles in anticipation.

“Steak bake or sausage roll?” she asks as she places both bags on my desk, although she knows my preference.

“Ooh, how did you know I was just thinking about lunch?” I pick up one of the bags, the oozing gravy on its surface being a clear giveaway.

“We’ve been friends fer long enough,” Geillis smiles. “I ken what ye’re thinking. In fact, ye’ve something on yer mind right now. No’ a work thing. C’mon, spill.”

I swear, it’s uncanny. In the Middle Ages Geillis would undoubtedly have been tried as a witch. Her powers of deduction are that good.

I say nothing for a moment and focus on my lunch, blowing ineffectually on the hot meat filling.

“Weel? I’m waiting and ye ken I’m no’ a patient woman, Claire. This is tae do wi’ Frank, is it no’? Are ye planning on dumping him?”

See what I mean? Witchcraft.

“You make it sound so harsh. But I can’t carry on with Frank, he’s investing more into this… this—“

“Ye can say the word, Claire. Relationship… R… E…—“

“I know, I know. But I have to do something. I know Frank wants more than I want to give in this ‘relationship’.” I enunciate clearly just to make the point to Geillis. I’m not afraid of the word… I can say it.

“Anyway,” I add casually as I dab at the pastry crumbs with my finger. “I thought you’d be pleased. I know you’ve never liked him.”

Geillis tuts. “‘Tis no’ a matter of like. We jes’ havena got anything in common. He’s awfa serious and ye dampen yer personality down when ye’re with him. I’ve seen ye, ye canna deny it.”

I try to interject, but Geillis ignores my sounds of protest and carries on talking. “But it’s no’ jes’ Frank. Ye do this all the time, Claire. Whenever anyone tries tae get serious, ye run. What is wrong wi’ wanting a relationship anyway?”

“I have my work, I have my friends. I date, I go out with men, I have a good, if sporadic, sex life… and a trusty dual speed vibrator. What’s wrong with me wanting my life the way I want it?”

Geillis crams the end of her sausage roll into her mouth and chews vigorously for a minute. I pass her a paper serviette for her greasy hands. She gathers up the flaky pastry crumbs that have settled on her chest, wraps them in the serviette and pops it neatly in the bin.

“Ok, I get it. I’ll back off. But all I’m saying is dinna close yerself off tae the possibility of a real relationship, aye?”

Knowing she's gone as far as she can with this topic, she gets up and heads for the door. “Nae rest fer the wicked. Oh, and Claire, jes’ one thing…”

She pauses dramatically. “Dinna forget… ye’ve gravy on yer chin.”

And with that she disappears, leaving me with a heavy feeling in the pit of my stomach caused by more than the calorie ridden pasty.

I am just settling down to dictate some patient letters when Frank texts to suggest dinner at my favourite Italian restaurant. This isn’t good. It’s a lovely restaurant, the kind of restaurant where special occasions are celebrated— birthdays, anniversaries, declarations…

So I have to lie… no, not lie, fib. I text back pleading a heavy day in theatre — aching feet, headache and so on.

His concerned response makes me feel bad. No need for fibbing, I do feel pretty shitty now. However, it also makes me more resolved to do what I have to do. I can’t drag this out, causing him more and more hurt. So, I invite him to my flat this evening instead.

*******

I have a final glance in the mirror in my bedroom. I do actually look a bit worn out. I haven’t really put any makeup on, just a touch of mascara and a slick of lipstick, which I have already managed to chew off.

My hair is, as per usual, a bit wild and untamed. I have a bathroom shelf full of products promising smooth and manageable curls, but have yet to find one that actually delivers on their promises. I tuck my hair behind my ears, pinch my cheeks to try to look a little less pale and head to the front door.

Frank is as punctual as ever. Unlike other things in my life, he’s always delivering on his promises. Which makes me feel even worse. I have nothing to accuse him of, no unacceptable behaviour— apart from wanting more than I’m prepared to give. That old cliché, “it’s not you, it’s me”, really is appropriate here. I’m going to try not to actually say those words though. He deserves more than that.

And so I take a deep breath and open the door. He stands there expectantly with two bottles of wine, one red and one white, in his hands.

“I wasn’t sure what we would be eating, so I got both just in case,” he volunteers as he walks in and leans close to me for a kiss.

I give him my cheek and make a fuss of taking the bottles from him to deflect my lack of affection.

He follows me into the lounge. I’m sure he notices that I make no offer to pour the wine. I set the wine on the coffee table and perch on the end of the settee.

Frank takes my hands. “Claire, darling, are you ok? Has it been a rough day?”

I shake my head. “It’s not been the best. Frank… I…”

I can’t even look at him now. I take a deep breath and plunge in. “Frank, I… the thing is… I don’t know how… I think we should stop seeing each other.” The words tumble out of my mouth like a deluge.

I finally look up as Frank releases my hands and walks over to the window. He stands still, his back to me, as if just taking in the view. Then he turns to face me, staring intently at me, scrutinising my face as if looking for a glimmer of hope. The silence is unbearable.

“Frank, it’s not you—“ I try to fill the void, by resorting to stale old clichés after all.

“Spare me that platitude.” He snaps at me. “We’re not fifteen. This was… is… serious to me, Claire.”

Frank now moves to sit next to me. His hand rests on my thigh, his fingers lightly drawing circles on my jeans. I watch for a moment. Am I supposed to move it? Should I remind him he no longer can touch me like this?

His voice softens. “I lo—“

“No, please, Frank. Don’t say it. Please don’t. You are such a nice man. You don’t deserve this.” Gently, I lift his hand and place it on his leg.

“Then don’t do it. Tell me, Claire, what do I have to do? What changes do I have to make for us to move forward? I’ll do it, tell me. We can make this work, I know.”

What do I say now? Anything I say will only hurt him more. All I can do is apologise and try to explain.

“I am sorry, really. It’s just, well, you want more than I can give. You think about a future—“

“And what’s wrong with that? That’s what most people want, Claire. Planning for a future together— a home, a family… our family.” Frank’s getting angry now, raising his voice.

“Please, I’m trying to explain. You want a future life together and I can’t give you that. I’m sorry that I’m hurting you.”

“Is there someone else? Is that what this is all about?”

I’ve been trying to remain composed, to give Frank the explanation he deserves. But this question annoys me beyond belief, as if I have to be one half of a couple.

“I can’t believe you asked that. No, it’s not about another man. I can’t be what you want me to be and that’s it.”

He stands up now, right in front of me. His hands are down by his sides, so tightly clenched into fists that his knuckles are white against the slight tan of his skin. For a fleeting nanosecond, I wonder if he is going to hit me. But, of course not, he’s just trying to gain control of himself.

“That’s it, then.” The words are spat out with venom.

“You know I’m sorry.”

He shrugs dismissively. “Of course. Well, goodbye.”

He makes for the door.

“What about the wine?” I indicate the two bottles, still on the table. It’s a pointless trivial comment, I know, but for some reason I don’t want him to think I expect to keep them.

Frank doesn’t even look over his shoulder. “Consider them a parting gift.”

And with that, he's gone.

I remain sitting motionless, processing what I’ve just done. It’s not easy hearing those words, but neither is it easy to have to say them. So many emotions are coursing through my body — sorrow, guilt, regret, self-reproach, worry. And in the midst of this maelstrom, there is one thing I can clearly recognise — a glimmering spark of relief.

#outlander fanfiction #outlander fan fic #Just a Friend #Jamie Fraser #Claire Beauchamp #bit more Geillis #Chapter 3

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henryholmesacademia · 4 years

Text

Predilection Chapter Two

A/N: I just wanted to thank you all real quick for all the notes on the last chapter. It means so much to me! Here is chapter two I really hope you enjoy! I also think I will TRY to update every Friday.

The woman sighs as she presses a hand to the windowpane to admire the moon. Glass cold under her touch from the bitter air of the night. The city of London is displayed out in front of her. Street lamps were being turned off for the night, as were the lights that shone through the other windows. Even cities had to retire at some point.

She revels in the small rush of adrenaline this afternoon gave her. Seeing him again, made what one could have considered flutters in her stomach if she ever had those in the first place. Unlike her acquaintance, she did on occasion show her emotions. One could even say that she “wore her heart on her sleeve” as it was. But she’s learned how to keep up a face. Only let others see what she allows them. It makes her job easier, it helps appeal her skills to potential employers. This employer, especially.

She heard the creak of the floorboard from in front of her room that she rented. The sound of the paper scraping the bottom of the door as it moves from the hallway into the room. While it was not a calling card from her “favorite player”, she was not any less disappointed with the simple words written on the page.

Limehouse. Tomorrow.

Well then, this should be fun.

——

Miss Harrison was a lady by no means delicate, but still, the utter stench of the alleyway had her gagging as soon as she crossed. She covered her nose and mouth with a hand as she had given her handkerchief to Sherlock last night. Well…she slipped it in his pocket in hopes of toying with him. Her favorite sport.

The lock of the door catches her eye, as there was no lock and the rest of the wooden place looked to be hanging by a single beam.

“Good gracious!” She exclaims looking at the damage. “This is well above my pay grade.” She mumbles as she squeezes in between two fallen pieces of wall.

Getting dirty was a daily occurrence in her job, she was not immune to it. But she refuses to believe that in only a minute of walking through the door she is expected to get her new white gloves, courtesy of a recently widowed Lord, covered in soot.

The half-burned book is one that she does need to properly dispose of, the wooden crates need to be broken apart further than they already were, and the science equipment out in the open truly needs to be made scarce. These ladies were attracting too much attention to a cause that needed the element of surprise.

Her cleaning expedition takes her longer than she thought, and given the sound of the creaking floorboard getting louder, she wasn’t the only one sent here. She makes her way to what was left of the back of the location and fixes her appearance in the reflection of a broken mirror. Using a piece of mirror that was on the floor, she uses it to look behind the doorway to see who her soon-to-disappear guest is.

She would recognize those broad shoulders anywhere, so what business does Sherlock have with this? She takes a moment to fix her lipstick as well as dab some of the sweat that accumulated on her brow, and after she checks her pocket watch, she concludes she has a few minutes to torment him.

“Well, well, well, Mr. Sherlock.” She moves from behind the barely-there wall. “If I didn’t know any better, I would say you were following me.” Her smile can only be painted as smug while she clasps her hands in front of her figure, having made sure to remove her scoot-covered gloves.

“Did you do this?” He gestures around to the nearly empty room, oblivious to her flirtation as always. How typical of men.

“No ‘hello’?” Her eyebrow quirks up, but she catches his stern look and decides to tell him the truth. “This is not my work, Mr. Holmes. This was the state I greeted it in.” Well, some truth. The walls are still in the same condition she found them in.

“I find that hard to believe.” He states. “This is very different from the way I left it when I came earlier.“

"Returning to the scene of the crime, were you?” She walks closer to him. “Believe me, Mr. Holmes-"

"I have a hard time doing so.” He cooly responds as his hand drags against the wooden table.

“And he comes with a bite!” She feigns shock at his response. “Mr. Holmes, I can assure you that this is the state I found it in. I was just as shocked as you when I first found it."

"What are you doing here?” He inquires while looking at the now empty table.

“I was looking for someone if you must know. I assume you are doing the same."

"Who are you looking for?"

"I could ask you the same question.” She counters. “You can’t help but ask what a missing marquee would be doing here. Unless it’s not the marquee you are after."

"Good day, Miss Harrison.” He tips her hat. It seems she had hit a sore subject.

“I can help you.” She offers. “It is what I am doing for my employer. Whoever it is you are looking for, judging by their connection to this location, has to have some relationship with the person I am looking for."

He stops on his way out. "Thank you for your generosity, but I must decline. Excuse me."

"Mr. Holmes, with all due respect, your talent lies in solving mysteries and I specialize in finding people.” Not to mention putting an end to them. “You work alone with nothing besides very few inquiries, while I have endless contacts and acquaintances.” She reasons. “The person you are looking for, are they worth the time that could have been avoided if you would have accepted my help?"

"Stubborn woman.” He mutters under his breath.

“What is stubborn about knowing what you want? I know that this is a case that I want to help you with.” She walks over to him and straightens his tie. “Mr. Holmes, tell me you have not forgotten what a great team we make."

He gently removes her hand from his tie. "I try to forget."

"Oh, how your words of indifference wound me.” Her teasing voice contrasting with the faux look of sadness on her face. She makes her way to the door. “Are you coming or not, Mr. Holmes?"

——

"You are being awfully quiet.” The young detective looks up at the voice that calls him from across the carriage. “You have always been the quiet sort, but I thought by now you would have been interrogating me."

"I have no patience for questions that go unanswered.” He answers, honestly. He knows the young woman in front of him to be mysterious, flirty, and too modern for her own good. Or rather his own good. The detective knows of her games. He’s found himself on the receiving end of them plenty of times.

He observes the countryside passing through the window and thinks to himself how her games have improved if she is now able to pay for carriages instead of stealing train tickets. His train ticket if we want to nitpick.

He then observes his companion, the closed-lipped smile on her face as she pulls out a pocket watch, his pocket watch. “Quite a pickpocket you are. I nearly had forgotten."

"I took it as a keepsake, Mr. Holmes. It felt as if you were always with me.” She holds it closer to her figure so that he would not try to take it back. “For the next three minutes, you can ask me any question you would like and I have to answer honestly."

"You have done this before and you never gave a satisfactory answer. The statements were only truthful because they were broad answers without substance."

"And you remain aloof as always. Every one of those answers was on a need-to-know basis. You asked me when I was returning, and I replied that you would be aware of when I returned. Were you not aware?"

"After how many days? How long were you in England before you decided to start your game? Before you sent your inner circle of people to torment? A week? A month?” His voice was getting louder toward the end of his accusation.

“None of this is a game, Sherlock! I do not know what else I could do to prove that to you!” Her eyes close as she sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose between her thumb and index finger.

The remained silent for a few moments, her using his first name did not go unnoticed but he did not choose to acknowledge or dwell on it.

Sherlock breaks the silence first. “When I asked you why you were running away…"

She looks at him, both sadness and fondness in her face as if she was replaying the moment in her head. "My answer was truthful."

And there they left the conversation.

Silence fell upon the carriage with the only noise being the driver’s commands to the horses and the stomping of the hooves.

——

They arrived later that afternoon to a small, quaint inn. An elderly woman greets them and compliments them on their appearance as a couple, saying that their children would be beautiful.

Before Sherlock can disagree with her forwardness, his companion links her arm through his, giving a smile and a small ‘thank you’ as she takes the key and gently pulls on his arm with a ‘Don’t stand there all day, my dear.’

Sherlock is surprised at the size of the room. The quality of the bed with all of its pillows and embroidered blanket. No expense seemed to be spared at the cost of decorating the room with high-end lamps, antique furniture, and quite beautiful light fixtures.

While he knew his companion never struggled or wanted for money, this was beyond the price he remembered her being able to afford. He had not heard of a death in her family for her to garner an inheritance. She never spoke much of her employer. Never gave any description or revealed any useful knowledge.

"It is easier to get around if we pretend to be a happily married couple. No one will try to stick their nose in our business.” She gets her bag from him and places it on the bed. “This brings back so many fond memories. Don’t you think, Mr. Holmes?"

"That was only one time, it was very long ago, and we agreed to never speak of it again.” He can’t help but feel as if he had forgotten something. A factor of some sort. He can’t quite put his finger on it.

“I have never forgotten.” She smiles. “Now, let’s talk about dinner."

——

"This is why I do not travel with companions.” She hears him mutter as he flips his watch out and places it back in his pocket. So much time was being wasted waiting on their dishes. “What information can be gathered here?” She had dragged him out to a very elegant restaurant with a very spacious dining room. Every woman wore an elegant, no doubt imported, evening gown while every man wore a tailored suit and tie.

“My dear, Mr. Holmes, there is so much knowledge to be obtained here. Once you get some food in your stomach and a glass of alcohol in you, you will see I am right.” She reaches over and pats the back of his hand reassuringly. “I would have thought that you out of all people could have known what information could be gathered here.” She leans closer to him over the table and whispers in his ear. “In a room full of high society’s best. The only people who think their secrets matter when in reality the cook knows more than the husband who is having an affair, the widow who killed, or the child who spent their inheritance for the wiles of the world. These people, Mr. Holmes, have power and leverage as well as their weaknesses. You just need to prey on the right one."

She returns to her seat when the server comes and places their plates in front of them. The detective looks around, to try to see what she has taken notice of. "Is that why you ran away from this life?"

"Running away requires fleeing from something that you are afraid of. I am not afraid of a life of pearls, having a maid wait on my hand and foot, or having a husband. I just simply choose not to have it. I would much rather be here having dinner with you. You make for a wonderful companion, unlike the boring businessman I would have sitting in front of me if I did marry."

"I do not believe he was a business-"

"By the door, a man just walked in who owes me a favor. Go and give him my name, he will help you find who you are looking for.” Her eyes seemed to dart toward the powder room. “You speak with him while I go and powder my nose."

"How will he-"

"Believe what you want, Mr. Holmes, but trust me when I tell you that he will help give you the information that you need to find whoever it is you are looking for. He will not speak to you if I am here, when you finish speaking to him, go and wait for me outside of the powder room. Now get up, and go offer to buy him a drink."

For once, he seems to follow her orders and he is able to gain some information, but it piqued his curiosity about why the man’s face resembled that of having just seen a ghost when her name was mentioned, and immediately began looking for the woman. After the exchange, he waited for her near the wall of the powder room. One woman passed in front of him and she gave him a glance of indifference out of the corner of her eye. Unusual, but not uncommon. Until his companion arrived and seemed to be placing a paper in her bag. She looks up in shock to see him. "Done so soon? How many drinks did you give him? He never gives information that easily.”

“What are you hiding in your bag?” She had wanted him to not see it. What else is she hiding from him?

“My heart. Which is why it is so small. Shall we finish dining?” She tries to step away from him, but he stands in front of her again.

