#stop with the privating and compartmentalization of communities!!!!

[snickerdoodlles]

am feeling very Hmm about this communities thing :(

[whisperedmeg]

ADJOINING ROOMS ⋆˚꩜｡ spencer reid x fem!BAU!reader

summary: you and reid are just colleagues. and hookup partners. and fake lovers for a case in a swinger’s club. but it’s fine. until it really, really isn’t.

genre: smut, angst | w/c: 8.5k

tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, situationship/fwb, coworkers to lovers, brief references to alcohol consumption, emotional avoidance/lack of communication, mentions of the swinger lifestyle (case related) (probably full of inaccuracies & stereotypes so apologies in advance for that lol), canon-typical case/violence, fingering, oral (f receiving), p in v, multiple orgasms + a lil overstimulation, soft dom!spencer if you squint, spencer calls reader good girl/baby/sweet girl, slight praise kink, aftercare, no use of y/n

a/n: never written a case-centric fic before (although idk if I’d call this case-centric — more like case-adjacent) and zooo weee mama the hours upon hours I put into this 😮‍💨 but I’m very pleased with how it turned out, so I hope someone enjoys it as much as I enjoyed writing it! I know it’s long but fingers crossed it’s worth it. (p.s. fourth pic is not indicative of reader’s appearance!! it just had the right dress + vibes)

The roundtable room always feels colder than it should. Maybe it’s the fluorescent lights, or maybe it’s the weight of what gets said in here — every case, every file, every name. Sometimes you think the walls remember too much.

Hotch is talking. His voice cuts through the stillness in that crisp, efficient way it always does. Words like “victimology” and “behavioral escalation” stack on top of each other, building the scaffolding of a case you’re supposed to be paying attention to. But your mind is already drifting — across the table, past the file folders and scattered pens, to where Spencer is sitting.

He’s chewing the inside of his cheek again. Not nervous, exactly — more like restless. His gaze flickers from the files to the floor to the case board, anywhere but you. He hasn’t looked at you once all morning.

You wonder if anyone else notices.

Last week, you kissed him. Again. Or rather, he kissed you.

It was late. You were both a little tipsy from post-case beers, tiptoeing down the hotel hallway like teenagers who missed curfew. You’d said something about how quiet it was — how strange it felt after so much chaos that day. He’d nodded. Then there was a long, loaded pause, and suddenly your back was against the wallpaper and his mouth was on yours, hot and searching and almost rough.

“We shouldn’t,” you’d whispered, even as your fingers curled into his shirt.

“I know,” he’d breathed back against your lips.

And still, neither of you stopped.

You think about that now — his hands framing your jaw, the way he touched you like he’d been dying to all day — and it makes your palms itch. You press your nails into your skin, leaving little crescent-shaped indents, and force your gaze back to the board.

On it: photos of the bodies of three women. All strangled. All posed ritualistically. All in their late twenties to mid-thirties, all married or in serious relationships. All affiliated with the swinger lifestyle in the greater Chicago area.

“Preliminary theory,” Hotch says, “is that the unsub attends these parties, separates the woman from her male partner, and kills her in private. He’s not targeting them at random — he’s studying their interactions with their partners first. Police pulled together a sketch of the unsub from witnesses, but the locals haven’t been able to identify him yet.”

Spencer finally speaks. “It’s possible he’s embedding himself in the community. Not just observing, but actively participating in swinging.”

You swallow hard. His voice sounds normal. Clinical. Almost bored. You wonder how he does that — compartmentalizes so easily when you’re in the room like nothing ever happened between you.

You, meanwhile, are still trying to forget the taste of his mouth.

“Wheels up in an hour,” Hotch says, flipping the file closed. “We’ll get briefed by local PD and the Chicago field office when we land.”

He pauses and glances around the table.

“We’re also going to need to send two of you in undercover at the next club night.”

As soon as he says it, you already know what’s coming. Hotch focuses his eyes on you before he continues speaking.

“You’ve got the most experience working undercover,” he says. “And you fit the victimology. Reid, you’ll go with her. You make a believable pairing.”

You feel it. Not just the sharp jolt in your own chest, but the way Spencer tenses. A small shift in posture, like someone bracing for impact. His eyes stay fixed on the table. You just nod.

“If the unsub is targeting women in stable relationships,” Spencer begins, voice measured, “we need to appear convincingly connected — not just physically, but emotionally. Studies show that up to 10 % of American married couples have experimented with swinging, and many report that emotional intimacy drives their participation more than the physical variety. If he’s looking for that connection when seeking out victims, we’ll need to sell both.”

You almost laugh. Not because it’s funny — but because this is how he protects himself. With facts. With rationality. Like if he says the right words in the right order, it won’t matter that your mouths have already memorized each other.

“Exactly. And you two will blend in best with the age group at these clubs. We’ll do more prep on the plane,” Hotch says.

You nod. Spencer nods.

And then, finally, he looks at you.

It’s barely for a second, but it’s long enough to see the thing he’s trying to hide:

Want. Fear. Something brittle and unspeakable pressed tight beneath his ribs.

You look away first. You have to.

—

The jet hums around you. You’ve always found something oddly comforting about the sound — the steady thrum of the engine, the muted clink of coffee mugs, the gentle rustle of case files and paper.

Spencer is sitting across from you, the way he always does on the jet. Close enough to keep an eye on you if he wants to, but far enough away for plausible deniability. He’s got a file open in his lap, one leg crossed over the other, pen tapping absently at the margin. But he hasn’t turned the page in eight minutes.

You’re pretending to read, too. Words blur. You underline things at random just to look busy. The profile you and the team have already built is solid — mid- to late-thirties, white male, organized, narcissistic injury around female sexuality, history of escalating violence against women starting from a young age, currently or formerly involved in the swinger community himself.

But all you can think about is the fact that Spencer isn't looking at you again, and it’s starting to eat at you.

“God,” Morgan mutters from behind you. “This case is wild. Sex parties, swinging, murder.”