“What are you keeping from me?” He blocks her passage. For just one weekend, could she not be honest with him?

“Both everything and nothing, Mr. Holmes. Now let me through."

"You said you weren’t playing a game. If we are to be partners, you need to tell me the truth."

"Let me ask you a question, have you told me who you are looking for?” She raises an eyebrow.

“You haven’t told me who you are looking for either.”

“Then I guess we both are hiding things from each other. We both acknowledge it, now let’s put it past us."

"Because that went so well-” he is cut off by her hands being placed on the sides of his face and pulling him down to meet her lips. Her hands tangling themselves on the hair that reached his neck. His hand went to her waist to steady himself.

Sherlock heard a scoff and the rustling of fabric before she pulled away.

She smooths the front of her dress while he is standing there, just mildly confused about what had happened.

“Well then, shall we go finish eating?” She leaves him there, only calling after him over her shoulder. “Are you going to stand there in shock all night or are you going to come to eat?"

They are silent during dinner, the only noise being the sound of silverware scraping their plates. The ride back to the inn being as quiet with them looking in opposite directions.

It wasn’t until the young detective arrived at the room that he finally figured out what was wrong with the situation.

There was only one bed.

——

A/N: I am a fanfiction writer, I couldn’t not use the “there was only one bed” trope! Until next Friday, lovelies!

@maan24

#henry cavill!sherlock x reader #henry cavill! sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock holmes x reader #henry cavill x reader #henryholmesacademia

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kissandmxkeup · 3 years

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Royal Guard!Johnny

here for the obligatory annual “yes i’m still around and yes i know where my computer keyboard is” post, may do more but probably not tbh. if you’re still here and reading, i love you and also highly question why you’re so dedicated. not that i mind, i truly appreciate it, but still.

also, this is female!reader because i had so much trouble writing this in a gender-neutral manner. if you want a gender-neutral/male!reader version, let me know and i’ll do my best!

Always cordial and polite, not just with you but anyone he comes across

So many of the guards tend to have this air of superiority, talking down to those that aren’t within their ranks or of a higher status, but Johnny has the same level of manners for the elderly shopkeeper in town as he does for you, the crown princess of the country

Not only that, he’s also extremely attentive to your needs, even the ones that he isn’t necessarily responsible for

He always has a bag with first-aid supplies, snacks, water, and even portable chargers and a Game-Boy somewhere within reach

And he’s always willing to have a conversation with you, listen to your concerns and worries and sorrows

You actually came to know Johnny when he was guarding your brother, a seven year old who was incredibly funny and also insanely gross

After your brother turned ten he was sent off to a private school with their own security teams, so Johnny was moved over to you

You loved being around him; his positivity and kindness could melt even the toughest of moods, something your mother had noticed when she was looking for his new assignment

You remember when she called Johnny to the throne room; he’d still been just barely an adult then, looking young and boyish in armor slightly too big for him He had bowed deeply to her, so much that the weight of the heavy metal chainmail nearly tipped him over, and she smiled back as she informed him that he was being removed from his position with your brother, that he would now be tasked with being in your guard. He had given her a nod and an “as you wish” that was almost too wavering with forced professionalism before turning to you with a nervous little grin, asking what you needed of him in a way that had melted your heart.

Over time, the two of you had grown into a rhythm; you would walk the gardens in the morning, him following like a shadow as you chatted with the gardeners and groundskeepers. After that you would tend to your schoolwork, and then the minor royal duties you were given after you’d finished your education, occasionally letting him distract you with stories of the younger guards’ antics as you tried to pass time until dinner, and then at the end of the day you would always sit and talk together about the country.

Even when you were young, you were always looking to improve the life of the commoners of the land, and given his background, Johnny was much more connected to them than you could ever be. He had influenced policies you’d drafted on education, social welfare programs, and even some of your first quality-of-life recommendations like repairing historical sites and landmarks in the smaller villages of the country, such as the town he had visited often as a child. You were beloved in your country, and had become lauded as the “princess of the people,” always pushing for your constituents to be represented and thought of at every turn, but you always made sure that Johnny knew that you couldn’t do any of it without him by your side.

However, those outside of your borders tended to see you as much less kind and gentle, but rather stubborn and almost bitchy. You wouldn’t let your country’s people be used or walked over, refusing to give in to the demands of others that saw you as small and weak and risk your citizens’ wellbeing in the process. You sat in meeting with lawmakers, voice steady as you refused to even consider letting your constituents have their taxes raised in the name of increasing their own salaries, clashed with conglomerates that wanted you to turn a blind eye to pollution and mistreatment of their workers, even going as far as pressuring officials into dissolving royal contracts with major companies that relied on unfair practices, and you had even notably walked out of a meeting with a royal from another family after they had insinuated that perhaps you had let your public persona blind you to what was truly good for your country (in this case, letting their country use your resources without regard to the needs of the the common folk of yours).

Some other players in larger, wealthier countries had even decided that you were too much of an inconvenience, made too much noise, and wanted to eliminate you from your country’s line of succession by any means necessary. Because of this you had come to be assigned more guards over time, generally keeping a rotating team that you had jokingly nicknamed the 127 Squad because they seemed to have an endless supply of members. Some members like Ten, or Lucas rotated in during special occasions like state visits, and you occasionally had a knight-in-training such as the quiet Renjun or the child-like Jeno in addition to the usual two or three full-time guards.

There were eight other consistent members that you had come to be familiar with, though; Haechan was loud and boisterous in a manner quite similar to your brother, while his best friend Mark was quiet, shy, and a little nervous with a sword despite all of his experience. Taeyong, Taeil, and Doyoung treated you like their child in different ways, and Jungwoo was dreamy and often in his own head (although you weren’t sure if maybe that was just a facade, since he was one of the first to act if you felt in danger). Your favorite story was how poor Jaehyun and Yuta had been banned from attending public events after they went unintentionally viral for their handsome looks during a press conference about a new retirement plan you had orchestrated.

Johnny was always the constant, though; he was at every event, every meeting, always directly to your right in a manner that had started more than one rumor about your professional relationship and how it was more than just professional after all. And as much as you would never admit it, you hated the rumors because of their semi-truth; sure, you weren’t in a relationship, but it’s not like you would be opposed to that at all.

He was just as kind and funny as ever, but more mature and elegant now; he would help you out of your car even if there was a chauffer that was supposed to fill that role, lift children on his shoulders during your usual visits to local schools and smile with pride as they giggled and screamed. He would even sit next to you and run his hand between your shoulder blades when you had panic attacks about whether you were really fit to lead the country, reassuring you that your people loved you for a reason; not to mention that he had become very attractive over time; the boyish smiles were now replaced with kind grins, his armor now fit him like a glove, and every time he sowed the protective nature that he had developed toward you, you would swoon a little on the inside.

But there were strict rules about romance between royals and staff, if anyone found out that you even had a crush on him he would be moved out of your team and possibly out of your family entirely, which you couldn’t stand the idea of. So you kept your mouth shut, never letting your inhibitions take over you when he called your name with a kindness that made your knees weak, or when he would step in front of you in a protective manner at a rare threat made directly to your face. You had done well with it too, up until you had gone on your first state visit to another country without your parents or any other major officials.

You had been sent out to visit a country run by a set of princes almost double your age, with nobody but five members of your guard (Taeyong, Doyoung, Mark, Jaehyun, Ten, and of course Johnny) alongside you. The men were all openly uncomfortable with your presence at times; sometimes this was shown by you being excluded from conversations about “grown-up matters that didn’t concern you,” as you had once overheard the crown prince Leeteuk commenting, to even pressuring you with questions and comments that were bizarre at best and outright offensive at worst. You had tried to brush it off, since the visit was less than a week and very important, but it was hard to do so when you felt like you were having the life sucked out of you.

It wasn’t until the last day when you had finally had enough; Leeteuk had sat across from you, flanked by all of his fellow princes, and pushed a document that looked way too official to be presented in such a way to your side of the table with an expectant glare.

“What is this?”

“It’s the resolution that we’ve all been working on this week, I expect you to sign it for us now.”

“I’m sorry, I won’t sign something unless I know its contents. If you give me some time to look over it, I’d be happy to come back with my concerns and a signature if I feel it’s mutually beneficial.”

“I’m sorry?”

One of the other princes, Shindong, looked down at you with a glance of something resembling anger, and you could almost hear Johnny and Taeyong tensing at your sides, preparing to step in should the princes show signs of being a threat to your well-being.

“I mean, you say that it’s the resolution we’ve been working on, but I’ve been constantly shuttered out of any meaningful conversation about this legislature since I arrived. I don’t know what’s been done in front of me, let alone without me present, and by signing it I could be agreeing to any number of measures I don’t agree with or understand. I will not sign this unless I am given an adequate chance to look over it and bring my own concerns forward as a representative of my country.”

“See, I don’t think you understand how this works. You are in our country, under our roof, and we fully expect you to comply with our expectations while here. So you will sign this document.”

“Or what?”

You straightened yourself out, glaring daggers at the youngest prince (Kyuhyun, you believe) that had been so demanding to you. You could feel Johnny resting a hand on your shoulder, reassuring but warning, as Taeyong stepped out to certainly inform the other guards of the situation and have them start collecting your things to go home.

“If you force me to sign it, I and my guards will both bring the manner forward publicly that it was signed under duress. Any measure that you believe you could take to force me, such as physical punishment or holding me hostage, is an act of war by your government against a foreign diplomat on your soil and will be treated as such. I will not be threatened, forced, or coerced into giving my consent in a matter I do not understand, and the idea that I would do such a thing is actively preposterous at best and offensive at worst. So if you don’t mind, I will be leaving your country at the earliest opportunity, since it’s clear that you have no intent of cooperating with me and I will not stay in a place where I feel unwelcome and endangered. If this is an issue, please feel free to take it up with my guards or any citizen of my country, who will happily inform you of my stance on public policy that would affect them.”

You stood to leave, and Siwon matched your movement, grabbing your wrist with such force that you audibly hissed.

“Little girl, this is no business for you to be fighting against. Sign the papers and then you can go whenever you please.”

“My princess has stated that she intends to leave,” you were surprised by Johnny, stepping forward, forcing Siwon’s hand off of you before carefully pushing you behind him with one arm to shelter you from the men in front of you, “and as far as I am concerned, she gets what she wants when it’s her well-being at risk. Please stand down and allow her to leave, since we mean no harm. I’m sure that if this legislature is as important as you state it to be that she would need to blindly sign onto it, the king and queen would happily do instead, so I implore you to speak to them about the matter.”

Johnny walked you out, a hand around your waist with a stern expression as he kept looking back to the room of bewildered and infuriated princes. It wasn’t until he had accompanied you back to your room, firmly shutting and locking the door behind him, that he let the cold demeanor slip away. He asked how you were, a nervous expression on his face at the situation you had found yourselves in.

“I just...I want to go home. I want to go home and rest, and be with my family and friends again. I don’t feel safe here.”

He nodded solemnly, fingers dancing across your wrist as he lifted it to the level of your chest, scowling at the already-deepening purples and yellows where you’d been held.

“I’m sorry, I should have stepped in sooner.”

“You did everything right. You tried to let me handle it, and protected me when I couldn’t do it anymore.”

You leaned into his touch, and he seemed almost surprised as you let yourself fall completely into his arms, barely catching you. He held you upright for a moment, only pulling back when he noticed that you had started to cry.

“Princess...”

“Please, call me by my name. We’re friends, you deserve that much.”

He did so, gently taking you back into his grasp and reassuring you with a gentle swaying as you awaited the word of Taeyong that you could leave.

“I’m sorry, I can’t keep doing this anymore.”

He pulled back, concern and worry apparent in his expression at your bizarre change in tone.

“Can’t do what?”

“I..look, I love you. Not as my guard, not as my friend, but in a way that’s so much more than that. And I’ve been so scared to tell you because I knew it could get you taken from me, but you deserve to know. You’ve been nothing but kind and wonderful and hell, you’re perfect, but I can’t keep standing here, falling in love a little more every time you so much as look at me without telling you about it.”

He looked confused for a moment, but surprised you with a large, almost goofy smile that reminded you of your younger days with him.

“Don’t act like that, like it’s the end of it. I know it’s not allowed, just as much as you do, but I love you too and I’ve wanted to tell you forever.”

You laughed, almost bitter with the threat of separation between you two.

“How is it not the end of it?”

“I...I’ve been talking with your mother about...us. About how I feel. She’s going to remove me from the guard altogether, and I was going to move into an advising role for you where I’d be able to ask you out. I was planning on telling you after we returned form the visit, since it was only finalized after we arrived, but then...”

It took a moment to register what he had said, but as soon as it had clicked you threw your arms around him with an almost childlike excitement.

“I’ll be here for you until you don’t want me anymore, okay? I promise. Me and you, just like it’s been since you were sixteen.”

The words were gentle, kind, and you couldn’t help but relax at the truthfulness he carried in his tone. You wanted to stay like this forever, but it was all too soon that there was a knock on the door as Taeyong informed you that your car was waiting out front and the princes had finally agreed to stand down and let you leave in peace. You took a moment to collect yourself before heading to the door, and Johnny gave your hand a reassuring squeeze before opening it.

“Would you like me to ride with you today, your highness?”

“Actually, if it’s okay, I’d rather have Johnny with me. I’ve been under a lot of stress during this trip, and I find him rather comforting to have around.”

He stifled a laugh behind his hand, and you couldn’t help but grin at the almost knowing glance Taeyong spared you. You walked past the princes in uncomfortable silence, only sparing a small bow before you stepped into your car, Johnny following and moving to sit next to you as the door closed.

“So, we’ve got six hours until we’re back in our kingdom, do you want to play Super Mario Land or something?”

You burst out laughing, head falling back against his shoulder as you gave him a small nod through the rhythm of your breathing. He smiled as he gave you the old lime Game Boy, shifting to move an arm around you so he could watch you play, and you couldn’t help but notice how this felt just like home.

#johnny seo imagine #johnny seo fluff #nct johnny fluff #nct johnny imagine #not to lowkey villainize suju but i needed a villain for this and google picked them so

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2seokfan · 4 years

Text

Scarlet & Hazel | Ch. 3

pairings: hoseok x reader x yoongi

genre: fluff, very light angst, smut (future)

word count: 6k

chapters: ch.1, ch.2, ch.3. ch.4

summary:

Just cause you’re living paycheck to paycheck in a tiny apartment even after graduating college doesn’t mean you’re not happy. So what if your best friend is working her dream job making close to six figures every year? So what if she’s in a loving, committed relationship with her perfect boyfriend that you’re 99% sure is going to propose to her sometime next year? It doesn’t matter that your idea of a perfect relationship is a $9.99 bottle of wine on Friday nights while you binge watch Netflix specials.

Ok so maybe you’re a teensy bit miserable. Maybe you have no idea what you’re doing with your life. Maybe all you need to do is accidentally cross paths with two hybrids who will drastically change that.

Meet “Scarlet” and “Hazel”, two of the most gorgeous hybrid men you have ever laid eyes on. With their help, you learn that life is an adventure, a roller-coaster with ups and downs, and you were too preoccupied with yourself to climb out of your own predicament. And hey, you’re not much of a romantic, but with these two, you just might change your mind.

a/n: Hello, Jun here! Whew this took a while to write but thank you for your patience!! (poor Y/N still doesn’t know their real names but maybe she’ll find out soon?) Any feedback is appreciated <3

tag list: @wilhelminalucinda @ghostkat23 @ayoo-bangtan @sadgurllayha

2 months later.

August is relentless. You’re sweaty all the time and you have no choice but the crank up the a/c every single day. This heat wave is incredibly brutal because all you want to do is stay at home eating ice cream in your underwear but instead you’re stuck working overtime to pay for what you assume will be a record-high electricity bill. Fuck you global warming.

It’s currently Tuesday. You’re on lunch break at work, chowing down on a falafel wrap and scrolling through your phone, when a text pops up from Karli.

Karli: Don’t forget!

You: ???

Karli: This friday?

You scratch your head. Wtf?

You: What’s on friday?

Karli: Umm the date? Remember?

No you didn’t. Your dumbass actually forgot about a whole date. You can’t believe yourself. Karli finally set you up with that accountant guy from her job. What’s his name again? Brad? Brandon?

You: oh yeah! my bad haha

Karli: You forgot his name didn’t you?

You: …maybe

Karli: Lol it’s Bryce sweetie

Karli: He’s really sweet! Just give it a shot

You: of course i will

You: i’ll turn up my maximum charm

Karli: Dats my girlllll

Karli: Ugh gtg it’s my boss

Karli: Bye!

You: bye babe

You set your phone down, trying to envision this upcoming Friday. Karli mentioned she gave Bryce your phone number, and he’ll text you sometime this week about your date, so at least you don’t have to make any moves first. She did show you his picture though, being the wingman that she is by stalking all his social media just for you. You’ve gotta admit he is cute, the profile picture showed him sporting a casual smile, with blonde hair and blue eyes. The classic boy-next-door look.

“And he’s most likely not a serial killer!” You remember her declaring a few weeks ago, after scrolling through all his tweets. And when you say all his tweets you mean EVERY Single tweet from when he created his account in high school till now. Your best friend does not fuck around.

“Thanks I appreciate that. Glad he’ll ‘most likely’ not kill me.” You rolled your eyes and grinned at her.

While you munch away the rest of your lunch, you think about how you just aren’t acting like yourself lately. In any other circumstance, you would’ve found yourself more excited for the date. Hell, in any other circumstance you would’ve at LEAst remembered his name, or thought about what to wear by now, or even stalked his social media along with Karli. There’s just a teensy problem though. See, in the past few months you happen to have met two boys who completely changed your standards in men. And you may have maybe developed the tiniest crush on both of them, at the same time. Like how?? You didn’t think you were physically capable of doing that?

You sigh, staring at the rest of your falafel wrap, and force yourself to accept reality. As much as you adore them, you know that your little crush will be completely unreciprocated. This you found out through your group chat, now named ‘Hazel’s Nuts’ (courtesy of Scarlet). It’s not that you confessed to them or anything, they just happened to let slip to you one day that they’re a mated pair. And hybrids mate for life, so they take that shit very seriously. Although this news stung a little, it didn’t cause you to be envious in any way. At the end of the day, crush or not, you’re just glad you have two more people in your life you can confidently call your close friends.

For the past two months you’ve actively kept up with them. Sometimes you’ll send memes back and forth all night, sometimes you’ll group call each other after work. Every once in a while, when they’re not busy doing whatever it is they’re doing, they facetime you. These are your favorite moments because you get to see them in all their attractive glory. Just because they don’t like you that way doesn’t mean a girl can’t deny herself some eye candy.

You guys never run out of things to talk about. Each day you check the group chat and it’ll be popping. Your topics range from the movie that just came out, restaurants they discovered, to even discussing new criminal cases (you got Hazel into watching true crime Youtube videos and now he’s entirely hooked). Sometimes you just sit back and watch the two boys bicker back and forth. It’s hysterical how they decide to argue through text since you’re sure both of them are probably in the same room together, but you appreciate them keeping you in the loop.

At this point they’ve already virtually met Karli. She’s been in the background of one or two of your facetimes. You’re glad she approves of them instantly and you wonder if it has a little something to do with their, especially Scarlet’s, boyish charms. She does keep you grounded though, never failing to mention how it’s suspicious that you don’t know their real names yet.

“I don’t think they mean any harm and they seem genuinely nice,” she had reassured, “But you gotta admit not telling you their names is a little sketch.”

You just shrugged. “They have their reasons.”

Internally you do believe she has a point. Even though you don’t want to force information out of the boys, you’re a naturally curious person. Your mind has already compiled a list of all the unusual facts you’ve discovered about them.

A couple of things have become clear to you over the span of the last few months. The most important fact is that although they share tons of content with you, you still have no idea what they do for a living. You’re also 90% sure they don’t have an owner since there’s never anyone else around them. Another, more interesting fact is that you suspect they’re actually pretty wealthy. Every time you facetime, they’re in some sort of lavish looking hotel penthouse, with fancy furniture and artwork hanging in the background. They also dress designer, occasionally flashing their Balenciaga hats, or little Gucci necklaces, or other fancy logos your peasant-ass is unfamiliar with. You actually googled one of Hazel’s t-shirts from your most recent facetime, having no idea what the FG logo stood for. You remember your eyes bulging out of your head after discovering his plain white shirt with two black letters cost more than $200. TWO HUNDred dollars?!!! Do you know how much food and gas you could buy with $200? Why in the fuck would he spend that much on a shirt??

If only you knew how much their watches cost.

Friday rolls around faster than you can blink and before you know it, you’re rushing home from work to get ready. Bryce texted you for the first time on Wednesday to see if you wanted sushi (hell yeah you did) and you were fortunate enough to notify your boss so you could be let out early. You’ve been such a work horse the last few months that they had no choice but to let you leave in advance.

So far Bryce seems nice enough but you can’t get a proper gauge of his character through text. Oh well, guess you’ll find out tonight.

The sushi place you’re meeting at is on the fancier side, and includes a bar. Knowing yourself, if there’s a bar, there’s no car, which means you won’t be driving. The last thing you want is to leave your car parked somewhere sketchy overnight cause you accidentally got too tipsy to drive. You like to think you have some semblance of control but it’s always better to be safe than sorry.

You were let out at 4, which means you have only 2 hours to get ready. As soon as you get home you sprint to your closet at lightning speed. You rummage through your drawers, hoping to find something, ANYthing, that’s appropriate for this occasion. For one quick second, your eyes dart to your forbidden drawer, aka the ho drawer. It contains the remains of your slutty party dresses and tops from college. Being the hoarder that you are, you never like throwing away things, even if you have no need for them anymore. Wait, what the hell am I thinking? You snap your eyes back to the rest of your closet. You’re going for sushi, not to dance at some club. Besides, you have no intention of sleeping with anyone tonight.

After an hour of deciding on a suitable outfit you finally start on your makeup. Your work makeup has dried up, and now feels gross and cakey on your face, so you remove it all and start anew. At least you had the decency to shower this morning so your hair isn’t too gross.

The place is around a 10 minute Uber ride away but you took your sweet ass time getting ready so now you’re in a frenzy. When your phone buzzes, signaling your driver is here, you swipe on some lipstick last minute, grab some chunky heels, and practically fly out the door.

You stare out the window of your ride, wondering why you’re lowkey wishing you could spend Friday night at home watching tv instead, or even just spending the evening facetiming two hot hybrids. This all feels a little too rushed. But no, you shake your head and attempt to hype yourself up. C’mon Y/N this is the first real date you’ve been on in ages. At least TRy and be a little more motivated.

The car pulls up and you thank the driver, stepping out into the warm night air. August is still hot, even in the evenings, and you’re glad you didn’t bring a cardigan. Bryce has already texted you, letting you know he was inside, sitting at your reserved spot. You take a deep breath. Ok, time to put on your game face. You strut in, trying your very best to push the faces of two very good-looking friends out of your mind.

You spot Bryce in a corner, head buried in his phone, his wavy blonde hair not easy to miss. You slide in the seat across from him, prompting him to quickly look up and flash you an easygoing smile.

“Hello there!”

“Hi!” You chuckle nervously. “I hope I’m not too late.”

“Not all all!” He slides his phone back in his pocket, smile still on his face. “You’re just in time.”

A waiter comes by and you both take your orders. You make sure to order a drink because you have a feeling you’ll need the liquid courage to strike up more conversation. Maybe some sake will help ease you.

The first couple minutes are kinda awkward, not gonna lie. Bryce tries to get you to talk about work and you do answer him, but honestly work is the last thing you want to discuss right now. You try to shift the conversation to his job, but that only ends up being worse as he quickly launches into the ins and outs of life as an accountant. Maybe your two hybrids friends have spoiled you because you barely remember the last time you had to fill empty space with small talk.

When the food comes you quietly sigh a breath of relief, hoping the sushi in front of you will help you both get settled and give you time to think of more interesting topics to talk about.

“So,” you wrack your brain, “let’s get to know each other more! Like, what’s your favorite ice cream flavor?” That’s got to be a safe enough question.

“Hm, I’m actually more of a yogurt kinda guy, ice cream’s not really my thing.”

You freeze, California roll halfway to your mouth. Ok, ok, cool, cool. So he doesn’t like ice cream, that’s fine. You sweat a little. Hurry Y/N think of something else to ask.

“Yeah, I guess that’s not everybody’s thing.” You grimace. “Then what about, i don’t know, cookies? What’s your favorite kinda cookie?”

“Actually I prefer crackers, you know, like the saltine ones? Cookies can be too sweet sometimes.” He’s devouring his dragon roll, not noticing the panic in your eyes. He’s caught you off guard twice today.

This isn’t going well and you’re genuinely surprised because you know Karli has done her research, certain that you two would get along. Guess life really likes to throw you some curveballs.

Who the fuck prefers crackers over cookies anyway?? Ok. Code red! Change the fucking subject before the silence becomes unbearable. Your dessert-related ice breakers had never failed you before but there’s always a first for everything, you guess.

You take a generous swig of sake. “Right, crackers are... good.” You’re mumbling at this point. “Ok, um, what about hobbies? Got any?” Please throw me a fucking bone here! Your mind is reeling but externally you try to act calm and composed, dabbing at the corner or you mouth delicately with a napkin.

“Oh yeah!” His face lights up. Oh thank god. “Do you like football? Me and my buddies at the office sorta formed this team, and we play against other departments. It’s really fun! You should come by and watch sometime!”

“Uh, sure!” Football. Huh. The last time you were anywhere near a football was when you met someone from your college team at a bar. Well he wasn’t holding a football per se, but that counts right? You only remember how much of a douche he was, trying to hit on one of the girls from your group after getting entirely too wasted.

“Awesome! I’ll hit you up when the next game is set!” It’s almost impressive how he doesn’t notice all the tension emitting from your body. In fact, you have a feeling he’s actually enjoying himself and your company.

The rest of the dinner goes by in the same manner. With him happily answering all your questions and you slowly discovering just how little you both have in common.

He is a gentleman though, that you can’t deny. When all the food has been cleared away he immediately swoops in to pay the bill, ignoring your insistence at paying for your half at least. He really isn’t a bad person, just the opposite. Besides your difference in interests, he is a sweet guy overall, and you do find him to be physically attractive. There’s just no spark, no silver lining that keeps you wanting more. When you both get out of your seats he offers to drive you back to your place but you politely decline. You say it’s because you don’t want to trouble him but in reality you need space for yourself to think.

As soon as you arrive home you take off your shoes and plop yourself down on the couch, running your hands through your hair. You check your phone, a few notifications from ‘Hazel’s Nuts’ popping up.

Scarlet: Do you think she’s done with her date yet??

Hazel: Hey Y/N how was it?

You had told them about this date beforehand and they were excited to root for you, which did bruise your ego a bit since it reaffirmed your unreturned attraction to them, but also prompted you to go through with it. This last notification was from 45 minutes ago but you couldn’t reply since you were still at dinner.

You: hi I just got back!

You don’t expect them to respond right away but to your surprise:

Scarlet: And???

You: it was meh

Hazel: That bad huh?

You: no nothing like that!

You: he’s really cute and all, it’s just we basically have nothing in common

Scarlet: Aww poor Y/N (sad emojis)

Hazel: Hey happens to the best of us

Hazel: Actually I wouldn’t know cause I’ve only been with fox boy

You: thanks anyway, i appreciate it Hazel

Maybe it’s cause you’re a little tipsy, or maybe you just feel so open and vulnerable around them tonight, but the next text you send is especially honest.

You: ughhh idk guys i’m just so lonely!!! why can’t things just work out for me for once! Like the first real date I go on in years and this happens :(

They don’t respond for a long time. So long in fact you start to get worried that you exposed too much about yourself.

15 minutes pass by but to you it feels like hours. You’ve already removed all your makeup and changed into your pajama shirt. You relocate to your bed, checking your phone again, thinking of a way to play off your last text as a joke when:

Hazel: If you’re so lonely maybe you could adopt?

You grin to yourself, glad that they’re not being judgmental. Their concern for you resets your mood.

You: ha ha you know my apartment doesn’t allow pets

You: but honestly if i could i would, cause i’d definitely get a little kitty

Hazel: I’m flattered

You: thanks but i meant a real cat

Hazel: Either way i’m flattered

Scarlet: HEY what about foxes??

You: pretty sure owning a pet fox is illegal here Scar

Scarlet: (angry emojis)

Hazel: You heard what the lady said

You: anyways i’m going to bed

You: thanks for making me feel better guys <3

Hazel: Anytime

Scarlet: But hypothetically if foxes weren’t illegal you’d get a pet fox right??

You: of course i would sweetie

Scarlet: (happy emojis)

Scarlet: Yay!!! Goodnight Y/N!

Hazel: Night Y/N

You: night boys

You wake up next morning on your own time, checking your phone to see that you slept in till 11am. Wow, you haven’t slept that well in a while. Maybe it’s the stress from the previous weeks of non stop working, or the pressure to maintain your composure last night, but either way you knocked out like a rock. You sit up, lean back, and stretch your arms as far as they can go.

Today you’re meeting Karli at her place up north. She couldn’t ask you about last night since she was occupied, her seven year anniversary with her boyfriend Sunny coinciding with your date. But she assured you a couple days ago over facetime that today was going to be a girl’s day, no boyfriend included.

“Hey!” Sunny had popped out of nowhere in the video when he heard the news, a look of mock shock on his face. “I live here too! So what, you're just gonna kick me out of the house and leave me on the streets to starve?”

“My god stop being dramatic!” Karli had shoved him playfully off the screen. “I need girl time with Y/N and it’s not girl time if you’re in the house.”

“I can be one of the girls! Right Y/N?” He sounded betrayed.

“I know you can but I’m not the one who makes the rules.” You pointed out.

He sighed. “You got me there.”

Since you’re just spending time at Karli’s and getting takeout, you felt zero need to dress up. You washed your face, threw on an oversized t-shirt some old hookup left at your place (hey it was cute) and some tights, and tied your hair out of your face. This entire process took less than 30 minutes and next thing you know you’re ready to head out.

You sent Karli a quick text, letting her know you’re on the way. You grab a bottle of prosecco, your purse, and keys, saying a quick goodbye to your roommate Ayah on your way out. She gives you a small wave, reminding you that she, yet again, has to leave today for a whole week. You backtrack to give her a quick goodbye hug, telling her to drive safe, before you take off.

Karli’s place isn’t as far as the beach coffeehouse you frequent, but it’s still located in the wealthier side of town. The drive lasts a good 20 minutes but it feels a lot faster since you spend the whole time singing along to your favorite songs.

You pull up to Karli’s apartment complex, driving yourself to the guest parking space. Her apartment building is pretty tall, with a distant, but gorgeous view of the beach.

Karli squeals when she opens the door, immediately giving you a big hug. When you break apart you hold up the bottle of prosecco in your hand, waving it in front of her face.

“I know you have the ingredients here so let’s make some spritz!”

“Yay!”

Aperol spritz is your favorite at-home drink to make with Karli. She had gone on a short trip to Italy in the summer between her two years at grad school and tried the drink there, completely falling in love. She googled the recipe, made it for you one day, you had said “Oh FUck that’s good!”, and the rest is history.

She grabs the bottle and quickly relocates it to her kitchen. Her energy levels are sky high today and you wonder what’s got her so elated. She’s skipping everywhere she goes, there’s a permanent smile etched on her face, and she’s humming non stop as she pulls you away from the front entrance.

Sunny emerges from the hallway, two hands in the air in surrender.

“I’m heading out, I swear!”

Sunny is a big teddy bear of a man, with tattoos splayed across his arms and a well-kept beard. There’s a term you learned online called ‘lumbersexual’ and that’s exactly the word to describe Sunny. He almost reminds you of Jason Momoa, the actor who played Aquaman. Those who just meet him think he looks intimidating at first but once you get past his height and size, you see just how much of a softie he is. He’s also extremely intelligent, working somewhere in the computer industry developing software.

Karli bounds over to him and gives him a big snuggly hug and tiptoes all the way up to give a quick kiss to his lips.

“Have fun babe! Love you!”

“Love you too! Also bye Y/N!”

“Bye Sunny have fun!” You smile as he treads out the door.

You both head to the kitchen and start making your drinks.

“Aren’t you extra chipper today!” You mention as you pour a splash of club soda into your glass.

“Am I?” She doesn’t look at you, wearing a mysterious grin, stirring her mixture with a straw.

After you both finish making your drinks, you head to her living room and settle onto her plush sofa.

Karli yawns, almost too dramatically, covering her left hand over her mouth. You quirk your eyebrow at her, wondering why she’s acting so weird until you spot it. There’s something large, something shiny, on her left ring finger.

“Oh my god….” Your entire mouth hangs open. “Oh my GOD!!! Is THAT…?”

“Yep!”

“Did HE -?”

“Yep!!”

“AND YOU - ?

“YEP I DID!!”

“YOU’RE ENGAGED?!?!?!”

“I KNOW!!!!”

What happens after is a shriek rivaling that of a pterodactyl taking flight after spotting prey, except the sound is just the two of you screaming and jumping up and down in Karli’s living room.

You bring her into a tight hug, so emotional that you’re about to tear up. And you’re not one to cry that easily.

“I’m so happy for you!” You pull apart and wipe a stray tear from your cheek.

“Thank you! I’m so happy too!” Her smile is also a little watery. “Like I knew he was gonna do it soon since we’ve been together so long but I’m still shocked you know?”

“I know!”

“And I’m sorry. Today was supposed to be me asking about your date last night.” She dabs at her eyes. “Bryce really likes you too. He even texted me thanking me for introducing you!!”

“Oh shit...” You take this chance to drink your Aperol spritz. “I’m gonna be completely honest with you. It’s true he’s cute but there was no spark.” You give her an apologetic grin, knowing she really wanted this to work out for you. “Like don’t get me wrong he’s super nice and stuff but I just couldn’t find anything we have in common. I can’t believe he’s still into me?!”

“Aw I’m sorry babe.” She pouts. “I really did think you would be a good match.”

“It’s ok. Anyways,” you wave her off, bringing up the more important subject at hand. “I’d much rather talk about your engagement! Like, hello?? You’re getting married, girl!!

Another squeal. You really hope her neighbors don’t complain.

“I know!! I literally don’t know what to think!” She smiles wistfully, like she’s on cloud nine, then brings her attention back to you. “Also you’re the maid of honor and you can’t back out of that.”

“I would never!” You gasp dramatically, one hand clutching your chest.

“But don’t worry!” She sets her drink down. “The wedding’s not happening till next year at least. We don’t have to start planning till way later.”

The rest of the day you spend chatting to Karli, prompting her to spill every single detail about the proposal. Even though you have no need to help her plan a wedding just yet, you can’t hold back from offering some ideas that spring to mind.

“I got it!!” You shout.

“You got what?”

“Hear me out,” you may or may not be a little tipsy at this point. “Goth wedding!” You say with jazz hands. Then you reach down to take another sip of your drink.

“Hmm…” She pretends to think about the idea, then giggles. “And that’s enough prosecco for you.” Plucking the glass out of your hand, she transfers it to her kitchen sink.

A couple more hours roll by. You both decide to watch a cheesy Netflix horror movie to sober up, paired with the Mexican takeout you ordered. By the time the credits roll, the sun has long since set, along with your alcohol buzz. You check the time on your phone, deciding it’s best to head home since poor Sunny has been respectfully out and about all day, giving you your girl time.

You give Karli one last big hug, murmuring into her hair how happy you are for her situation. She walks you to the apartment elevator, where you proceed to blow her a swift kiss right before the doors close in your face.