“People have all kinds of lifestyles,” JJ says, gentle and unbothered, flipping through photos. “That doesn’t make them deserving of this.”

“Not saying that,” Morgan replies. “Just… can you imagine Hotch at one of those clubs?”

A collective groan-laugh moves through the jet. Rossi makes a deadpan comment about leather harnesses. Even Hotch cracks a grin.

But Spencer doesn’t. He’s still staring at his file, unmoving, jaw tight.

The last time you were alone with him, he was on his knees.

You remember the way he looked up at you, hair falling into his eyes. His mouth was reverent. Careful. Like you were a puzzle he desperately needed to solve with his tongue.

“Please,” you’d whispered. “Don’t be so gentle.”

But he was. He always is. Even when he’s needy, even when you’re shaking — he’s still soft. Still murmuring little praises like, “You’re doing so well for me,” and “Good girl.”

And when it was over, you got dressed, said a quiet goodnight, and tiptoed back down the hall to your room alone, same as you always did. Even after countless nights together, you never slept beside him. One of you always left. It was the one boundary you hadn’t crossed. There was a seemingly impenetrable wall between the two of you, and you weren’t even sure which one of you had built it. Maybe it was him, maybe it was you, or maybe it was a joint effort.

Back in the present, the jet hits a small patch of turbulence. You jolt, fingers tightening around your pen. Spencer looks up instinctively, and your eyes meet.

He blinks once, then looks back down.

You wonder if he’s thinking about the same things you are. If the silence between you is just his version of restraint, or if he’s decided it’s easier to forget.

“Here’s some background on the club,” Hotch says, sliding a printout across the table. “Invitation-only, but you two,” he nods at you and Spencer, “are already on the guest list.”

Spencer shifts slightly. “Did they send a floorplan?”

JJ passes him a sheet with the building layout. You watch the way his fingers curl around the edge of the paper.

You want to say something. You want to joke, to ease the tension, to break the silence before it breaks you. All you can manage is:

“So. You ready to pretend to be my boyfriend, Reid?”

It comes out lighter than you feel.

Spencer’s mouth twitches. Not quite a smile, though.

“I’ve pretended to be worse,” he says softly. And for a moment, it almost feels like the past six months didn’t happen.

Then Rossi clears his throat, and Spencer looks away again.

You stare at the grain in the tabletop and trace it like a fault line, wondering how you’re supposed to fake wanting all of him when that’s already too close to reality.

—

The hotel room you’ve just checked into is a bit dated, with a king bed, fake art, heavy curtains, and neutral tones. Standard, by every definition of the word. But your eyes keep flicking to the left — where a second door sits flush with the wall you share with the adjacent room. It feels like the universe is laughing at you when you realize who’s staying in the suite next door — Spencer, naturally. And maybe it’s not a big deal. Maybe two FBI agents sharing a door between rooms isn’t a scandal. Maybe it’s even practical, since you’ll be working so closely on this case.

Still.

It feels too absurdly romantic for a murder investigation. Like the setup to a bad workplace rom-com that ends in a wedding montage and a corny piano medley. The thought makes you snort. You’ve got a deadpan sense of humor, especially when you’re tired or scared or two seconds away from thinking about the taste of his mouth again.

You groan and drop your go-bag at the foot of the bed. Your boots are already off. You’re about to get up and shower when you hear a rattle of movement on the other side of the wall.

Then: a knock.

Not at the main door, but the other one. The one that’s supposed to stay shut.

Of course.

You pad over and unlatch it.

Spencer’s standing there in mismatched socks, tie loosened, hair slightly mussed like he’s been running his hands through it for the last twenty minutes.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey.”

You both hover for a second. There’s something soft in his eyes — like guilt, or maybe just caution.

“I, uh, thought we should talk through tomorrow. Get our story straight before we go in.”

You arch a brow. “Our story?”

He swallows. “Cover story. Our… relationship history. As a couple. So we’re believable.”

You blink. Then you laugh — short, surprised. “Right. Gotta make sure our fake relationship is fully fleshed out.”

His expression doesn’t change, but you see the muscle in his jaw jump. Like he’s trying very hard not to say something he’ll regret.

You step back. “Come on in, then. Let’s build a backstory.”

He enters cautiously, and the adjoining door swings closed behind him with a click.

You’re the kind of person who flirts when you’re uncomfortable. Who masks tension with sarcasm. Who doesn’t let people in until it’s already too late. And deep down, you hate that you’ve been soft with him. He’s seen the version of you who doesn’t deflect — the quiet version. The real one. You spent years learning how not to feel things too deeply, but now one look from Spencer and it’s like a dam breaking.

“So,” you say, cocking your head, “how long have we been together?”

He glances up to the ceiling. “A year?”

“Bold of you to assume I’d put up with you that long.”

His mouth twitches. “Six months?”

“Try four and a half. Tops.”

“Fine,” he murmurs. “Four and a half months.”

You bite your lip, a smirk teasing the corner. “And how did we meet? Office romance?”

He gives you a look of exasperation and says your name with a groan. Clearly, that hit a nerve.

You chuckle. “Fine. Come up with something better.”

There’s a beat. Then: “You spilled coffee on me in a bookstore. I insisted it was fine, you apologized profusely and offered to buy me a new shirt. Turned into a whole scene,” he decides.

You laugh. “That’s ridiculous.”

“It’s believable.”

“Because I’m clumsy, or because you’re uptight?”

“Both,” he says, almost smiling.

The air shifts.

There it is again — that familiar tilt of the atmosphere. The way everything around him bends just slightly, like gravity favors his orbit.

He crosses the room and perches on the edge of the desk chair, spinning it half toward you.

You watch him from the bed, legs folded underneath you, pretending this is the most intimate moment you’ve ever shared. Which is, frankly, ridiculous. You’ve had your mouth on every inch of him. He’s said things in your ear that still make your toes curl when you think about them late at night.

“Tomorrow,” he says slowly, “we’ll need to act familiar. Emotionally and… physically.”

You nod. “We’re supposed to be in love, after all.”

That gets him. His eyes flick to yours, sharp and unreadable.

You tilt your head. “Or maybe just horny. That’s easier to fake, right?”

Silence.

Then, softly: “You’re not helping.”

“No,” you admit. “I’m not.”

You’ve always been like this — deflective to the point of recklessness when you’re backed into an emotional corner. It’s easier to make a joke than to say what you really mean. Easier to prod him than to admit you want something to give.

There’s a beat of quiet. You shift, pulling the blanket up over your legs, suddenly chilly despite the warmth of the room. The joke has worn off.

He clears his throat. “I should go, let you get some sleep.”

You nod, even though you know you’ll be restless for hours. The moment he’s gone, you’ll feel his absence echo like ringing in your ears after a fire alarm.

He stands. You stand, too. You walk together to the adjoining door like a real couple might, and that alone feels like cruelty.

For a second, neither of you moves. Then, you speak, voice quieter than it had been a few moments ago:

“Spence?”

He stops, glances back. His nickname in your mouth always does that — stalls him mid-step, like he’s never truly ready for it.

“If we’re going to be convincing,” you say, trying to sound casual, “you’re gonna have to at least look at me tomorrow.”

His gaze drops to the floor before finally lifting and meeting yours again, albeit briefly. “I’ll look at you,” he promises quietly, after a long beat.

And then he’s gone.

You lock the door, press your forehead to the wood frame, and exhale. You debate a shower again.

And that’s when it hits you — the memory, sudden and sharp, sparking bright in your mind like a match catching:

Three months ago. It was late. You’d just gotten back to the hotel one night in the middle of a case that left you feeling hollow, and you’d turned the shower on to heat up while you undid your ponytail with tired fingers.

The knock at your door came soft, almost guilty. You spotted Spencer through the peephole and let him in. You didn’t need to ask why he was there — you could see it in the way his shoulders slumped from the weight he was carrying, in the way his hand kneaded at the tension in the back of his neck, in the way he looked at you with those honey brown eyes like you were the only thing in this universe that could make him feel human again.

His mouth crashed into yours before you could even register it. Urgent. Consuming. The kind of kiss that didn’t care what came after, only what needed to happen right now.

You pulled him into the bathroom by his collar, lips parted and hungry. Clothes came off swiftly into a messy heap by the base of the sink. He lifted you into the shower then, water cascading around your tangled limbs, and braced you against the wall, tiles cool against your back.

You let him take everything he needed that night. Every thrust a release, every gasp a plea. He murmured little things against the warm skin of your neck — you don’t remember what they were, but you do remember the sound of his voice: low and wrecked and achingly tender. You came with your head tipped back, body trembling under the hot spray, thighs tightening around his waist, and he came harder. Like he couldn’t stop it — like your body had pulled it out of him, with a stifled groan and a shudder that rolled through his entire frame.

You stayed like that for a moment — both of you breathing hard, the sound of the water the only thing steady.

Eventually, your thighs loosened around him and he set you gently back down to the ground. You half-expected him to lean down and kiss you, to keep the moment going, but instead, he just studied your face and softly brushed your wet hair away from your cheek. Something quiet passed between you, fragile and echoing.

Then, without a word, he stepped out.

You watched through the fogged glass as he toweled off. Pulled his shirt back on over damp skin. Buttoned it unevenly, stepped into his slacks. His hands shook a little.

You were still standing under the water when he paused at the door.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” he said, barely audible over the rush of the shower. You nodded in reply.

Just as quickly as he’d showed up, he was gone again.

You blink back into the present, your skin prickling with goosebumps.

You hate that your body remembers him like that. You hate even more that your heart does, too.

—

The club doesn’t look like a potential murder spot.

It looks like money. Like velvet and champagne and curated decadence. Everything about it is just a little too sleek — brushed brass door handles, scented candles tucked into corners, red-tinted lights that paint everything in crimson and shadows.

Spencer’s arm is around your waist.

It’s not the first time he’s touched you like this, but it is the first time he’s pretending you belong to him.

And you’re pretending not to like it.

“You’re sure you’re okay in that?” he asks, voice low.

You glance down at the dress you’d picked out with Garcia’s help via video call — sleek, black, open back. It felt like a good idea when you tried it on at her suggestion — something sexy that would blend in with the rest of the club’s clientele. But now, with Spencer’s hand resting on the exposed curve of your spine, you think Garcia might’ve known exactly what she was doing when she encouraged it.

“I’m fine,” you murmur. “You’re the one who looks like he’s seen a ghost.”

He exhales through his nose. “I just… I can’t help it. It’s you. You look—”

“Spence,” you interrupt gently. You mouth the words: “We’re wired.”

The reminder shuts him up. Somewhere in an unmarked surveillance van, your colleagues are sipping stale coffee and listening to every breath you take. Every fake laugh. Every flirtation. Watching your every move via the security cameras Garcia hacked into.

You lean in close, brushing your lips just near the shell of his ear.

“Smile, sweetheart. You’re in love, remember?”

He does smile then, a crooked thing, tight around the edges. His hand dips a little lower, warm against your exposed skin. You wonder if it’s for show or if it’s just for him.

In front of you, the club scene unfolds. Couples swirl around the open space like slow-moving constellations, orbiting each other in wine-dark booths and shadowed alcoves. The music is low enough to be sexy but loud enough to muffle secrets. There’s a large bar near the back, a velvet rope section with private rooms upstairs, and at least two couples openly making out on chaise lounges.

You pass a bowl of condoms by the entrance and stifle a snort.

You try not to think about how this place is meant to seduce. That it’s built for sex and permission and skin. And tonight, you’re supposed to be playing the part.

Spencer’s fingers brush your hip. You glance up at him, and he leans in like a man in love.

“Back wall,” he says softly. “Let me handle the couple, figure out if they’ve seen anything. You work the man in the charcoal jacket.”

You split apart in practiced sync. He heads to the couple and you drift left, letting your eyes catch on the man Spencer mentioned. He’s older than you expected, but clean-shaven, wearing an expensive watch. His gaze skims over you, then lingers. You tilt your head, sip your drink.