Reality sets in the moment you’re alone. Your head swims with thoughts as you drive back. Most of them are happy about your best friend’s engagement but you can’t discount the little ugly bubble of jealousy that wells down deep in your gut, reminding you of your own current situation. It’s not until you reach home that you realize you didn’t even play music in the car.

Ayah has long since gone on her business trip by the time you arrive at your apartment. The whole place looks dark and unwelcome, only highlighting the emptiness you feel inside. You trudge to your room and slump onto your bed. You try to scroll through social media as a way to distract yourself but you’re met, instead, by all the pictures and posts of happy people, showing off their achievements or bragging about their seemingly perfect lives.

You immediately lock your phone and throw it onto the blanket, the stress and anxiety from the last few months building to a boiling point in your mind. Your biggest concern is you still haven’t figured out your lease situation, and you only have two more months to move out or find someone new. Ayah has tried her best to help you but she’s bombarded by business trips so no luck so far. You let out a small groan and bury your head in the pillow, deciding to sleep it off and worry about your problems tomorrow, even though it’s not even that late.

Right as you’re about to drift off into dreamland, your phone rings. You fumble around the covers until it’s in your hands and check that you have a facetime call from your two favorite boys.

Immediately your body jerks awake and you sit up, swiping the answer button.

“Hey guys!”

“Hi Y/N!!” Scarlet’s heart-shaped smile is taking up most of the screen but you can see a sliver of white and grey hair behind him.

Hazel elbows him out of the way. “Sorry were you sleeping?” He tilts his head, ears twitching. “Wait, it’s only 10 pm where you’re at. You never sleep this early.”

“No I wasn’t... I mean, yeah I was trying to sleep but…”

You sigh. It’s their faces. Just seeing them through a screen, their wide, innocent eyes blinking up at you, makes you want to spill everything.

You nibble on your bottom lip for a moment. “I was just kinda having an existential crisis so I decided to sleep it off. No biggie.”

Scarlet’s eyebrows furrow in concern. After only two months, he can already tell when something is off with your tone of voice.

“Y/N what’s wrong?” He looks up for a bit, pausing to think. “Was it the date last night?”

“The date?” Oh yeah the date. Yet another thing that didn’t go well. You totally forgot about that can of worms. “Not really… or actually kinda?”

You try to reorganize your jumbled mess of a brain and put your thoughts into words.

“So you know how I said I was going to Karli’s today?”

“Mhm,” they nod at you to continue.

“Well turns out she got engaged last night.”

“That’s awesome! I’m so happy for her!” Scarlet bounces a little, then quickly returns to a more serious tone. “But that doesn’t really answer my question.”

“Yeah I’m happy for her too.” And you genuinely are.

You pause for another moment, teetering on the edge of playing your emotions off like it’s no big deal or exposing all of your concerns yet again. Your need for an outlet to vent to wins in the end. For the first time you find yourself unable to confide in Karli because you want her to be happy and focus on the engagement rather than to be preoccupied with you. Before you know it, the words flow from your mouth like running water.

“It’s just that her announcement really brought me back to earth, and I started thinking a little too much about my own life.” You purse your lips. “I don’t know… I feel pretty selfish right now because she’s doing so well and I just can’t help comparing my life to hers. I’m so proud of her but it’s like everything in her life is coming together and I just want that for me also.” You throw your hands up in frustration, almost knocking the phone off from where it leans on your pillow. “I mean we’re the same age for god's sake! Why can’t I get my shit together??”

“Well you should be proud of yourself though,” Hazel cuts in. “Cause we are.” He gestures to Scarlet and himself.

“Yeah!” Scarlet chimes. “I mean you’ve got a full time job and a place to stay. I know you don’t feel like it’s the most ideal situation right now but please don’t discredit yourself.”

“Thanks guys.” You calm down a bit, but then you remember the whole issue with your apartment. Scratching the back of your neck, a habit you’ve picked up whenever you’re nervous, you say in a much smaller voice, “although my ‘place to stay’ might not last much longer.”

“What do you mean?” Both boys’ eyebrows are raised in confusion.

You realize you never mentioned your living situation to them, the topic always pushed to the back of your mind whenever they initiated conversation.

“Yeah.” A dry chuckle leaves your lips. “My lease ends soon and Ayah wants to move to a place of her own. And I have two months to figure out where to live or find another roommate.” You let out a frustrated huff. “She’s been so helpful but still no luck I guess.” You shrug in defeat.

You feel like a balloon that’s lost all its air, brain exhausted from running through all the problems in your life.

“Actually that’s pretty convenient for- ” Scarlet starts, but is elbowed again in the ribs by Hazel. “Ow!”

“Not yet!” The cat hisses quietly to him.

“Huh?” Now you’re confused. What in the world are they talking about?

Hazel turns back to you. “I’m really sorry about everything Y/N. If there’s anything we can do to help please let us know.”

“Thanks buddy.” You offer him a small smile, choosing to ignore what just happened since they clearly don’t want to reveal anything just yet.

Hazel then shifts to a more nervous stance, ears slightly flattening and both hands grabbing his floofy grey tail for comfort. It’s the cutest goddamn thing you’ve ever seen in your life.

“So Y/N, um, there’s a reason we called you tonight.”

You’re glad for a change in subject, a much needed distraction away from your downward spiraling thoughts.

“Oh right! Yeah. What’s up guys?”

Scarlet steps in front of him again, blocking most of the screen.

“We have a surprise for you!” He’s so close to the camera that you can only see half of his unblemished face but from the way his eyes crinkle, you can tell he’s giddy with anticipation.

“A surprise- ?”

“Yeah!!”

Hazel nudges himself into view again. “Quit hogging the whole screen fox! I swear to god next time we’re using the tv. I can’t see anything! Anyways,” he turns to you and smooths his shirt, expression back to stoic, “are you free next weekend?”

“I should be. Why?” You’re still a little lost on what the surprise is.

“Cause we’re coming back to town!” Scarlet blurts out.

“You are?!” Suddenly all your negativity melts away, replaced by excitement. Hard to believe just five simple words can shift your mood a complete 180°.

“But wait, there’s more!” You snort at how much Scarlet sounded like an infomercial just now.

“We’d like to invite you to dinner next Saturday night. If that’s ok with you?” Hazel isn’t as physically expressive as Scarlet but the hopeful shine in his eyes gives himself away.

You melt at his expression, heart rate speeding up. “Of course that’s ok! I’d love to!”

“Great!” He flashes one of his rare gummy smiles. “Saturday night. 7 pm. We’ll text you the details.”

“Yep!” Scarlet pipes in. “There’s something important we gotta ask- !” He lets out a small gasp, tail bristling, and clamps a hand over his mouth as if he just said something he shouldn’t have.

“What’s important?” You’ve gotta admit, your curiosity is at its peak right now, and it doesn’t help that they’re acting a little weird today.

Hazel rubs his temples in exasperation, groaning at Scarlet. “What part of ‘not yet’ did you not understand?” He then addresses you. “Sorry Y/N I promise we’ll tell you when we see you in person.”

“Ok.” Cool. That’s fine. You’re a little nervous about what they have to say and it’ll be torture to wait but you’re a big girl and you can handle not knowing for a week. “I can’t wait to see you guys!!” you added.

“Me too!” Scarlet’s personality is so bubbly and contagious that you can’t help but smile back at him.

“Same.” Hazel lets out a small yawn. “Well we’re in a different time zone than you and it’s really late here so I gotta hit the hay.”

“Mk, go get your beauty sleep.” You give them a little wave. “And thanks for everything. I mean it.”

“No problem Y/N.” Scarlet also gives off a yawn, stretching his tired limbs. “Goodnight.”

“Night.”

After ending the facetime call, you lie on your back, staring at the ceiling. Your mind is active once again, but this time it’s not clouded with self-deprecating thoughts. Instead, you spend the remainder of the evening theorizing about the ‘important’ things the boys have to tell you. Maybe you’ll finally find out their real names. Or maybe they’ll reveal something else about themselves, like why they’re constantly travelling, or what they actually do for a living. Either way you can’t wait for next Saturday to come around.

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#bts fic #bts hybrid au #hoseok fanfic #yoongi fanfic #bts smut #bts fluff #bts fanfction #hybrid hoseok #hybrid yoongi #bts hybrid fic

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diavolodigitale · 3 years

Text

Righteous Man's Choice

I just needed a way to rant about this goddamn quest that ruins the vicar’s personality, okay? I could’ve just complained somewhere in the comments but instead I chose to write a story that is 20 pages long. And you know what? It has romance in it just because. I didn’t even like Max that much, but my own fanfic changed my mind (now that I am typing it, I truly reazlize how ridiculous it sounds ).

The events in the story are happening during and after the quest "The Empty Man".

Genres: romance, Hurt/Comfort, Canon Universe, Flirting, Dialogue Heavy, Arguing, One Shot, Philosophy

Pairing: m!Captain/Vicar Max

Characters: m!Captain, vicar Max, Felix Millstone, Parvati Holcomb, Nyoka, Ellie Fenhill

Rating: M for Mexplicit language or something

Time span: SPORADIC MOVEMENT - before finding Reginald Chaney in Fallbrook ONE STEP AHEAD - still before DEVIL IN THE DETAIL - after dealing with Reginald AS THE TABLES TURN - immediately after the Vision Quest in the hermit's meditation chamber BATTLE FOR THE SUN - after you finish the quest TO ALL OF YOU - after you finish the quest

SPORADIC MOVEMENT

“Hey, Max, got a sec?” asked the captain, peeping into vicar’s room.

“Sure, captain. What is it?” said the vicar and put away the book he was perusing.

“In regards to that favor you asked of me…” began the captain awkwardly and stepped inside. “Since we’re almost done with it, I was wondering if I could ask you for a favor in return. You know, to be even.”

“Whatever is on your mind.”

“Oh, it’s nothing special, really. Just a dinner. With you.”

The vicar looked at the captain inquiringly while tapping with his fingers on the book cover.

“Am I to cook something or…?”

“Nope, don’t bother. I just wanted to spend some time together and maybe talk for a while. I like to know who I’m travelling with.”

“Quite a strange thing to ask for. Are all of your companions entitled for a dinner with you, captain?” asked Max with distrust.

“That’s actually the first time it crossed my mind. Consider yourself special,” mysteriously answered the captain of the Unreliable and smiled.

“Let me get this straight, I don’t want any misunderstandings to occur between us. I… am not interested in you, captain. In that way. Does that influence your decision?” said the vicar, remaining composed and calm.

“Not in the slightest. Frankly speaking, I feel like you’re not interested in any human beings, so I can’t say I didn’t expect this. Guess the cloth of yours gets in the way.”

“Your view of religion is quite obsolete. Having relationships has nothing to do with fulfilling the purpose the Grand Architect bestowed upon me. In other words, I can, I just don’t want to.”

“Well then, now I’m intrigued. My offer still stands, and I’ll be seeing you at seven.”

“Then it is set, it seems.”

“I expect you to know where my quarters are.”

ONE STEP AHEAD

Vicar Max carefully knocked on the door to the captain’s quarters. He was wearing his everyday blue robe and comfortable shoes. Being always weighed down by the armor on the battlefield, aboard the ship he preferred to change into his old comfortable clothing.

A few seconds of silence passed, and he knocked again, this time with more resolve.

“Yes, yes, I can hear you!” rang captain’s voice from the inside of the room.

The vicar slightly opened the door and picked inside.

“May I come in?”

“Yeah, be my guest,” said the captain without turning around. “You’re just in time, I’m arranging the drinks. What do you prefer? Lager, whiskey, mockapple cider…

“Whiskey’s fine.”

“Will do,” said the captain of the Unreliable and poured the Iceberg Aged Whiskey into a glass half-filled with ice cubes. “I’ll have some cider, hope you don’t mind. I feel more confident when I’m only tipsy.”

“Sure. I’m used to drinking alone, so at this point any company is alright.”

“Hey, stop standing in the doorway, come in. You can sit on the bed. As you can see, there’s barely any other furniture in here. Try to make yourself at home though.”

“It’s been a long time since I felt that way. Thank you,” said the vicar and sat down on the edge of captain’s bed that in reality didn’t differ much from the one he had in his room. The captain awkwardly rushed to him and offered a glass of whiskey and a plate of food.

“Here, some fried raptidon meat and… whatever that is. You are free to refuse if you feel like, just remember that I did my best.”

“Thank you.” The vicar took the plate and sniffed the food. The smell wasn’t that bad. He moved sideways a bit to let the captain take a seat beside him. “Don’t consider me rude,” he said carefully, poking the meat on the plate with his fork, “but recently I realized I still don’t know your name. That is an awful omission, isn’t it?”

“I’m Alex Hawthorn, remember?” said the captain airily and drank out of his glass.

“I’ve heard of what happened to the person who bore that name previously, so in these circumstances that’s more of a title. What about your real name? You know mine, it’d be only fair if you told me yours.”

“I see, you can’t be fooled that easily. Then it’s Teru.”

Captain offered his hand to the vicar, so he had to put away the plate to shake it.

“That is a strange one, I must admit, Teru.”

“Isn’t your full name Maximillian?” spitefully mentioned the captain.

“Fair point.”

“It almost amazes me how easily you agree with me, but not with anybody else. That’s one of the things I like about you, by the way.”

“You make it sound like there are even more of them,” said the vicar and took a gulp of whiskey.

“Many more, indeed,” agreed the captain.

“Are you always so keen on strangers, young man? You barely know anything about me, and yet use any given occasion to throw compliments at me.”

“Not really. It only applies to you, vicar. Seems like something is drawing me to you, but I can’t yet figure out what.”

The vicar took notice of the distance between them. There was no more room to move away any further.

“Your words confuse me. Seems like we have already discussed the matter of attraction, and I politely declined whatever it is that you have to offer.”

The captain faced the vicar abruptly. Ice cubes in his glass clanked as he turned around.

“Hey, Max, can you take my confession now? There’s something that’s been bothering me for some time. I’d like to talk about it.”

“Why, of course, any time is fine. But only if it’s not your attempt to change the subject,” said Max strictly and shifted his gaze from the muddy liquid in his glass to captain’s face.

“Believe me, I didn’t even try. It’s just… I don’t like men as a rule, Max, but I like you. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to throw myself at you,” —the captain lifted his hand as a sign of protest—“so we can have a few more drinks before you decide to leave.”

“Your sense of humor is tremendously bad,” hissed the vicar, clearly annoyed. He looked at the captain awaiting any reaction, but the latter didn’t say anything. “It sounds like nonsense, but I’ll believe you this time, be it your way. Although I must say, this being the truth, your taste is quite peculiar. Can’t think of anything you would find interesting in a man like me, especially considering the fact that I’m much older than you.”

“Actually, I’m more than 70 years older than all the crew aboard the Unreliable. Don’t forget about that,” jokingly retorted Teru.

“Ah, you talk of that nonsense again, how amusing. Still trying to persuade me you are one of the colonists from Hope? I hoped we were done with these delirious talks.”

“I would be glad if you trusted me, but if you don’t, it’s also fine, I don’t mind that,” said Teru, dramatically raising his hands. “Someday I’ll be able to prove you wrong, and if it’s not today, I’ll wait till the next opportunity.”

“I’ll be looking forward to that. But back to what I wanted to say. I just don’t quite understand your trail of thought. There are plenty of other people here who are more or less your age and who would be a better match. Take your new friend Felix, for instance.”

“What about him?” asked Teru right into the glass as he intended to drink. This made his voice sound distorted.

“He’s young and very, how do I put it… lively. I’m sure he shares a lot of your… views about societal matters.”

“Mhm,” briefly responded the captain, shaking up the pieces of ice left in the glass.

“What I’m trying to say is that Felix, as an example, of course, has a lot more in common with you and looks fairly good too, as far as I can judge. Why don’t you like him instead?” asked the vicar, his voice displaying sincere interest.

“Felix’s alright,” murmured Teru agreeingly after a short pause.

The conversation arrived at a dead end. Max sighed.

“It’s very obvious when you don’t want to talk about something, so I’ll just leave it for now. What about—”

“Why don’t you offer Ellie as an example?” interrupted Teru.

“Excuse me?”

“Ellie. I believe she’s also quite young and attractive. You don’t bring her up because she annoys the hell out of you, right?”

“Come to think of it… Maybe so,” agreed Max after considering it and made another big sip of whiskey.

“Then you’re not so goodwilled after all, vicar. You pretend to be the foul option and point fingers at those who are more “suitable”, nonetheless judging them by your own taste and not by how good it would be for me. You’re just turning it all around.”

Max furrowed his eyebrows and looked away, feeling the tension.

“You made your point clear, captain. Now we better stop discussing other crew members.”

“As you wish.”

“Only I have one more question before we completely abandon the topic of human relations if you’re okay with that.”

“Yeah, why not.”

Teru put one leg on the bed beneath him, laid his head on his knee, and turned to face Max. The vicar felt quite uncomfortable being so openly stared at.

“Since we’ve established that you’re somehow interested in me, I can’t help myself but wonder… What is it that you like about me?”

“I like it when you lose your temper,” said captain and hid his smile behind the glass, sipping on the cider.

“Seriously? Out of all things?”

“Take it or leave it, vicar.”

“You have my skills, my knowledge and my experience at your disposal, and you pick this? Disappointing,” retorted the vicar and curled his lip.

“What can I say, call me a freak, but a day isn’t a day if I haven’t seen you being pissed off by something.”

“There is not a single thing about you that I understand.”

“The universe works in mysterious ways, Max.”

“So, you do listen to what I say after all,” sighed the vicar, thinking how not all hope was lost.

“Occasionally. Your voice is soothing enough when you’re not yelling.”

“Of that I haven’t heard.”

“Hey, Max, since I’ve answered your questions till now in all honesty, can I expect the same from you?” asked Teru suddenly twitching.