He bites. Of course he does. Within minutes, he’s walking you to the bar for a refill.

You lean against the edge of the bar, feign laughter, touch his wrist when he says something passably clever.

It’s an act. You’ve done this before. You know how to fake a smile like you mean it.

But you also know Spencer is watching.

You don’t look for him, but you feel it. The way you always feel it — his attention, boring deep into your skin. You imagine his jaw twitching. His hand curling into a fist inside his pocket.

He’s not an outwardly jealous person — not usually. But you’ve learned that jealousy doesn’t always wear teeth. Sometimes, it just lives quietly in the way someone stops breathing when they look at you.

You think back to the first time you saw that look after finishing up a case in Boston six months ago and letting a handsome stranger buy all of your drinks. Spencer had peeled you away from the man and the bar and back to the hotel under the guise of exhaustion and an early flight home, but you’d noticed the way he’d been discreetly watching you all night. So you’d kissed him in the hotel elevator — just to see how he’d react. Just to test how it’d feel. He’d melted into you after a few moments of your lips against his, and all of the sudden, the rest of your world faded into nothing. He tasted like whiskey and peppermint and something warmer that made your entire body ache.

You didn’t go your separate ways when the elevator dinged on your floor. And you didn’t talk about it the next day. Or the time after that. Or the one after that.

You’re still not talking about it now.

You shift your body, laughing at something the man says, and trail your fingers lightly up his forearm — flirtation, just enough to maintain your cover. It’s nothing.

But the second you do it, Spencer’s voice crackles in your ear.

“You there?”

You don’t react. Just cross your legs slowly, let your gaze slide over the crowd like you’re looking for a third. The man you’ve been flirting with is distracted by the bartender, ordering another round.

“Mhmm,” you murmur.

There’s a pause. A rustle of breath. Then:

“Eyes right. Column near the leather bench. White shirt, sleeves rolled. That’s gotta be him.”

You let your gaze drift lazily to the right, like you’re just admiring the architecture.

And then you spot the man Spencer’s referring to.

You catalog the similarities between this man and the police sketch hanging on the case board back at the precinct. His face is symmetrical, forgettable in a way that makes your skin crawl. Like someone who’s practiced looking normal. His eyes skim the room like a hunter watching a watering hole. He’s still — too still.

You can feel it, the same way Spencer can. It’s more than a hunch or a guess— it’s an instinct, a read, a real-time application of the profile living inside your brain. That man is the unsub.

“Copy,” you say lightly, but your smile is gone now.

You dip your head towards the man beside you, murmur something about needing a bathroom break, and move towards the back of the room. Once you’re out of view from the bar, you catch up with Spencer.

His fingers close over yours.

“Everything okay?”

“Peachy,” you lie.

But the word tastes like sand in your mouth. You can feel how close danger is.

Spencer’s hand releases yours and moves to rest firmly on the small of your back. His thumb rubs slow circles against your skin, barely there. It could be part of your cover, or it could be genuine affection. Regardless, it’s a silent message: I’ve got you.

You’re standing near the fringe of the crowd now, a cluster of couples trading flirty glances and low-toned jokes about partner swapping. Someone’s making conversation about a weekend retreat. A woman in a sequined dress laughs too loud. You nod along, sipping your drink, body tilting naturally toward Spencer.

And then he walks up — the unsub.

White shirt, sleeves rolled. Watchful but charming. Forgettable face, memorable eyes.

You feel the breath catch in Spencer’s chest beside you.

“Evening,” the man says easily. “You new here?”

You smile like your skin isn’t crawling, like you don’t know he’s already killed at least three women with his bare hands and left their bodies displayed like offerings.

“We are,” you say, glancing up at Spencer. “Still figuring out the vibe.”

The unsub chuckles. “Well, you’re blending in just fine.”

He’s talking to you, but he’s looking at both of you, measuring. It’s not interest — it’s a test. A subtle prod to see what kind of relationship you and Spencer have. To see how easy it might be to wedge his way in.

Spencer answers before you can. “We’re curious,” he says. “Just observing for now.”

His voice is calm, but you feel the steel in it. His hand is still at your back. He pulls you in a little closer.

“Nothing wrong with watching,” the unsub says, his mouth twitching. “Sometimes that’s the best part.”

He takes a slow sip of his drink, and his gaze settles fully on you.

You don’t flinch.

“I’m Marcus,” he says. “You two have names?”

You give a soft laugh and glance at Spencer. “We’re trying to stay mysterious tonight.”

“Suit yourself.” Another sip. “Just thought I’d say hello. Let you know there are a few playrooms open upstairs if you’re feeling adventurous.”

Playrooms. Right. You’d seen them in the floorplan — semi-private spaces for couples or groups, monitored lightly by staff but otherwise left alone.

“Thanks,” you say, casual, “we’ll keep it in mind.”

“Maybe I’ll see you up there,” he says before walking away with a wink.

Your pulse spikes, and you try to suppress it. Try to breathe around it. Spencer shifts slightly, steps closer, like he’s reading your vitals through his fingertips.

“Did you see his hand?” he murmurs, only for you. “There was blood under his nails.”

You nod once. “And a crescent-shaped scratch on his hand.”

“He’s escalating. He wants to be noticed.”

You don’t say it, but you both know what that means:

The unsub is spiraling. He’s deviating from his own profile. He’s been organized and methodical this whole time, but now, he hasn’t even washed days-old evidence off his hands. He’s losing control. And that makes him even more dangerous.

“Hotch, did you catch that?” you murmur under your breath.

“Affirmative,” comes the reply in your ear. “Garcia picked him up with facial recognition. Name’s Marcus Blackwood. His wife left him and moved in with another man three months ago. Surveillance confirms he was at the same clubs as all three victims. Do not engage until backup is in place — we’re on the way. Just keep an eye on him if you can.”

“Copy,” you and Spencer say together.

You glance toward the far end of the club and realize Blackwood is heading up the stairs that lead up to the playrooms.

“Shit,” Spencer mutters.