“I’m always honest, there’s no need to ask for that. What is it that you want?”

“Tell me, what do you like about me?”

“Argh…” The vicar rolled his eyes. “Look, I told you already, I have no interest whatsoever in you and alike. Your attempts are pointless and you’re wasting our time with this.”

“Relax, you made yourself quite clear. I just want you to give it a thought, maybe something will come up eventually,” light-heartedly said the captain, swinging the bottle of cider he intended to continue drinking from. “Just for fun. I know you find it infinitely hard, complimenting someone’s personality or decision making, so let’s just stop at appearance.”

“I don’t see what’s so fun about that, but alright. I still owe you, and it won’t be too much of a chore, so...”

“Watching you being obliging really is the best.”

“Can’t believe I’m still listening to this. It must be solely because I’m intrigued by your demeanor,” mumbled Max, irritated. “Being you must feel strange,” he added more calmly.

“Not particularly. Not stranger than being a renegade vicar, I’m sure.”

“I am not a renegade!” yelled the vicar, getting agitated.

“Not yet, not until we’ve translated your little book. Till then you’re just a grumpy middle-aged preacher.”

“Don’t fucking call me that, I told you,” cursed the vicar and drank all the whiskey left in his glass to deal with his resentment. “Never say that fucking word. I would be glad if I could educate your stupid little bunch, only seems you all here are quite far from the point of rescuing, so bearing that name makes no sense to me.”

“Remembering what you told me about your flock in Edgewater, I’m not surprised. You don’t seem like the type of guy who would go to any length to bring enlightenment to the masses. What’s your part in the Grand Plan then?”

“That is yet to be uncovered. If solving the Universal Equation was that easy, I wouldn’t be here travelling with annoying callow youth to find someone who can translate me a damn book that can easily get me in jail. Again.”

“So, now you finally admit that it’s totally illegal and previously you also served your sentence for being involved with heresy?”

“No, I do not,” snapped Max.

“As expected. You can deny it all you want, I’ve already cracked you, vicar. You were a tough cookie, but I’ve beaten worse. Both figuratively and literally.”

“It’s curious how you claim to read people well, and yet have the worst crew possible, assembled by non-other than yourself. A compulsive drinker, an immature idiot, a rusty bucket of circuits and nails, a vexatious space pirate, an empty-headed engineer and, last but not least, me. What on Earth made you take me aboard, captain?”

“Oh, the first time I heard you swear, I immediately knew we would get along well. It was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity! Besides, how could I refuse when you were the one asking to join me.”

“There’s no way for me to understand you, captain, but it’s probably for the best,” said Max thoughtfully. “I like this change of decorations. I think, it’ll help me after a few years of dragging my existence in that shithole people call a colony. I’m glad to be here, with you.”

“The feeling’s mutual.”

The vicar smirked and filled his now empty glass from a bottle helpfully put beside the bed by the captain some time ago.

Their talk continued till the early morning. The food was left untouched and cold.

DEVIL IN THE DETAIL

“Captain, there’s something I wanted to discuss with you. It’s about Fallbrook,” said the vicar decisively, stumbling into the captain in the corridor.

“Oh, go on, I’m so anxious to hear what you have to say about it.”

“I wanted to apologize,” said Max and looked away. “I shouldn’t have lied to you. I just… really wanted to get this over with and was ready to do whatever it would take. I thought that only by using you I could get to Reginald.”

“I’m not offended or anything, you use or you’re being used, yadda yadda. I just can’t wrap my head around why you wouldn’t explain everything to me later. I mean, I offered you my help even before knowing about Chaney. I learned everything later anyway,” said Teru at a loss.

“I wasn’t considering it would go this far. Frankly speaking, I didn’t even believe we would find him, but you surpassed my expectations,” said the vicar and smiled bitterly.

“Would you look at that, you can say that, too. I only had to let you murder your former inmate.”

“About that… Seems like I got a bit carried away, captain. I appreciate you not intervening, but something tells me I shouldn’t have given in to that rage.”

“I must disagree. You always hold back, but how do you know it’s the right thing to do?”

“My teaching values patience and striving for self-improvement. The goal of our whole existence is to reach enlightenment and realization of how the Universe works, to solve the Equation that sets it into motion. I don’t think it’s possible to achieve that by eradicating all the people you can’t stand. Just can’t help myself.”

“But you have doubts about your teaching, you look for answers beyond the scope of its knowledge, that’s exactly why we’re doing this whole thing. According to your religion, if your choice was incorrect, the Universe would bring you back to where you belong. The lesson the life would teach you might be harsh, but it’s whatever,” said the captain and vaguely waved his hand. “You were angry and did what you thought was right, I’d do the same if I were you.”

“You merely don’t understand how important it is for me, captain. I was hoping I’d finally found my way. I made enough mistakes in my life, so now every one of them counts. That’s why this situation gets on my nerves.”

“Then I’ll share the burden of your blame,” said the captain, as if it was nothing special for him, “after all, it was me who didn’t stop you. In addition, if your Architect came up with a plan for your life and didn’t even bother to inform you about what you should do, then mistakes are inevitable.”

The vicar hemmed and crossed his arms on his chest.

“I’ve noticed some time ago that you’ve got a habit of saying what people want to hear. Do you even have your own opinion, captain?”

“What makes you think it’s not my opinion?” asked the captain, surprised.

Parvati walked past them and greeted them uncertainly, scared by sudden silence that filled the place with her arrival. The vicar waited for her to disappear behind the corner before answering.

“From time to time I hear bits and pieces of your conversations with other crew members. No matter the circumstances, you always have something consolatory to say. The explanation that I find the most plausible is that you chose bouncing from one opinion to the other as your primary tactics. Speaking with the member of the Board, you tend to agree with their regime, speaking with the iconoclast, you support their ignorance... But what do you have in mind? It always interested me.”

“How did I manage to take such a sly-boots aboard my ship?” wondered the captain with a slight note of approval in his voice. “But, on the other hand, I find it pleasant that now you pay more attention to me.”

“Don’t change the subject, captain, I know it’s also a means of manipulation you enjoy resorting to.”

“There’s simply not much to say here. I go for the better outcome, but if something is against my principles, there’s no way I’m going to do or say that. Is that a good answer?”

“As good as any,” nodded the vicar agreeingly, satisfied with rare display of captain’s sincerity.

“Great to hear that. Did you mull over the thing we discussed?”

“Yes,” nodded Max again, now becoming more tense.

“What’s you answer then? Just don’t tell me you didn’t come up with anything, ‘cause there’s no way I’ll believe that, vicar.”

The vicar dithered a bit before forcing the sounds to come out of his throat.

“Perhaps, I could say that I like… I like your hands. Let it be so.”

Teru’s eyes flickered and he clapped in awe.

“Really? How did you realize that?”

The vicar rolled his eyes and clicked his tongue, annoyed that he had to elaborate on the subject.

“I was just watching you, as always. You were picking a door lock and I happened to notice that your hands were extremely elegant and dexterous. For a brigand.”

“Oh, yeah, I had the feeling you like it when I do that,” said Teru complacently. “Are you bewitched by me already?”

Parvati wanted to return to her room, but seeing the captain and the vicar still standing in the corridor made her reconsider. She thought that her business could wait and decided to make her way back to where she came from.

“I wouldn’t say so. It’s just… hard not to pay attention when you use the lockpick so skillfully. I never succeeded in it,” said Max with detachment in his tone.

“Despite that, I still like your hands as well.”

The vicar spread the fingers on his right hand out in a fan and carefully examined them.

“But there’s nothing special about them.”

“They are strong, stronger than mine. Enough of a reason for me.”

“I used to play tossball when I se… was assigned as a vicar to a prison,” said Max, a little confused and not knowing how to react to captain’s words.

“I remember you mentioning that. Did you know that I used to be the token of the team? What a coincidence, right?”

“Yes, what were the odds…”

“I like holding on to your hand when you’re helping me get up after I fall down as I tend to do sometimes,” said the captain in a soft voice, squinting a bit. A sly smirk slowly appeared on his lips. “Actually, I like it so much, that at times I have to be even more clumsy than usual, just to experience it once more.”

“Are you being serious, captain?” asked the vicar, perplexed.

“Do I look like I’m joking? You know what I’m capable of, what’s with all the amazement,” said the captain and hemmed. “And don’t you worry, right now I’m saying exactly what I wanted to say,” he added with the same sly smirk.

“You are so persistent, even though I already told you I have no interest in close relations,” said Max, pretentiously irritated. “I wouldn’t want you to waste your time on some old vicar.”

“Well, you noticed me, that’s a good start. You observed me so closely, in fact, that you already know me better than any other person on the Unreliable, so I’m definitely not the one wasting my time here. And you’re not as old as you want me to think, I know that for a fact. Do you have any other objections?”

“…No, captain, I don’t,” said Max to mitigate further arguments.

“And stop calling me captain, I don’t even navigate the ship. Did you ask my name never to use it after that? That would be typical of you, Max.”

AS THE TABLES TURN

“What… what happened? I feel like my brains are leaking out…”

Teru scratched the back of his head and looked around. They were still in hermit’s closet and the air was stiff from incenses.

“You passed out, captain,” said the vicar worriedly while squatting down beside him. “Felix and I here were really worried. Are you feeling well?”

“Yes, of course, everything went just as I planned, under my control.” The captain of the Unreliable stood up and leaned on the wall to keep his balance. “And how are you? The things they said… I can’t imagine what’s going through your head after that.”

“I feel like a new man, actually. Now, thanks to their exhortations, everything makes sense to me,” stated the vicar, being unbelievably calm. Teru looked at him distrustfully. For him, it wasn’t a healthy reaction of a person whose whole life was called pretentious and illusory.

“And you got the answers to your questions? You look kinda weird,” he said, not quite sure of what to make of vicar’s state of mind.

“I don’t need those answers anymore,” confessed Max. “Instead, I finally realized that the questions I asked were wrong to begin with.”

Teru had never seen his face being so peaceful. In any other circumstances vicar’s words would make him happy, but his current behavior seemed too unnatural and at times even intimidating.

“Wait, are you saying… that you now agree with them? But that’s just bullshit!” retorted Teru.

“Captain, you don’t have to worry about me anymore,” said Max and smiled encouragingly in an attempt to make the captain calm down. “I know, I gave you all a hard time, but from now on it’s going to be different. My behavior was unacceptable, and you are the first one whom I want to ask for forgiveness for that.”

“What? What the hell are you talking about? What hard time?”

“My inclination to “violent enthusiasm” made me look like a madman quite a few times. I was foolish enough to consider everyone around me responsible for my sorrows, and it made me even angrier. But now I can see quite clearly, that there was no destination from the start. The world does not obey any laws at all, so what I did my whole life was pointless. Realizing that… brought me peace of mind,” said Max unhurriedly and smiled softly.

“I don’t even know what makes me feel worse, these terrible drugs or your delirious rambling. Stop it,” snarled the captain, not wanting to accept the changes in his companion’s worldview.

“That’s exactly what I said. Now he’s even weirder than he used to be, it freaks me out,” added Felix from the corner he was resting in. “It’s good that you’re back with us, cap, ‘cause being here with him was just… ugh.”

“You’ll need some time to get used to it,” said the vicar, still smiling tranquilly. “I’m sure, you’ll be much better off without my lectures about the Universal Equation and other religious dogmas.”

“What do you mean by that? Are you leaving or what?” asked the captain with apprehension. His eyes bugged out as he was staring at the vicar.

“Only if you want me to. Right now, I’m only saying that I’m no longer a vicar of the Order of Scientific Inquiry. Luckily, that time in my life came to an end.”

“Because you smoked weed and your hallucination lectured you for living your life in a wrong way?” yelled captain instead of asking.

“That’s not what I…”

“It is, Max. I’m in no mood to continue listening to this. See you outside.”

Teru made an effort to push himself away from the wall, and, declining the hand the vicar offered to help, left the room. Without saying anything, Felix followed him, leaving Max alone in the grip of his contemplations.

BATTLE FOR THE SUN

Carrying a bottle of mockapple cider in one hand and all his courage in the other, vicar Max approached the door to captain’s quarters. He took a deep breath and knocked.

There was silence.

He knocked again. Silence once more.

“Captain, may I come in?” he asked, drawing his face closer to the door crack for his voice to reach Teru.

There was no answer.

The vicar tightened his grip on the neck of the bottle. A tiny bit of light could be seen under the door.

“I’m entering,” he said briefly and opened the door.

The captain was sitting at his table, right in front of the huge window with a view over the vast abyss of space. He was wearing his reading glasses and holding a newly found datapad with the information about the Board’s plans.

“Am I interfering?” asked the vicar, closing the door behind him.

“Huh?” The captain turned around and looked at him inquiringly, but almost immediately after that returned to examining the datapad. “No, it’s fine. Is it something urgent?”

“I wouldn’t say so. I just wanted to thank you for your help,” said the vicar, not yet venturing further into the room.

“No need for that,” snapped back Teru.

“I disagree. You went through a lot of trouble to fulfil my selfish wish, so gratitude is the least you deserve after that,” pushed the vicar. His hand was still holding tight onto the bottle.

“Don’t mind it. You weren’t a burden for me or anything… I helped because I wanted to, so you don’t owe me anything. Since your search is over now, you can leave the ship whenever you feel necessary. After all, you got what you joined us for,” slowly said the captain, not averting his attention from reading.

Something snapped in vicar’s head. For him it turned out to be the last straw.

“Right,” he muttered and slammed the bottle onto the tray with other spirits, “Grand Architect knows, that’s not how I hoped it would go. But you want it the hard way, don’t you.”

“What are you—” The captain made an attempt to ask a question, but Max was already behind his chair. Gripping tight to the collar of his dressing gown, the vicar pulled him closer, forcing him to get up from the chair. The moment the captain of the Unreliable stood up, Max pushed him to the table, still holding him by the collar and now blocking his way out.

“You piss me off so fucking much, captain, I can’t stand it. I’m trying to become a better person, and you sit here in your quarters all offended and resentful and ignore my presence,” he hissed.

“So why did you come here in the first place if I piss you off so much?” maliciously asked the captain, leaning on the table behind him.

“I thought you’d want another favor for helping me. So, I decided to take the lead.”

“I don’t need anything, vicar, thank you for worrying,” reluctantly said the captain and turned away.

Having a hard time holding back, Max shook the captain by his collar and gritted his teeth. The leg he moved forward wasn’t letting Teru move an inch.

“On the second thought though, I’d really like to know where these sudden changes in behavior came from,” said the captain, looking up at the vicar. “I could swear you were a new man, and there was no way I’d see these fits of rage again.”

“And what’s your take on this?” angrily asked Max, with no intention to wait for an answer. “I thought it was obvious that a regular trip couldn’t change a person so drastically. I wanted to grow, but, as you can see, I failed. And it’s your fault, Teru.”

“Is it my fault because I told you to embrace yourself and not look for excuses? Or because I wanted to support you in your endeavors? Go on”—the captain shook his head with the air of defiance—“I’m listening.”

“It’s your fault because you…”—the vicar tightened his grip on captain’s collar and tried to gather his thoughts—“diminished my confidence. I thought, my place in the Universe was predetermined, but you made me doubt it. And I fucking hate having doubts. My whole life consists of doubting, and instead of making some of them go away, you just made it worse. What I heard in that room made me think, what if I was wrong all along? That was the only adequate reason why I was in such a state. Perhaps, my destiny is simply my fantasy. In your opinion, captain, what’s then?”

“Then you’re here ‘cause you wanted to be here, vicar. If it wasn’t the Universe that put this damn robe on you, then you did yourself. You didn’t want to be an average worker, and neither did I and many others, so you chose what you saw best. Is it really so hard to realize?”

“But if there’s no Grand Plan, what’s the point? Why would I be who I am if I’m not doing it for some greater good? If the world is just chaos, and not order, as I assumed… Simply agreeing that I was wrong wasn’t the hard part. It spared me from my eternal tormenting. Realizing how it all works, however…”

“You’re making me go insane. Let go of me, my back hurts from standing like this,” said the captain, and the vicar released him from his grip. Teru jumped up on the table behind him and made himself comfortable. “If you want to know my opinion, I don’t think that our complex world could appear from chaos out of sheer luck, I think there’s more to it than that. If you Equation does exist then it’s obvious that the Universe doesn’t do anything to snap you out of the place you’re in now, so let’s assume that you really are a vicar and you’re aim is to carry the “light of truth”. Who cares if your order is a tool of corporate supremacy, we’ve seen worse, that’s not the point here. It’s not what they tell you to think that is important, but how you interpret your teaching. Maybe this religion is far from perfect, but do the words about survival of the fittest or science being the moving force of progress sound nonsensical to you? It gets something right, but getting to the bottom of everything else is your job. If you stop doubting everything you know, rummaging in heretical works so selflessly and adapting it all to your vision, then who’s gonna do it?” The captain adjusted the glasses on his nose and paused for a few seconds. “Do you even get what I’m saying? I already feel confused by my own words.”

“It all sounds much simpler when you put it that way,” said the vicar broodingly.

“There’s nothing complicated about it. If the world were just chaos, our existence would be meaningless, and that’s the last thing I would want. There’s nothing wrong with finding the meaning in not in pointless wandering but in reaching some better purpose. You’re the one who always goes on about how the Plan includes numerous possibilities and ways, so sooner or later you’ll arrive at your destination point. Who even cares, Max. You’re not in the house of your laborer parents, not in Edgewater, not in prison, you’re on my ship so you can do whatever you want, just, for Universe’s sake, stop being a creep. Curse and resent like you used to do or, I swear, I’ll kick you out. I want to see adequate human emotions, not an android with a circuit for a brain.”

The vicar let out a chuckle, but then immediately asserted himself under captain’s gaze. Having his reading glasses on, he looked almost serious.

“And what better purpose does the captain have?” asked Max.

“Right now, my better purpose is finding a better purpose,” said the captain proudly. The vicar still looked to him as though something troubled him and it made the captain feel uneasy. “There’s something else that’s bothering you, isn’t it? What I told you. What’s on your mind? This time I’ll take your confession. Come on, I swear not to let anybody in on what you say, etc., etc.”

“I’ll be honest, when you told me you liked me, I was flattered,” answered the vicar.

“…and then you realized that you loved me all along?” giggled the captain.

“No, thanks the Grand Architect, that’s not what happened,” said the vicar, rolling his eyes.

“Good. It would be extremely boring. So, what about now? I bet you’re scared that I’d want something from you for my help.”

“Don’t say it like you’re in the position to make me do something I don’t want to. We’re all grownups here, and we all know who’s stronger.”

“Oh, seems like you weren’t being bitter about our age difference right now. Missed opportunity.”

The vicar pursed his lips and disapprovingly glanced upon the captain sitting in front of him.

“To cut the long story short, I didn’t intend to react to your words in any way. But your idiotic strategy worked after all,” said the vicar and sighed tiredly.

“I don’t remember having any strategy. What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the fact that you didn’t need to do anything special. I just did what you told me to – looked closer. And it was enough for me to realize… that there’s no place for you in my life.”

Vicar’s last words sounded a bit threateningly. It made Teru fidget on the table.

“Eh, seems like we’re straying further and further away from the topic, don’t you think?” he mumbled uncertainly.

“Shut up and listen,” said the vicar forcefully, “I hate being interrupted. I knew immediately, my destination did not allow for you to be a part of my life. My problems could not be solved and it drove me mad, especially when you were sticking out like a sore thumb all the time.”

“What a shame,” mumbled Teru quietly.

“And now you have also become an obstruction on my way to self-improvement. Because of you I’m getting angry all the time, and the Universe is once again full of enigmas I was so close to solving. The only conclusion that can be drawn from all this is that you have to be punished for what you did.”

Carefully yet confidently the vicar laid his hand on captain’s knee. His eyes were closely observing the facial expression of that one in front of him.

“I feel like this talk dragged on for too long. At which point of the confession is it already considered acceptable to move on to drinking?” asked the captain carelessly, casting a sidelong look at the cider bottle and intentionally ignoring what was happening.

“How fucking annoying can you be,” retorted the vicar spitefully, violently grabbed the captain by his chin and pulled his face closer. “It would be only fair if you had to tolerate the way you made me be.”

“Hey, you were already like this when we met,” chortled Teru a few millimeters away from Max’s face. “It’s not fa—”

The vicar knew exactly what he wanted to say so considered letting him finish the phrase a waste of time. Not trying to hold back, he moved closer and kissed the captain, gripping his thigh tightly. Even applying all the strength he had, the captain wouldn’t be able to resists Max’s drive. Instead, relieved to know that the vicar remained the person he wanted him to be, he gave in to the opportunity, locked his hands behind his back and let out a loud breath.

The vicar heard the pulsation in his ears and felt it was hard for him to think straight. He opened his eyes a bit in an attempt to regain the composure. Right in front of him the captain was squeezing his eyes shut behind the barrier of his reading glasses. Smirking, Max stroked his thigh lightly before reaching out and taking the glasses off. They already left red markings on the bridge of his nose.

“I’ve noticed that after you claimed to be interested in me,” started the vicar, moving away from Teru’s face, “you stopped flirting with every other stranger.”

“Did I do that?”

“You have the courage to look me in the eyes and ask such a question? Don’t try to provoke me, young man. In every colony there was at least a dozen people you would flirt with.”

“Did that irritate you?”

“It didn’t. But now if I think of it, I get the urge to put a leash on you,” said the vicar, perhaps, more seriously than he should’ve.

“Like on an animal?”

“Indeed.”

“You know, Max, it’s ironical how the only animal here is you. Look,”—Teru gripped his lower lip and turned it inside out—“you were so brutal that now my lip’s bleeding. What are you going to do about that?”

“You can always ask Ellie for help. She’s a medic after all,” mused Max, pressing on the wounded lip with his finger.

“Something tells me that if I do that, I’ll get in a more serious trouble than this.”

“You’re quite a fast learner, captain. Don’t do anything to enrage the beast and you’ll be fine,” said Max and smirked.

The captain grinned and leaned back on his elbows.

“So… got any plans for tonight?” he asked nonchalantly.

“I was… thinking about moving somewhere more comfortable. The bed would do nicely.”

Teru raised his eyebrows in surprise and sent a long glance at the vicar.

“My weak knee is at it again.”

“You really are o—”

“Don’t you even dare.”

TO ALL OF YOU

Felix entered the kitchen in search of some lager left and forgotten in the fridge. Most of the crew gathered there, looking for some ways to spend their free time, but the atmosphere seemed different from usual. At the table in the center of the room the vicar and the captain were sitting and discussing something.

“Max, I got a little problem, just don’t get all riled up. This thing… I have no idea what you’re talking about,” said the captain and pouted.

“Are you fucking pulling my leg right now? We’ve been on it for half an hour and I’ve already explained it to you twice,” growled the vicar at him and landed his hand on the open book laying between them.

“Yeah, well, would you be so kind as to do it again? I promise to try harder.”

Everybody in the room held their breath, awaiting the catastrophe. The vicar sighed.

“Okay, listen here. When we speak about…”

Everybody remained still.

“Oh, wow,” mumbled Parvati.

“Oh, wow,” echoed Felix, having forgotten the reason he came here for.

“I didn’t even know there was such an option,” went on Parvati with an upset expression on her face.

“Does this mean he’s finally sane and I can persuade him that Backers are better than Darlings?” asked Felix anticipatingly. The question was most likely not directed at anybody in particular.

“No, honey, I believe this new privilege is unlocked only by our captain,” said Nyoka and thrusted a bottle of lager upon him.

“You know what they say,” said Ellie, strolling past them, “if a man’s being a dick all the time, he just needs to get…”

“Ellie!” yelled Nyoka, covering Parvati’s ears with her hands.

“Oh, no… now the mental picture of it will haunt me forever,” complained Felix and drank out of his bottle while staring blankly in front of himself.

#The Outer Worlds #Outer Worlds #Captain of the Unreliable #Vicar Max #Maximillian DeSoto #Fanfiction #Fiction #Vicar/Captain

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champhangman · 4 years

Text

Bleed Into the Night

Title: Bleed Into the Night Part: Two of ?? Characters: Hangman Adam Page x OFC Summary: She wasn’t looking. Neither was he. For a brief flash, they found each other. Word Count: 6,854 Warnings: Alcohol use. Mild cursing. Previous: Part One A/N: Still Ashley’s fault. And Emi’s fault, too.

Tagging: @adampage / @cowboyshit / @baysexuality / @lilmisswhiskeygypsy / @evilangel84 / @bigpixiefoot / @mindofasagittaruis / @kalliravenne / @sadlittlecountess / @baronsbelleevangeline / @brie-mode-activated / @xbreezymeadowsx / @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch /

Two

Serena trailed her toes through the water again. She could still feel eyes on her and Adam and glanced back to the house. With a groan, she looked back to the man standing near her. "It's like a bad horror movie, isn't it? I know they're watching us even though I can't see them."

"Be careful around Britt. She's liable to trip you so you fall on me," he said, shaking his head.

"Guess I'll just have to stay out of falling range." She gauged the distance between them and took a step backward. "Is that far enough?"

"I don't know. I've got good reflexes." He took a step back as well, and his smile was bright. "Good?"

"Perfect." He had nice eyes. Serena blinked at the sudden thought and took a big swig of her beer. Not interested, she reminded herself, kicking off her other sandal and turning to sit at the edge of the pool. She sank both feet into the cool water with a sigh. This was better. She could do this.

"How's the water?" he asked.

"Cool. You going in?" She wondered where he was from. There was a faint Southern cadence to his smooth voice. He had to be a good singer, she thought suddenly.

"I gotta get my trunks, but yeah."

She saw his shadow ripple over the water and caught his woodsy cologne on the breeze as he walked behind her. She sneaked a glance. She couldn't help herself. Her head tilted just in time to see him bend to move her sandals out of his way and her teeth bit into her lip. Cute Southern boy with a nice ass that looked good in jeans. She decided to keep their discussion on the very safe topic of pools and swimming. "Do you have a pool?"

"I have one at home. Down here I just rent an apartment. There's a pool there but it's always crowded." He straightened and her eyes darted back to the water as soon as he looked to her. "You?"

"Just the pool at the complex." She wondered where home was. She kicked her feet in the water and drained her beer in one gulp. "Since you're going that way, could you bring me another beer, please?"

"Yeah, sure." His hand brushed hers as he took her empty bottle.

"Thanks." She watched his easy stride across the lawn to the patio, reaching to gather her loose hair into a bun. "Get a fucking grip, Serena. You're not interested."

But she knew she could be.

What a laugh that would be, she thought, standing to pull off her tank top and shorts. She had been so against wanting to be thrust with yet another friend of Cole's or Britt's. Four failures in less than a year had been more than enough. Not that they were complete disasters. Each of the men had been nice. Funny. Each handsome in their own way. But each time she had found something lacking. Not in them, but in whatever would-be relationship they attempted.

She didn't want sudden, all-consuming passion and love. She'd been burned by that before when after six months she had come to realize that she had been more in love with the idea of love than with the actual man she had professed to adore. And she didn't want to date someone just to have sex. Sex was great, but she didn't need a man to fulfill her needs. That was why God had invented sex toys, right?

She wanted…

She didn't know. She wanted love and passion and yearning. But she wanted something more. Something she couldn't define.

And she doubted she would find it in the pretty blue eyes of a man who wanted to be set up as little as she did.

***

By the time he returned to the pool she was in the water. He had, somehow, managed to avoid being cornered by Britt while he changed and grabbed beers. Although he suspected it was too early for her to corner him, he didn't want to risk it. He already knew, down to her facial expressions, how that would go.

She's nice, isn't she? She looks interested. You should go for it, Page.

Go for it. He'd done just that how many times in the last year? And each time he had fallen on his face. The so-called interest lasted through the first couple of dates. Once they learned he couldn't devote one hundred percent of his free time to them, he'd seen their attraction fade. Even women in the business expected him to drop wrestling at the door and focus only on them.

Sighing, he gave his head a small shake to clear the memories and watched Serena's head pop up at the deep end. He sat at the edge and stuck his feet in, gaze lingering on her as she dipped back into the water. He followed with his eyes while she swam to the opposite end, lifting the beer he'd brought for her when she looked to him. He opened his own and took a swig, taking the opportunity to admire her curves as she walked up the steps at the shallow end and made her way around to him. Although he suspected she wore the dark purple one-piece to conceal them, it instead highlighted them. They were ample and he looked away quickly when it occurred to him that she would be a good armful.

"Thank you," she said, taking the beer. She twisted off the cap, which slipped from her fingers.

One hand shot out to catch the cap before it could hit the ground. "No problem."

"You should get in."

"After I finish this," he promised, lifting his bottle.

"Yes, of course. Can't let a free beer go to waste." She nodded and sat down a couple of feet away from him.

"Hell, am I drinking your beer?" he asked. He hadn't thought to ask Britt. He'd just helped himself while she was on the phone and occupied.

"Britt got it. She knows not to invite me over without stocking beer."

He watched her take an appreciative sip and heard her gentle sigh. Watching her legs as she slowly kicked her feet in the water, he licked his suddenly dry lips. "You don't happen to like whiskey, do you?"

"I love it."

Adam almost sighed but somehow managed to avoid doing so and took a deep drink of his beer. Few women liked whiskey. Few women liked beer, either. Most women he'd known preferred fruity cocktails that looked cute for their Instagram photos. Maybe he'd been around the wrong women. He watched a drop of water roll down her neck, cling to her collarbone for a second, then trickle into her cleavage. His throat went dry and he quickly looked away. "Yeah?"

"I don't drink it much. I think it's something that should be savored. I keep it for special occasions."

He didn't want to know what those special occasions were. Did he? He felt something sharp dig into his palm. Glancing down, he saw he still held the cap from her bottle. He twirled it between his fingers and finally gave in, turning to look at her again. And asked before he could stop himself. "What do you consider a special occasion?"

"Oh, you know. The usual." Her shrug sent more drops of water trailing down her neck. "Signing my contract. Moving into my apartment. Unpacking those last few boxes that sat in my closet for a year. Winning my first match."

"Now wait a damn minute," he protested. "Every match deserves a shot of whiskey. Even if you lose, you've earned some good liquor."

She laughed. "You've got a point."

"I'm usually always right," Adam declared.

"Are you always so smug?"

"No ma'am," he promised. "Most of the time I'm a sweetheart."

"Huh," she grunted after draining her beer and placing the empty bottle next to her before sliding back into the pool. "Could've fooled me."

***

Serena supposed he was alright.

No, that was unfair to him. She could see that he was a likeable guy. He was friendly, even though he'd been dragged into meeting her. He was probably a fierce and devoted friend. Considering he had stayed even when he'd figured out that it was a setup, she did not doubt that he wasn't the type to intentionally hurt someone's feelings.

"How long have you known Cole?" he asked.

"About a year." Sinking so only her head was above the water, she turned so she faced him.

From there the conversation flowed easily. They talked about mutual friends they had in the business. About wrestling, and she admitted that she only started doing it because her friend had and hadn't wanted to go to the school alone. And when her friend had decided she didn't like wrestling, after all, she had kept at it because, funnily enough, she did enjoy it. It was bizarre, she thought while she continued to ramble on, how easy it was to tell him, a stranger, about training and doing practically nothing before trying out for WWE on a whim. It had been easier with others to smile and nod and agree when they suggested she'd been scouted.

Maybe because that way she didn't feel like such a fraud.

"What's your style?" Adam asked, seemingly unconcerned that she hadn't paid her proverbial dues in different promotions.

"A mix. Shawn and Hunter are pushing me to try more high-flying. Because I'm a little bigger than most of the girls, I think they want the wow factor of me flipping. But I really like the powerhouse stuff, because slinging someone's ass across the ring is always fun."

He laughed at that, and she fought the urge to enjoy the warm sound. "You shouldn't let them make you do something if you're not comfortable with it. Your moves are your statement. If you don't make them meaningful to you and your character, they won't mean anything to the fans."

"That's a very eloquent statement. I'll keep it in mind."

"That's me. Just a smug, eloquent sweetheart." His grin was teasing.

To her utter relief, Britt and Cole finally made their way out to the pool then. The conversation moved to other topics. It wasn't long until Britt managed to get her away from the men, and as they sat in the shallow end the woman smiled.

Serena almost groaned because she knew exactly what her friend was going to say.

"What do you think?"

No use pretending she didn't know what Britt was talking about. Or, rather, who. She was drawing in a breath to give a bland, noncommittal answer when movement caught her attention. Looking towards the deep end, she saw the men had begun to practice flipping into the water. Ignoring the impatient clearing of Britt's throat, she watched Adam easily pull himself over the edge of the pool.

And, in a flash, she had a brilliant idea.

"Actually," she began, pausing to chew on her bottom lip before looking back at her friend. "He's kind of cute…"

Britt's face lit up. "You think so?"

"Yeah." Serena smiled. She could see him out the corner of her eye. Laughing and clowning with Cole. It was obvious he was more relaxed now. Yes, he was a handsome man, she conceded, but a comforting handsome. He had the boy-next-door good looks. A charming smile. That gentle voice.

"He's a great guy, Serena," Britt said.

If he was so great why was he single? She wanted to ask that question but didn't, instead nodding. "I can tell."

She hoped he was a great guy. Because he would have to be almost perfect to go along with her ridiculous plan.

***

The food had been great, the conversation easy and comfortable, and the laughter continued until Adam's chest hurt.

He sat back with a sigh after the hilarity had passed, tossing his napkin onto his empty plate. Next to him, Serena was still releasing the occasional giggle, and he studiously kept his gaze in front of him while finishing his drink. He'd looked at her enough during dinner. More than enough.

Enough to learn that she had a dimple in her left cheek.

Enough to know she had four piercings in her left ear.

And she had a freckle just behind her ear, right where her hairline began.

And that the fairy lights strung above the patio made her eyes sparkle.

He couldn't have not looked at her. She was right next to him. And he tried to be polite. Which meant that every time she talked he turned his head. Sometimes he had caught her looking at him. More than once with an odd little smile.

He had no choice but to look at her, though, when she tapped his arm. Raising his eyebrows in question, he watched her nod towards the house and motion to her empty plate. Did she expect him to carry her dishes in? Confused, he opened his mouth to ask her what she wanted, but his question was drowned out by her pushing her chair back.

"Adam and I will take care of the dishes," she announced.

"We will?" he asked. Serena gave him that odd little smile again. This time it was accompanied by a head tilt. It reminded him of the looks a parent gave a misbehaving child before they got into trouble.

And for some ungodly reason, he felt a ripple of desire.

"You don't have to," Britt protested.

"We insist." Serena gave him a look that he couldn't identify. "Don't we?"

"We do?" He suddenly understood her look and scraped his chair back. Cole looked at him with an odd smile on his face and Britt's eyes were wide with interest, but he ignored them and gathered dishes. "I mean, yeah, we do."

Within minutes his arms were loaded, and he followed her into the house, confusion growing when she carried the glasses to the counter and turned on the water. He set the dishes down on the island. Once more opening his mouth to ask her a question, he sighed when she moved to close the door. As soon as she reached the island, he blurted, "What the hell's going on?"

"I have an idea," she said, not even glancing at him while she opened cabinets and peered inside.

"What?"

"Do you know where they keep containers?"

With a sigh, he pushed away from the counter and went to the cabinet he remembered seeing containers in. "What are you doing?"

She looked at him as though he were insane. "Saving the leftovers."

"That's your idea?"

"No," she scoffed, taking the containers from him and placing them on the island.

Adam shook his head and turned off the water. "I'm lost, Serena."