Blackwood is baiting you.

He wants you to follow him.

You scan the crowd — an endless pool of potential victims. The rest of the team is en route. Five minutes, tops. But that’s too long.

“Hotch said we should keep an eye on him. I can stall,” you say softly.

Spencer looks at you, and for a split second, his composure falters. It’s not fear for himself. It’s fear for you.

You touch his hand.

“I’ll be fine.”

You step away before he can stop you and move toward the stairs slowly, wine glass still in hand. You feel the heat of Spencer’s gaze the whole time.

You don’t look back.

Blackwood greets you at the top of the stairs with that same bland smile. The hallway beyond is dim, quiet, lined with half-cracked doors. You glance at one and see the vague blur of movement — flashes of skin, moans, laughter.

“I figured you might be curious,” he says.

You plaster on a sultry smile. “Curious is one way to put it.”

He leans casually against a doorframe.

“You strike me as someone who likes attention,” he says. “Like you enjoy being wanted by people who don’t belong to you.”

You tilt your head. “What makes you say that?”

His eyes flick over your body. “Just a hunch. And you dress like it.”

You laugh.

He doesn’t laugh back.

Instead, he steps in.

You step back. He steps forward. The wall is against your spine now.

“You know what I hate?” he says, voice tightening. “When women pretend it’s all for fun. Like none of this means anything. Like they’re not breaking something sacred.”

There it is: the projection. The motive. The pathology.

You keep your voice even, your smile fixed. “Or maybe they just don’t owe you anything,” you say, hand drifting toward the distress button hidden in your bracelet. Click.

And then he grabs you.

It’s fast. One hand to your throat — not squeezing, just holding, controlling. His other hand catches your wrist, hard. Pain blooms instantly. You gasp, squirm—

And that’s when the hallway explodes.

“Marcus Blackwood, FBI!” Hotch’s voice, sharp and authoritative, cuts through the air.

Blackwood spins toward the sound just as Morgan slams into him like a freight train, pinning him to the ground. You hear the clatter of handcuffs and Emily’s voice confirming: “Unsub is secured.”

It’s over.

But you’re still frozen.

You hadn’t realized how fast your heart was pounding, or that Spencer had run in and pulled you to safety before Morgan could even reach the unsub. He doesn’t ask permission — just gathers you into him.

His arms are tight, all instinct and adrenaline. You let your forehead press to his shoulder. Let yourself breathe.

“You okay?” he asks, voice wrecked.

You nod against him, but you can’t hide the fact you’re shaking.

“You came,” you whisper. “You got here.”

He pulls back just enough to look at you.

“I always will.”

You don’t let go.

—

The hotel lobby is too bright.

Artificial light washes over upholstered chairs and glass-topped tables, and the scent of something overly citrusy hangs in the air. You hate it. You hate how it feels to sit still after something like that. You hate how normal it all looks.

The team has regrouped, huddled around a seating area tucked away from the elevators. Garcia is patched in through a tablet set up on the table, video call flickering just slightly.

“DNA under Blackwood’s nails matches the last victim,” she confirms. “And there’s timestamped security footage of him leaving the same club as the second victim the night of her murder. We’re solid.”

Everyone exhales. JJ leans back against the sofa. Emily’s got a paper cup of coffee she’s holding like it might anchor her to the planet. Derek’s pacing. Rossi’s talking softly to Hotch a few feet away.

You’re curled in an armchair, wearing an FBI windbreaker jacket over your slinky dress, legs tucked under you, fingers still brushing where he grabbed your wrist. The pressure’s gone, but the shape of it lingers.

Spencer’s across from you. Elbows on his knees, hands folded together. He hasn’t looked at you once since you separated from him to give your statement back at the scene.

You’re not surprised.

That’s always the case with him: once safe, he pulls away. Retreats into himself, into the comfort of something he can control. You’ve seen him do it before, but tonight it feels personal. Tonight, you’re mad about it.

“Thanks for the assist in there,” you say softly, desperate to pull him back to you.

He nods, still not meeting your eyes. “Of course.”

You fold your arms across your chest and pretend you don’t feel cold blooming again behind your ribs.

You don’t expect a grand gesture. You’re not someone who needs to be rescued. But you wish — god, you wish — that he’d stop trying to shrink the thing between you into something that doesn’t matter.

Because it does matter. You know that now. He looked at you in that club like it does. He held you like it does. And it sure as hell feels like it does, especially now.

No one else notices the tension between you. They’re all distracted, all coming down off the adrenaline high in their own ways. You wish you had something to do with your hands.

“Alright,” Hotch says, checking his watch. “Everyone get some rest. We’ll regroup in the morning before we fly home.”

The team heads to the elevators in quiet pairs, and you hang back a moment so you can ride up alone.

You’re barely through the door to your room when there’s a knock at the adjoining one. You unlock it before your brain can convince you otherwise, and once you’ve got it open, Spencer’s standing there with one hand raised like he was about to knock again. You don’t let him speak.

“You here to debrief, or to ignore me some more?”

He freezes.

“Because if it’s the first,” you continue, “we already did that in the lobby. If it’s the second, I’ve had enough of that for one night.”

His hand drops.

“I’m not here to debrief. Or to ignore you.”

There’s a beat of silence, then he steps into your room like it hurts to cross the threshold.

“I just wanted to talk,” he says. “To explain why I got weird after—”

“You don’t need to explain anything.”

You say it too fast. Too sharp. And you know he hears the lie in it.

Spencer closes the door behind him gently. Then he turns.

“I hated it,” he says quietly.

You blink. “What?”

“I hated watching you flirt with those men tonight.”

You stare at him for a long beat. Something inside you twists.

“You were fifteen feet away, Spencer.”

“I know.”

“I was undercover.”

“I know.”

“The unsub didn’t touch me until the very end, and even then—”

“I know,” he says again. “But I still hated it.”

You fold your arms across your chest, like that will keep everything caged inside. “Why?”

He looks at you like he can’t even believe you’re asking.

You press him anyway. “Why did you hate it, Spencer?”

His brow furrows. “Because you were in danger.”

“No,” you say, shaking your head. “That’s not it.”

“Yes, it is.”

“No,” you repeat. “That’s why you were afraid. I’m asking why you hated it. I’m asking about jealousy. I’m asking about the part where you couldn’t even look at me.”

His mouth opens, then closes.

You cross the room and stop in front of him, close enough to see the flicker in his eyes. “Do you have any idea how hard that was for me? Being there, with you? Pretending? Letting you touch me like any of this means something? And then you just… abandoned me after it was over and avoided making eye contact as if I’m fucking Medusa or something.”

“I didn’t know how to act,” he admits. “Or what to say.”

“I’m not asking for poetry,” you say, exasperated. “I’m asking for something. Anything. Because I felt like I was going to die in that club, but the worst part wasn’t even his hand on my throat. It was wondering if you’d still pretend none of this matters.”

The words hit. Spencer flinches like you’ve slapped him.

“I’m not pretending,” he says, voice hoarse. “I was scared. I’ve been scared for months.”

“Of what?” Your voice rises. “Of me?”

“No,” he says. “Of losing you.”

You laugh once, short and sharp. “You’ve never had me.”

He steps back like the words burned him. “Don’t say that.”

“Why not? It’s true.”

“It’s not.”

You stare at him. Your heart is racing. You’re exhausted. You can still feel the pressure of the unsub’s hands on your skin, and Spencer’s arms around you, and the fact that neither of you seem capable of telling the truth until it’s too late.

“I’m not some fantasy, Spencer,” you say, quieter now. “I’m not just always going to be here when you want attention or sex or someone to lean on after a bad case. And I can’t keep being whatever you need if you’re going to keep pretending we’re just… coworkers who fuck sometimes.”

“I don’t think that,” he says, stepping closer. “You know I don’t.”

“Do I?” you whisper.

He looks at you - really looks, and takes another step to close the distance.

“I don’t want to keep acting like this is meaningless,” he finally says. “Or like I don’t think about you constantly when you’re not around.”

He pauses, gulps, steadies himself before he adds:

“Or like I haven’t been falling in love with you since you kissed me in that elevator in Boston.”

That knocks the wind out of you.

You say nothing. You can’t. You’re too busy holding your breath like if you let it out, your heart will tumble out with it. He looks so sincere, so raw, so threadbare.

“I don’t want temporary. Not with you. With you, I want everything,” he says softly.

And that’s when you fall into him.

It’s not graceful. It’s not soft. It’s a collision of everything you’ve both been holding back — anger and relief and love and ache, all packed into the same breath, into the greediness of your lips against his.

His hands find your waist like they’re finally accepting it’s where they belong. Yours curl into the fabric of his shirt and tug.

You move together without thinking, stumbling toward the bed.

“You should’ve said something sooner,” you murmur between kisses.

“I didn’t know how.”

You push him back onto the mattress and crawl over him, breath heaving. “You do now.”

And then your mouth is on his again.

It’s messy. Not rushed, but a little frantic — like the both of you are trying to find your way back to something you never really had to begin with.

His hands are on your hips, then your ass, pulling you down against him as your thighs straddle his waist. Your dress comes off. His belt is unbuckled. Everything about the moment feels slightly unmade yet still overwhelmingly perfect.

“I’ve thought about you every night since Boston,” he murmurs against your throat. “Every single time I’m around you, it’s all I can think about. Even when I’m not around you, you’re all I think about.”

You grind down against the shape of him through his pants and he groans, hips flexing. His mouth grazes your collarbone, then your shoulder, as if he’s tracing the map of you in reverse — starting from memory, finishing with fact.

And then — he looks at you. Really looks.

It doesn’t happen often. But when it does, it’s always like this:

Like he’s watching a sunrise unfurl from the inside. Like it’s almost too much for him to bear.

“I love the way you look at me,” you whisper.

“I’ve never looked at anyone else like this,” he replies. His voice is low, and it makes your knees go weak.

You reach for the button on his pants and he stills you with a hand on your wrist.

“Not yet,” he murmurs.

He shifts the weight, flipping the two of you and guiding you gently to lie back against the pillows. His hands trail over your chest, your stomach, your hipbones — not teasing, but anchoring. He tugs at the waistband of your lacy black underwear, and you lift your hips to aid him in taking them off.

When his mouth dips between your thighs, you nearly sob.

Because it’s not just about getting you off — not right away. It’s about presence. About reverence. He kisses the inside of your knee. Your inner thigh. Trails his nose up the side of your leg like he’s cataloging your scent. When his tongue finally makes contact with your center, it’s slow. Devout, almost. Like your entire existence is something holy he’s come to worship.

You bury your hands in his hair and exhale something like a prayer.

His tongue flicks. Sucks. Circles. Presses flat. You moan his name, and his groan vibrates through you.

Then, two fingers, slow and certain, slide in deep.

You gasp. Arch. He murmurs something soft against your thigh, but you barely catch it over the sound of your own breathing.

“That’s it,” he says, lifting his head just enough to look at you. His voice is low, frayed. “You’re so beautiful like this. All open and needy for me.”

You whimper. “Spence—fuck—”

His jaw clenches. You can almost see it before you hear him say it:

“Good girl.”

God, how those words ruin you.

Your whole body pulses.

Your orgasm hits low and hot — a deep, dragging pull in your gut that spreads outward in waves. Your thighs clamp around his shoulders. Your head tips back. You make a sound you didn’t know you were capable of — something between a sob and a moan — as it crests and crests and crests again.

But he doesn’t stop.

You whine. “Spencer. Too much—”

“I know baby,” he murmurs, voice molten. “But you can give me one more. Just one more for me. Please?”

How could you ever deny him?

Your body bows without permission — back arching, thighs twitching, another cry tearing from your throat. It rolls through you like heat lightning, wild and blinding, buzzing like static electricity.

By the time he finally pulls back, you’re gasping, wrecked, flushed all over.

He presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh. Then another. Then your hipbone, your stomach, your breasts, your sternum.