"I know the perfect way to get them off our backs." She paused, pushing a lid onto a container after filling it.

"Cole and Britt?"

"Yeah."

He took the containers as she filled them and placed them in the fridge. "I'm listening."

She gestured to him, then herself, with a serving spoon. "We start dating each other."

The container he was holding fell to the floor. "Th'fuck?"

"I don't mean really. I mean we pretend that we're interested in each other and fake that we're going out and whatever."

"But we're not interested," he said, bending to retrieve the container. The lid hadn't come off, so he slung it into the fridge. Then he turned to look at her. He wanted to know what the 'whatever' included. "Are we?"

"Of course not."

"Right." They weren't. She wasn't his type, whatever his type was. He doubted he was her type, either. Then he wondered what her type was.

"We won't have to do much. I guess they'll invite us here when we're all off, but otherwise…" She shrugged. Opening the dishwasher, she pulled out the rack.

"So, you want to pretend we're dating just to make them happy?" he asked, still confused. It made no sense. He didn't even know if he was that good an actor.

"Think about it. If we say we're not interested, what's going to happen?"

Adam sighed and moved to empty the glasses she'd brought in. He knew damn well what would happen. Within a few weeks, Britt would be inviting him to another dinner. With another woman she knew that was perfect for him. Turning on the water, he gave the glasses a rinse before handing them to her to load. "The same thing that happened tonight."

"Exactly."

He shook his head. The woman was crazy. "Britt's not stupid. She'll want date details."

"I'm sure we can come up with a few generic dates that we don't go on but tell her we did."

"Why?"

"What do you mean?"

He handed over plates as he rinsed them. "What do you get out of it?"

"The same thing as you. I'll be able to live life without being blindsided by a guy that's perfect for me."

"What happens if one of us meets someone we are interested in?"

"Then we pretend to break up," she said slowly. Like she was explaining it to a child. "Please say yes."

"Why?" he asked, wary.

"Because I kind of already told Britt that I think you're cute."

Considering she uttered the words without any sort of enthusiasm, he couldn't take the statement as a compliment. With the same flat tone, he muttered, "Thanks."

"So, when you go put feelers out with her, she'll encourage it, and—"

"Hold up." Adam handed her the silverware and turned off the faucet. Reaching for the kitchen towel on the counter, he dried his hands thoroughly. "Why do I have to be the one to put out feelers?"

She waited until she'd loaded everything into the dishwasher and closed the doors before turning to face him. Her expression was shrewd, and Adam had the eerie sensation she could read his mind. "You're old-fashioned. In some regards, at least. Maybe it's because you're from – Where are you from?"

"Virginia," he answered.

"Oh. Anyway, maybe it's because you're from Virginia but you've got that Southern gentleman vibe. If I'm wrong, you can tell me—"

"You're right," he interrupted, holding out the towel so she could dry her hands. "I don't know how you figured that out, but you're right."

"Like knows like." She draped the towel over the edge of the sink.

"You're a Southern gentleman?" he asked, lips twitching.

She rolled her eyes. Her giggle was unexpected but not unwelcome. Her dimple appeared and he let himself smile.

"I get it." He leaned against the counter and sighed. "How long is this supposed to last?"

"Not long." She opened a cabinet and took down two glasses, then opened the cabinet Cole and Britt kept their liquor in. Adam lifted his eyebrows at her helping herself to their stash. Even he didn't help himself to that cabinet, considering it was where they kept the good stuff. She pulled a bottle he recognized as the one he'd brought, and he suddenly didn't feel so judgmental.

Taking the bottle from her, he broke the seal and unscrewed the cap while she filled the glasses with ice. "This counts as a special occasion?"

"It does once you agree."

"I don't know," he sighed when she returned and placed the glasses on the counter. "Who breaks up with who?"

"You can break up with me." She lifted one shoulder. "I'm used to it."

He picked up sadness in her voice and frowned while pouring the liquor. Even more questions began piling up in his mind, but he ignored the ones that didn't involve her ridiculous plan. "You can do the breaking up."

She muttered something under her breath. He wasn't sure, but it sounded like, "Like anyone would believe that."

And he didn't know why that upset him. "It won't be so unbelievable. I'm a belligerent asshole, especially when I've been drinking. Ask anybody."

She slid one glass closer to herself and looked at him. "You'll do it?"

"Just how involved are we gonna get?" He knew answering a question with a question was an asshole thing to do, but he needed to know. It was his way. He had to know the details before he could agree. He had to know what was expected of him. "Am I gonna be seeing tweets about us and shit?"

"Oh, we don't have to go that public," she said quickly. "But I guess we could follow each other?"

He nodded. "You got a timeframe for this?"

"No, because I'm coming up with this on the fly." She began gathering her hair into a bun. "A month? Two?"

"How serious will we be?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well." He chuckled because she looked suspicious. "Do I tell the guys we're fucking?"

"If you have to tell them, sure." She didn't sound too happy about it. Holding her hair to the back of her head, she began groping at her wrist.

"Here," he said, pulling the spare hair tie from his wrist.

"Thanks. Any more questions?"

"Do you like PDA?"

"Not really. Why?"

"You don't think they'll just accept that we're seeing each other and leave it at that, do you?" He heard their friends laughing outside and knew he would have to make his decision soon. "They'll be inviting us out here all the time."

"Damn, I didn't think about that," she sighed. "Okay. Um… Hand holding?"

"Works for me."

"So you'll do it?"

"I still have questions."

"I'll give you my number and we can text."

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"It benefits me. It benefits you. I don't know that it's gonna fucking work, but I'm game." He lifted his glass and gave the whiskey a quick swirl. Holding it up, he waited for her to raise hers and gently clinked them. "Here's to a beautiful relationship, Serena."

"Looking forward to it, Adam," she said.

He took a sip and watched her sip hers. Hearing Britt's laughter growing louder at the door, he pushed away from the counter and moved to the other side of the island. By the time their friends entered the kitchen he was on his phone. Glancing up, he grinned. "Hey, Cole, wanna see a bit I did this morning for BTE?"

Leaving Serena with Britt, he flashed her a quick smile as he and Cole moved into the living room. He showed his friend the short video he'd filmed and edited that morning, mind swirling the entire time.

Fake dating. It sounded like something out of a badly written movie. He was sure he'd seen movies where two people pretended to date. And if he remembered correctly, it always ended in either heartbreak or real love.

That wouldn't happen to them. They were being upfront and honest with each other. And though he was certain that the idea was almost as crazy as the woman who'd had it, he could see the merits. At least in the short term. If she thought that Britt and Cole – mostly Britt – would ease off when they broke up in a couple of months, she was in for a surprise. Then again, maybe she could play heartbroken well enough to make Britt back off.

As for him… Well, maybe he could play heartbroken, too.

"You okay?" Cole asked.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," he promised automatically. Looking down at the glass he was still holding, he took a small sip. "I just need to talk to Britt about something real quick."

Cole looked at him oddly. "Sure. Hey Serena!"

"No, I'm not going to book practice time tomorrow to work on my fucking enzuigiri!"

Adam snorted on a laugh. "Are you that bad a coach?"

"She loves to practice," Cole promised. "Just come here!"

"Not if you're gonna talk to me about work!" she called.

"Hey, Britt?" Adam ventured, leaning in the kitchen doorway. Smiling when Serena looked over to him, he gave his head a quick jerk. She took the hint and muttered something to Britt before slipping past him to go to the living room. They shared a smile, and he knew from Britt's absolute silence that she had noticed. He made sure to turn his head, letting himself admire Serena's walk, then pushed away from the doorway and entered the kitchen.

"Is something wrong?" Britt asked, even though she was grinning.

"No, no, everything's great," he promised, letting his lips slide into a grin as he leaned against the island counter. Setting his unfinished drink down, he cleared his throat and picked up the beer cap lying next to the vase of flowers. "It's about Serena."

Her grin widened. "Oh?"

He almost laughed. "Is she, um… Is she seeing anyone?"

"Why don't you ask her?"

"Kind of get distracted by other things when we're talking," he said with an embarrassed chuckle. Like how her eyes caught any light. And that dimple in her left cheek… "Is she?"

"No. Why?" she asked. Her voice was filled with anticipation.

"I'm just thinking… I don't know." He shrugged, flipping the beer cap over repeatedly. "There's just something about her, y'know?"

"Yeah?"

"You think she'd go out with—"

"Yes I do," Britt blurted. She was practically bouncing on her feet. "You like her?"

"Well, yeah… But—"

"She'd say yes. I know she would. Trust me. Go on, ask her out now," she encouraged, reaching across the island to push at his shoulder.

"Now?" Adam hedged, straightening. He rubbed the back of his neck and glanced toward the living room warily. "Now?"

"Do it. She's perfect for you, Page."

"You said she wasn't my type."

"If I'd said she was perfect for you, you wouldn't have come tonight."

"You're devious as fuck, you know that?"

"I'm not devious! I'm…"

"Sneaky? Underhanded? Conniving?"

"Did you eat a thesaurus for lunch?" she growled. But there was no venom in her tone. "Go on, ask her."

"I don't know," he hedged, just to annoy her. "If she was interested, wouldn't she ask me?"

"No. She's old-fashioned when it comes to dating. Trust me."

She'd said that at least twice. "Okay," he sighed, tossing the beer cap down. "Thanks, Britt."

"You're welcome."

He headed back into the living room, shaking his head when he walked in on Cole showing Serena a video on his phone. Stepping up behind them, he saw that it was a video showing the enzuigiri at different speeds. And, he noticed, Serena was staring straight at Cole's thumb, not the screen. He lightly touched her shoulder and when she looked back at him he smiled. "Can I steal you for a minute?"

"Please do," she stressed, all but shoving Cole away. "I swear to god if I hear the word enzuigiri I'm gonna scream."

"I promise I don't want to steal you to talk about them." Adam grunted when she tugged on his sleeve, then lightly held her arm to guide her to the little hall near the front door.

"What?" she asked in a whisper.

"I need your number," he whispered back, pulling out his phone.

"Why did you need me to be alone for that?"

"Because I told Britt I was gonna ask you out."

"Oh." Taking his phone when he held it out, she put in her name and number. "I'll send myself a text so I'll have your number."

"Yeah." He watched her fingers fly over the screen, so different from the way he texted. Just as she handed his phone back to him he heard a soft chime from the living room.

"All done." She sighed. "And it's getting late. I should get going."

"I'll walk out with you," he offered, opening his messages to see what she'd texted to herself. Seeing she'd put two heart-eyed emojis behind her name, he looked at her and groaned. "Really?"

"What? You wouldn't text that?"

He hadn't even read the text. Gaze dropping, he read the brief sentence and groaned harder. "Fucking really? No, I wouldn't text that."

Hey pretty lady indeed. Shaking his head, he shoved his phone into his pocket.

"I would have said something like… Hey, it's Adam. Just making sure you have my number. It was great meeting you and I'll talk to you soon."

"That sounds like a business email, not a flirty text."

"I don't flirt on the first text."

She smiled. "When do you flirt?"

"Didn't you say you needed to go home?"

Serena rolled her eyes and turned to go back into the living room. That sweet smile was in place again, and it remained while she began her goodbyes. She was tired. It had been a great night, they had to do it again soon. All the usual cliché statements one said, but they sounded sincere coming from her. He announced that he needed to go too and repeated his offer of walking Serena out. For once, Cole and Britt didn't expand their goodbyes, and he was outside with Serena in less than half the time it usually took him to leave.

He walked alongside her to the sidewalk, then turned to face her.

"You gonna be okay to drive?"

She looked at him oddly. Or maybe it was the glow of the outside lights that made her expression seem odd. "I'm fine."

"I know, I know," he said, holding up one hand placatingly. "I was just making sure."

"You had more to drink than I did," she reminded him.

"I'm good," he promised. And he was. He'd barely touched the whiskey. And he couldn't figure out why. Maybe because her words kept echoing in his mind each time he started to take a sip. Her little bit about saving whiskey for special occasions. Which couldn't be the reason, because when the hell had he ever needed a special occasion to enjoy some George Dickel? No, it was because he hadn't wanted to have to sleep it off in the morning. Not that he'd had that problem in a long time… "Really, I'm good."

"Do you have far to drive?" she asked.

"About fifteen minutes. You?"

"Thirty."

He considered that. "I could get you there in fifteen."

"Ah, but I like to take things slow," she informed with a small smile.

Was she flirting with him? Hell no, she couldn't be. She didn't like him. Okay, she liked him. But she wasn't interested. She'd made that perfectly clear while concocting this insane scheme. And it was a good thing she wasn't interested because neither was he. Pushing his hands into his pockets, he let his lips curve slightly. He could give as good as he got. "That's fine, but it's nice to go fast now and then."

"So, what you're saying is you don't like to slow down and enjoy the ride?"

"Now you're twisting my words. I enjoy a slow ride once in a while," he admitted. They were still talking about driving, weren't they?

"I love taking it slow. Sometimes I'll drag it out so it takes an hour."

"Is that right?" he murmured, biting the inside of his cheek. An ache formed in the pit of his belly and he bit cheek harder in an attempt to ignore it.

"The long way around can be very refreshing."

"I don't doubt that for a second."

"Are they still watching?"

He didn't even look. "Of course they are."

"I feel like a goldfish in a pet store."

"Half-dead and floating?"

She snorted on a laugh. "No! No privacy."

"We're not doing anything," he drawled. Grateful it wasn't daylight when he felt his cheeks grow warm, he rocked back on his heels. "I should get going."

"Me too."

This was the part he hated. The awkward feeling that always crept up when it was time to part. He supposed he could just walk off and get into his truck and leave, but the manners slapped into him at a young age kept him from doing so. He had to wait until she got into her car. Until her engine was running and she was driving off. And knowing they had a captivated audience only made it more difficult. Should he take her arm and walk her to her car? Open the door for her? Or should he just stand there like the jackass he felt he was and watch her go? That was if she ever left. Because she hadn't so much as turned one foot in the direction of her car.

"Well," she said suddenly, her voice brisk and businesslike. "I'll see you around?"

"Yeah." He cleared his throat. "We'll probably be invited next week."

"Right. Right." The breeze picked up and he watched it lift a lock of her hair and send it dancing across her face. Her hand lifted, her fingers caught it, and she dragged it away and tucked it behind her ear.

Why, he wondered, was he jealous of her fingers?

"You've got my number. You know, if you need to text me or whatever." Serena looked away and he saw her shoulders rise and fall with a sigh.

"Yeah, same to you. I can do that." He sounded so stupid. "You can call me sometime or whatever?"

"Right." She scraped that lock of hair back again. "You can call me too, I guess."

She sounded so impartial he had no trouble understanding that him calling was the last thing she wanted. Adam licked his lips and glanced at the house. Sure enough, he could just see a face peering at them through the blinds in the front window. And another face at the window by the front door. "You think we should kiss?"

Her eyes grew wide. "What?"

"Kiss. Since we're being watched," he added for clarification. It wasn't like he wanted to kiss her or anything.

Except he kind of did. Maybe? No. He didn't want to kiss her. He did not want to touch her lips. He sure as hell didn't want her lips to touch his, either. He didn't want to hold her cheek or her waist and sneak a taste to see if her lips held the flavor of beer or whiskey or the cinnamon gum she'd popped into her mouth after dinner.

"Do you think we should?" she asked. "I mean, we did just meet."

"You're right—"

"I usually don't kiss until I go out on an actual date," she continued. "And since that won't be happening—"

"I get it, okay? You're right. It was a stupid idea." Fuck, why had he let himself think he would enjoy kissing her? She was way too bossy for his liking. This whole thing was going to suck. Chewing on the inside of his mouth, he pressed his lips together briefly. "Sorry."

Her sigh lingered between them. Then she muttered something and stepped forward. Her lips tilted into a smile that made him feel warm all over. Her hand lightly grasped his bicep and he lifted his eyebrows when she leaned up. Lips soft as velvet pressed to his cheek and remained for several seconds and all he could do was sigh.

Adam pulled one hand free of his pocket and was milliseconds from placing at her waist when she began to pull back. A lock of her hair swirled against his cheek and he ignored the shiver it sent down his spine. He lifted his hand, eyes locking with hers as he reached to guide the tress behind her ear. He froze, held his breath, wondering what the hell he was doing. Her hair continued to dance against his cheek for a long moment. His lungs burned and he slowly released his breath as she raised her hand to sweep her hair behind her ear. The hand at his bicep gave a faint squeeze and he let his hand drop.

"How was that?" she asked, breaking the eye contact.

"Perfect," he whispered, darting his tongue over his suddenly dry lips.

She smiled. "Good."

"Yeah, good."

"Goodnight, Adam," she said. The hand on his bicep trailed down his arm before falling to her side.

He told himself the goosebumps were from the chill in the air. "Goodnight, Serena."

Watching her while she walked to her car, he pushed his hand deeper into his pocket and smiled faintly when she looked back at him before climbing in. He waited until her engine purred to life then headed for his truck, frowning when his fingers brushed against something in his pocket. He pulled it out and turned the object over, recognizing the shape.

The bottle cap from the beer he'd taken to her at the pool. He knew it was that one because he'd used the bottle opener and it had a dent right in the middle. He had no idea how it had ended up in his jeans.

"Huh." Shrugging, he shoved it back into his pocket and focused on more important things.

Why the hell had he almost put his hand on her waist when she kissed his cheek?

And why had he almost messed with her hair?

"Shit," he muttered while starting the engine. He shook his head and released a short breath that could have passed for a laugh. "Can't believe I almost did that."

Maybe he should have?

"Wait, no, that's stupid. She's not into me," he told the empty cab of the truck as he drove down the street.

She sure was good at pretending. Fingers drumming on the steering wheel as he waited for the light to change, he wondered what else she was good at.

"This is so fucking stupid. She's not into me. I'm not into her," he reminded himself with intensity. "We're pretending!"

***

Why had she kissed him?