You pull him up into a slow, grateful kiss and roll him beneath you, fingers curling around the buttons of his shirt.

“Off,” you murmur.

He lets you undress him, never breaking eye contact. When he’s bare under you, you settle against him, chest to chest.

You reach down and stroke him slowly, watching the way his lips part and his brows knit together.

He catches your wrist before you can do more.

“I’m gonna lose it if you keep that up.”

You smile and shift against him, lining up your hips.

“Maybe I want you to lose it a little.”

But he doesn’t. Not yet.

He flips you gently onto your back again and slides between your thighs, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other guiding himself into you.

The stretch makes you gasp, but the moment is slow. Steady.

He sinks in deep — inch by inch, until you’re full, until your nails are digging into his shoulders.

“Jesus,” he mutters. “You feel…”

“Like you’ve been falling in love with me since Boston?” you whisper, almost teasingly.

His eyes flick to yours, dark and unguarded.

“Something like that,” he murmurs with a soft smile.

He pulls out almost all the way, then thrusts back in, long and slow. You hook your thigh around his waist, giving him deeper access to every part of you. The rhythm builds — deliberate, relentless — hips grinding just right, his forehead dropping to yours.

“Open your eyes, baby.”

You do, just barely.

“Look at me.”

You do, and he holds your gaze like it’s the only thing anchoring him to the earth.

“You’re mine,” he says roughly. “Say it.”

You breathe out the words, partially for the sake of obedience but mostly because you mean them wholeheartedly. “I’m yours.”

Something cracks behind his eyes. “That’s right. That’s right, sweet girl. You’re mine.”

The praise and possessiveness tear through you. You clench around him and he stutters, breath breaking.

Your body starts to spiral again, tension building almost too fast. “I can’t—Spence, I’m gonna—it’s so much, I—”

His hand cups your jaw, grounding you.

“Yes, you can,” he says, tone dripping in sweetness. “You can. Let go. I want to feel all of it.”

He slips a hand between you and presses soft circles where you’re already pulsing. The overload is immediate — your back arches, your legs lock around his waist, and you sob his name as you fall apart for the third time, body shaking, salty tears leaking from the corners of your eyes. Spencer kisses them away, one by one.

When you finally come back to yourself, he’s still moving. Faster now, messier. His rhythm stutters as your body clenches around him, drawing him in deeper.

He curses into your neck, his voice low and a little helpless.

You press your lips to his ear. “Don’t stop, Spence. Need you to come for me.”

The tension in him coils tighter, his thrusts shallower now, more erratic, like he’s negotiating with his own body for just a few more seconds. You watch it happen — his mouth parting, lashes fluttering, that soft gasp he always makes right before—

His hips stutter. He drives in deep, one final time.

And then he shatters.

He comes hard, gasping your name into the side of your neck, arms trembling as he tries not to collapse. You hold him to you, breath shaking as you feel the aftershocks ripple through him.

It’s not clean or composed. It’s full-body and bone-deep, the kind of release that empties something unnamed. His whole weight sinks into you, like his body finally gave up pretending it could survive without yours.

Neither of you say anything at first. It’s all just shared breath and the heat of skin on skin, a heart beating against your ribs that might be his or yours — at this point, you’re no longer able to tell the difference.

Eventually, he shifts, just barely, enough to press a kiss to your collarbone.

You turn your head and kiss his temple, fingers in his hair.

His voice is soft when it comes:

“I’m yours, you know.”

And that’s the moment it hits you — quiet and certain. Like your body already knew, and your mind is finally catching up:

You love him. Of course you love him. You’ve been falling for him since Boston, just like he’s been falling for you.

You close your eyes and smile into his skin. “I know,” you murmur back. “And I was always yours.”

—

You don’t know how long you lay like that — tangled together, skin damp, hearts still syncing. The room is dark, save for the thin bar of light spilling in under the hotel curtains. The bedsheets are bunched around your thighs. One of his hands is resting on your hip, the other curled into your hair like he never plans to let go.

You stroke his back slowly, the way you’ve always wanted to — not as a way to coax or distract or ground him, but simply because you can.

“Are you okay?” he asks softly.

You nod against his shoulder. “Yeah. Are you?”

He huffs a breath — not quite a laugh. “Getting there.”

After a few more moments of comfortable silence, you speak again:

“Stay.”

He lifts his head, eyes glassy and soft.

“You sure?”

You nod again, slower this time. “I want you to.”

There’s a long pause, but then he kisses you — not rushed like before, not like something he’s afraid of losing. Just a kiss, plain and true.

He shifts off you carefully, murmuring a soft “hang on,” and grabs a tissue from the nightstand to clean you up. It’s quiet, almost instinctive. He doesn’t make a show of it — just does it gently, like it’s wired into him to want to take care of you like this.

Then he reaches down and pulls the comforter over your bodies, nudging you to lie on your side so he can curl himself around you. His chest to your back, one arm snug around your waist. You settle against him like you were designed for it — and maybe you really were.

After a while, you feel him press his lips to your shoulder.

“I wasn’t going to leave anyways,” he whispers.

—

You wake to the sound of a watch alarm beeping on the side table. For a second, you forget where you are.

Then you feel it — the warmth pressed along your back, the steady rise and fall of Spencer’s chest against you. His arm still draped around your waist. Sleepy kisses at the top of your spine, like he’s been waiting for you to stir.

“Morning,” Spencer mumbles against your skin.

You smile without opening your eyes. “Hi,” you whisper. He kisses your neck again, and you giggle. “Is this the part where you tell me it was all just a heat-of-the-moment thing and go back to calling me ‘agent’?”

He huffs a sleepy laugh and tightens his grip. “Not unless you want me to.”

You wait a beat. Let the silence stretch.

“I don’t want you to,” you finally murmur.

His voice softens. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He presses another kiss to your back, and you feel him smile into it.

—

The flight back to Quantico appears normal from the outside, but inside, you’re buzzing.

Morgan is asleep with his arms crossed. Emily has her headphones in. JJ is half-reading, half-daydreaming. Rossi and Hotch are reviewing something on a tablet in the back.