Okay, so it had just been a peck on the cheek. But then like an idiot she had lingered. Had let that woodsy cologne loiter in her senses.

"Fuck me, I can't believe I kissed him," Serena groaned, turning off her shower. She had taken a quick rinse at Cole's but had needed to scrub all the chlorine from her skin and hair. Beginning to dry off, she went over those brief moments on the sidewalk.

Adam, looking almost adorable with his hands in his pockets. The tangible awkwardness because she had known their friends were watching. The shock when he'd asked if they should kiss. The sudden decision that fuck it, she had to make it look good.

His bicep, thick and hard under her hand. His neatly trimmed beard against her chin. His surprisingly soft cheek. Had she imagined it or had he seemed to enjoy it?

"Of course he enjoyed it, he's a man," she snorted. Wincing at the overt sexism, she muttered an apology to the powers that be and started combing leave-in conditioner through her damp hair.

"Shouldn't have done it," she sighed while putting on her pajamas.

She got her phone and crawled into bed. She called her mom and chatted for a while, catching up on life at home as she did every weekend. Then, out of habit, she opened Twitter. She supposed she should follow him. Britt would say something if she didn't. She found him and, after scrolling through some of his tweets, tapped the follow button. Feeling the need to post something, she slowly tapped out a few words.

Nothing better than spending hours talking with someone about mutual passions without worrying you look and sound like a dork.

Should she mention him? No. That would be taking it too far. She read it over several times to make sure the spelling was correct, then posted it. Pushing thoughts of Adam Page from her mind, she mindlessly scrolled through recent tweets, then went to her notifications to clear them.

And blinked in surprise when she saw that he'd replied to her tweet.

I'll drink to that.

She rolled her eyes and liked the tweet, closing the app after seeing that he'd followed her back.

"Shouldn't have done it," she said again, leaning to plug in her phone.

Not that he'd minded, though, right?

"Of course, he minded," she said aloud after switching off the lamp. "This is pretend!"

That little sigh was one of annoyance. Not his way of letting her know he'd liked her kissing his cheek.

"And I didn't like it either," she muttered, punching her pillow into shape. "Because I don't like him."

She couldn't like him. That would defeat the whole purpose of this crazy scheme. She just had to play a part. It wouldn't last long, after all. Their schedules were at odds, she reminded herself, ignoring the fact that Britt and Cole managed to stay together. She reassured herself that her fake relationship with Adam would last maybe a month. Two at the most. They'd end it amicably, and she would appear upset enough to get a promise from Cole and Britt that they would stop trying to match her up with all their single friends. All in all, it would be relatively easy.

Right?

#hangman page imagine #adam page imagine #hangman page fanfiction #adam page fanfiction #what the hell else do i put in the tags #i'd apologize for the length but LOL no #my fics #time to crawl back into my hole #edit: why doesn't tagging accts work properly why's it gotta be so hard #multipart:BITN

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reflectionsofneptune · 3 years

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Hey! I’m answering your 12 questions for Scorpio season. I’m a Scorpio sun and mercury with Sagittarius rising, moon, venus and mars if that helps

1) I feel like it depends. I’ve encountered people and our first conversation would hit off really well but later found out that I don’t really feel the chemistry anymore. My closest friend took a few conversations for me to take our friendship into consideration. Truthfully I wasn’t expecting to get so close but we align a lot with the same values. She’s the best!

2) I like to sleep in complete darkness and most of the time I keep the lights off in the house. seeing even a little bit of light seeping through the curtains first thing in the morning aggravates me lol.

3) I never celebrated my birthday. It was only until I turned 21 and employeed that I was able to do so. My family don’t celebrate special occasions so that might be a factor.

4) I would like to say pretty decent. I’m very sensitive to other people’s non-verbal cues and communication style. I know when someone isn’t being genuine with me or don’t have my best interest by how they talk. There was a coworker I found attractive and he would flatter me. He would call me sweet names and call me beautiful and made sure to talk to me everyday. But I noticed he never asked for my name (I had to tell him) which I thought was small yet odd. I decided to not further our relationship. I recently found out the mother of his child broke up with him not too long ago because he cheated on her. He was very handsome but I’m not interested in being someone’s placeholder.

5) As a concept yes lol. I can see why people do it, but I myself don’t have the talent to engage in one tho.

6) Confidence. Now when I mean by that, I mean someone who is comfortable in expressing their own identity without no inhibitions. Someone that understand their own limitations without seeing it as a weakness. Someone that see the world beyond themselves and extend that empathy towards others without gaining any benefits from it.

7) People can use it for incredibly good things and incredibly stupid things. I see no value or honor from it because I unfortunately see most of the latter. Ex: celebrities. I don’t stan any celebrities and I feel like we (regular civilians) influence the culture/ social media platforms much more than they do.

8) I like California rolls, Shrimp tempura, and poached salmon rolls. I never ventured beyond that.

9) They’re okay. Escalators and stairs tho??? omg I don’t understand why I’m so terrified of them. I can go on but I always have to make sure and look down so I don’t misstep. I never tripped but yet here I am.

10) It’s mandatory. I live in NYC and my parents were adamant about it growing up (respect thing). I like to look because it can negate someone from out right lying to my face. But I do respect other people wishes when I pick up that they’re getting nervous maintaining contact by toning it down.

11) Thankfully, I haven’t been led on before. I don’t have the heart to lead someone on either. I’m notorious on friend-zoning people when I know they like me and I can’t reciprocate their feelings. It’s easier to nip it because I hate being put in a uncomfortable position. I tried maintaining friendships to be nice but men still took it as an opportunity to try once again

12) I’m very open. I love listening to how people think and their passions. I loooove when someone speak in “colors” to me. So many people conform themselves to convential standards and never thought to question it. I like when people question the rules they live by.

ahhhh thank you so much!

if you don’t mind me asking, is Uranus prominent in your chart?

#answers from scorpio and eighth house placements

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raccoon-wizard · 4 years

Text

Two and Half Assholes

An entire one person (shout out to @jumpfiend) expressed their wish for me to write an angry essay about the long dead show Two and Half Men (2003-2015) and all the problems it has. Allow me to start by saying that I am by no means a professional critic and I have never really written an in-depth review of anything. But I have a lot of feelings that I need to get out about this shitshow, otherwise my head is gonna explode next time my father insists on watching it.

Just a warning, this is a very long post.

What is Two and Half Men about?

If I tried to write my own summary here, I would probably end up tearing it to shreds already. Instead, I’m going to borrow the annotation from IMDB.com: “A hedonistic jingle writer's free-wheeling life comes to an abrupt halt when his brother and 10-year-old nephew move into his beachfront house.”

That doesn’t really say much, does it now. Luckily, the same site also provides us with a wide range of plot (hahahah “plot”) summaries written by users. This one tells us a little more: “The Harper brothers Charlie and Alan are almost opposites but form a great team. They have little in common except their dislike for their mundane, maternally cold and domineering mother, Evelyn. Alan, a compulsively neat chiropractor and control-freak, is thrown out by his manipulative wife Judith who nevertheless gets him to pay for everything and do most jobs in the house. Charlie is a freelance jingle composer and irresistible Casanova who lives in a luxurious beach-house and rarely gets up before noon. Charlie "temporarily" allows Alan and his son Jake, a food-obsessed, lazy kid who shuttles between his parents, to move in with them after Alan's separation/divorce. The sitcom revolves around their conflicting lifestyles, raising Jake (who has the efficient, caring dad while having a ball with his fun-loving sugar uncle who teaches him boyish things), and bantering with Evelyn and various other friends and family. Other fairly regular characters include Charlie's cleaning lady Berta and his rich, self-confessed stalker neighbor Rose who often sneaks in to spy on Charlie.”

Now that’s much better. It gives us quite a decent picture of the show’s ensemble. At least for the starter episodes, this is pretty much what it is. But as the show progresses, we see that the characters have a little bit more depth to them. But not that much.

Let’s start with Charlie Harper, the “freelance jingle composer and irresistible Casanova who lives in a luxurious beach-house and rarely gets up before noon” portrayed by Charlie Sheen. (Is that man still a thing?) I think we can get a lot by taking apart this brief description of him. Freelance jingle composer pretty much means that he has a grand piano in his house and we can occasionally see him playing it while trying to put together words for a commercial for some random product. And that’s it. He has a few other musician friends who are just as big of assholes as he is, but we’ll get to that later. Other than that, we don’t really see him working at all. I think there is one episode about him writing kids’ songs because his girlfriend’s kid likes them. And one about him getting an award?? I don’t know man. The second part of that statement is a much more prominent “personality” trait of Charlie’s. In nearly every episode, we see him “dating” (meaning shagging and then dumping) another woman. I have mentioned in my initial post that this show is misogynistic. Don’t worry, I will also get into that later. For now I’m going to say that Charlie treats all these women absolutely disgustingly and we’re supposed to laugh at that. On the rare occasions we see him in a long term relationship (which happens twice I think? I’m not sure now), we get the stereotypical ball and chain bullshit. The woman takes all his freedom and tries to make him better. While I hate that trope with burning passion, I have to admit that in this case, she does have a solid point. Charlie is a pathetic excuse of a man who has to count on his good looks (questionable) and his riches. By the way, where did he even get them? Does composing jingles really make that much money? Is he that good of a gambler? I’m pretty sure I’ve seen another episode addressing the fact that the answer to both of these questions is no. Where the hell did this luxurious beach-house come from??? So many questions about a show that deserves so little.

Surprisingly, Charlie is the better one out of the two brothers. At the start, we really do feel sorry for Alan. His wife (who is a HORRIBLE person by the way) kicks him out and manipulates him into still paying for everything and doing many things for her around the house. Who wouldn’t feel bad for someone like this? He moves in with Charlie “for the time being”. Soon, we realise that he is not leaving the house anytime soon. He becomes a disgusting leech, a truly pathetic excuse of a man. And he doesn’t even bother hiding it. I’m not sure if we’re supposed to feel sorry for him or laugh at him, but either case doesn’t really work if you spend at least ten seconds thinking about it. How are we supposed to sympathise with a man that lives off of others and barely lifts a finger to change it? The worst part is, the show presents it as something completely normal. We don’t really see Alan’s actions turning against him, do we? Most of the time, whatever shit he does, works just fine for him.

Another prominent character is Alan’s son, Jake, who grows up throughout the series. A fat little boy, not exactly bright. A spoiled brat (if it’s the fault of Alan or Judith is questionable) that has everything handed to him, as Charlie points out in one episode. It’s another bad personality trait that we’re supposed to find funny. And at first, we kind of do. But once again, as the show progresses, it gets worse. Jake becomes the oldest kid in his class because he fails so many times. He only gets to start middle school because “he’s too big for the desks in his class now”. A bit of a watered down Dudley Dursley now that I think about it. It feels that the older Jake gets, the dumber he is. He eventually joins the military because he is too daft to realise. (If I remember correctly, that was done only so Jake’s actor could leave the show because he pretty much realised how bad it was.)

The main reason why I hate this show so much, however, is its way of handling female characters. There’s a few prominent ones - the aforementioned Judith, Alan’s ex wife, a cold hearted manipulative bitch, that also follows the trope of “I’m breaking up with you because I’m a lesbian” for a while, but then it’s never addressed again, not even once. Then we have Alan and Charlie’s mother, Evelyn, also a cold hearted bitch lacking any motherly instincts whatsoever that the men blame for how they turned out. Honestly, I can kind of see it. There’s Rose, Charlie’s neighbour whom he had slept with once and who’s been obsessed with him ever since, following him pretty much wherever he goes and inappropriately visiting him, usually in order to chase any woman that gets close to him away. We have Berta, Charlie’s housekeeper that I would like to believe is there to show the differences between different classes, as she has a large family to take care of, fending of her daughters’ admirers and dealing with drug and alcohol issues. But at this point we all know she’s only there so we can laugh at her struggles and the witty remarks she likes to make.

A special category of women in this show are the lovers and girlfriends. All of them end up either leaving the men for someone better (good for them tbh), or getting left by them. But remember, we’re supposed to always be siding with the men. The women are there for us to laugh at and hate. Rose the stalker? The only reason Charlie never gets rid of her is so we can laugh as she appears unexpected on his balcony over and over again. Are her apparent mental health issues ever addressed? Maybe once, but as a joke. You know, the classic ha ha ha ha look an insane person that’s hilarious. Judith the ex wife and her flock of weird friends (that Charlie converts)? Look, evil wives hating men, ha ha ha ha. Better run away from there, men, or they’ll eat you alive! Ha ha ha ha. Judith wanting support from friends and claiming she deserves to be happy is played off as something we scoff at. Chelsea, Charlie’s girlfriend and fiancée? The ball and chain thing, similarly to Judith, but not nearly as manipulative - this one we can see really means well and wants to help Charlie, but he’s a Man™ and cannot handle that, despite claiming to love her very dearly. Lindsay, Alan’s on again, off again girlfriend? Oof. Where to even start with that one. As most of the characters (save for maybe Judith), she starts off decent, despite her inexplicable desire for Alan. (Seriously though what in the world is up with that.) Also, now that I mentioned Alan’s weird sex appeal (not to me but to the female characters of the show, ew), what the hell was up with Judith wanting to suddenly fuck him again and HIM ENDING UP BEING THE FATHER OF HER DAUGHTER???? Was that the point when the writers just said “you know what, fuck this” or?

Some additional things the men on the show did to women:

Infidelity. Aka “ha ha ha many women want man what a lucky bastard he gets to fuck many women ha ha ha oh no he’s been caught ha ha ha funny”.

Infidelity with their friends/family members. I’m pretty sure this happened multiple times. One of the male protagonists gets a girlfriend. Girlfriend has an attractive daughter. Man sleeps with daughter. Girlfriend is mad. Man claims that it is actually a compliment to her because the daughter is just a younger version of her. Man gets upset when girlfriend disagrees. Poor man, girlfriend mean :(((

Another thing I would like to point out is the show’s dumbass approach to sexuality and gender. It’s the age old, straight men bullshit that lesbians = hot, gay men = ew. We see that throughout the whole thing a bunch of times. Alan ends up marrying Walden (whom I will talk about as well) so they can scam an adoption agency. That’s just wrong, man. That’s awful. And regarding gender, the way this shitshow handles trans people is disgusting. I can currently only think of one instance of this, but I have a feeling it happened multiple times, but with Charlie and Alan. They meet a woman, flirt, sleep together, all fun and games. But for some god forsaken reason, after all is done, the woman decides to be like “yeah by the way I used to be a dude” and?? Why?? First of, why would any trans person want to tell anyone their deadname and other things after successfully transitioning? I’m a cis woman, but this really makes no sense to me. Please correct me if I’m wrong on this one, but if you’ve spent years trying to pass as whatever gender you identify with, transitioned, you wouldn’t exactly go around sleeping with people and afterwards telling them about it, would you? And second of all, the entire reason why these characters appear are so we can be like “eww he slept with someone who used to have a penis eww” and laugh as they have a small crisis because of it. Just. Why?? I am aware that this is a thing other shows do/have done as well, but it really bothers me. And even when the guy decides to roll with it, all we get are those jokes that the woman is “more manly” than him. I remember vividly Alan hooking up with a trans lady and briefly dating her, only so we can see her pick a fight with a man, pay for their food and shit and Alan being flustered because he feels like less of a man. Again, please correct me if I’m wrong since my knowledge of gender is limited, but I’m about 97 % sure this is not how it works.

One would have thought that most of this would end after Charlie’s death. His place is taken by Walden Schmidt, portrayed by the angel that is Ashton Kutcher, a “billionaire internet entrepreneur who has recently been divorced and is now suicidal” (wiki). Before I dig in to how it actually got worse, let’s talk about Walden for a while. He really is a nice change. Walden is a genuinely good character, we see him working super hard and treating women well and just being great. I actually like him. The problem the show has when it comes to him is treating his suicidal-ness as just another little joke. Ha ha ha man wants to die man weak. Funny. But as we get over this part (rather quickly tbh), things involving Walden get actually good (besides the part where he sleeps with Alan’s mother). We do see some annoyingly familiar divorce related things, but in contrast to Alan, we see Walden actually get back on his own two feet.

Alan will forever be my biggest issue with this show. I don’t know if he gets worse or if it’s just the contrast with Walden that makes it seem that way, but he becomes a bigger and bigger parasite, exploiting Walden’s kindness, becoming a lover to his, at that point, former girlfriend Lindsay and somehow exploiting her current boyfriend? He just goes haywire is what I’m trying to say.

I’m not saying that people like that don’t exist. We see it every day, the rich playboys, the pathetic incels. They are everywhere and we totally should talk about them. But not like this. We shouldn’t feel like we should sympathise with them, we shouldn’t hate those that try to criticise them, or those who want to get rid of them. We shouldn’t laugh when they hurt people around them. Men shouldn’t want to relate to them. Characters like this should be presented as something we should avoid becoming.

“What’s your problem? It’s just something I watch to unwind,” my father scoffs at me as I complain about yet another evening we all have to spend listening to the nonsense Two and Half Men brings us. Yea, maybe for you. Maybe you know better than to treat people around you, especially women, like they’re just something you can play around with and then throw into the sewers. Maybe you give everyone equal respect. (No he doesn’t, by the way.) But you know, with the way this TV channel plays this show over and over and over and over again (five episodes a day, every day, and the second they get to the end, they just start over), there’s probably a number of young people who don’t realise how wrong it is and take what’s said there as something to live by. Maybe they’ll think that it’s okay to use people to their advantage. Maybe they’ll think like a rich entitled middle aged straight white man. That’s my problem. Even though the show ended five years ago, it still lives on our televisions and it still gives us wrong examples on how to live our lives. That’s why I hate the show. Not just the awful writing and “plot” holes. It’s the way it treats people and presents it as something that’s totally fine.

#tv #television #tv shows #comedy #sitcom #two and half men #jon cryer #ashton kutcher #charlie sheen #sexism #misogyny

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