No one notices the way Spencer chooses the seat next to you instead of across. Or how his knee keeps brushing yours — casual, insistent, like an inside joke only the two of you are in on.

Your phone buzzes in your lap and you glance down, already smiling.

Spencer’s phone is in his hand and he’s looking at you, cheeks pink.

Spencer Reid: Would you maybe want to come over tonight after we land, if you’re not too tired?

You bite your lip and smile as you type back.

You: You asking me out, Dr. Reid?

There’s a pause. Then:

Spencer Reid: I’m asking you in, actually.

But next time I’ll take you out. Promise.

You glance sideways at him, trying not to grin too hard. He’s wearing that smile you love — the boyish, slightly shy one he only ever breaks out when he’s attempting to play it cool. You give him a wink and a nod in lieu of a written response, and his smile grows.

It’s in that moment — in the glow of his grin and the comfort of his knee pressed softly against yours — when you realize that maybe there was never a wall between the two of you at all.

Just a door, waiting for one of you to knock and leave it open.

ᝰ.ᐟ

masterlist

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[yourgamemasterthewhiterabbit]

Oh -agreed- there is often absolutely a reason to be indirect, and when there is, I will be too, autism be damned, but it's personally really frustrating for me that most neurotypical people don't tend to ever examine whether it's necessary and just talk like this all the fucking time.

Part of me thinks it's to garner benefit of the doubt, unconsciously, and a failure to put mental energy into compartmentalizing, because the contexts where they go *extra hard* on this way of communicating tend to be things like say, actively sabotaging you or someone else, active manipulation, abuse etc... As opposed to the innocuous "trying to signal a problem" And I think it would stand out too much as "unusual for them" if they didn't communicate that way all the time, so most people just end up unconsciously programed to do this at all times so they can be cagey and weird without having to think about it, either because of a general formative social incentive or they just learned that *how* you are supposed to communicate from their parents example etc...

Personally, I prefer when someone who knows me can tell I am suddenly being obtuse. That way they can -if they are clever- realize that I am trying to communicate something is *up*... But you lose that entirely when you just phrase every question this way and for people like me, and apparently OP, it absolutely just sets off a bunch of anxiety because we can't tell whether you have an agenda, or are just phrasing things in a casually obtuse way for no reason. Constantly parsing that is exhausting.

All I can think of is exs and how they'll go from being competent and communicating 'properly' before they get sex from the relationship and then afterwards they not only stop being able to take care of the shared environment without specific and exhaustive prompting like you are working with a monkey's paw to try to get it to wash dishes... But also start answering questions like "Will this one be compatible with android phones because I don't want to keep having to buy an iphone" with answers like "It will be compatible with your phone :)" trying to imply it's what you want when what they are literally saying is "it will be compatible with your current phone that you hate because it's an iphone" while trying to lead you to buying it anyway.

People phrase things this obtusely both casually, but also when they are really trying to take advantage of you or set you up for failure and have the benefit of the doubt, and constantly trying to parse which it is -not just in work relationships- but in personal ones is just... Well I live alone, have no friends and refuse to ever date again, so...

Point being, like yeah, even I am going to use obtuse phrasing to do things like obscure where I live or keep important private information private, or hint my way out of a tricky situation to someone I am hoping will get the signal, but the fact that everyone unconsciously seems to phrase things this way all the damn time muddies the waters for people who do all social communication through pure conscious effort, instead of having enough social brain for social autopilot. Maybe neurotypicals should question their social autopilot once in a while or be made aware they are doing this. I have -hard won- anxiety.

Feel free to ignore this but I've been curious about the whole "answering the question you think someone is asking instead of the question that's being asked" and do you have an example you're comfortable sharing? Because I've been trying to picture the scenario but I'm coming up blank

A pretty standard one that a lot of people are familiar with would be a boss/supervisor/etc asking "do you have any plans for the weekend?", but they don't actually care about what you do in your free time - the thing they actually want to know is "are you available to do an extra work shift next weekend?"

Or when there was an agreement that something should be done in some specific way, and then someone notices that this task has not been done in the agreed way, but some different way. And when they ask "why has this been done this way?" they don't really care why it has been done this specific way, they are asking "why was this not done in the way we all agreed it should be done?"

I get an anxiety spike every time someone asks me what I'm doing, because in my family, being asked "what are you doing?" in the casual "what are you up to?" sort of tone always meant "why are you not doing this one specific chore I think you should have done/should be doing?" So my first instinct is to always do a mental check list rundown to figure out what chore I forgot to do.

[arvandus]

Touch (pt 9) - Amity

PAIRING: Dabi x Fem!Reader

STORY WARNINGS: 18+ only please!  Drug abuse/withdrawal, adult language/themes, heavy angst, past trauma/abuse, anxiety/panic attacks, PTSD, fluff, pining, slow burn, eventual emotional SMUT. *please pay attention to the chapter tags as these warnings will apply at different times*

CHAPTER WARNINGS: talk of killing, blood, needle/medical sewing; pining... lots of resistant pining.  Typical sensory overload due to quirk use.

CHAPTER SONG: Ocean Eyes by Billie Eilish

Part 1   Part 8

Artwork credit to @hellowon31 on Twitter (https://twitter.com/hellowon31)

Part 9: Amity

Between your second night in a row of poor sleep and waking up incredibly early, it didn’t take long for exhaustion to find you again.  By mid-day your sensory overload had subsided enough that you collapsed into your bed, dreamless sleep dragging you under instantly.  It was short-lived, however; it felt like no sooner had your head hit the pillow, that a knock on your door roused you groggily from your slumber.

Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you stood up and answered the door to see Toga standing in front of you, a bloodied washcloth held to her temple.

“Oh my god, what happened to you??” you exclaimed, as you let her into your room.

“I was out running some errands and a thug tried to jump me in an alleyway.” Toga replied cheerfully. She halted in her tracks.  “Oh… aren’t you still sick with the flu?”  She instantly covered her mouth and nose with her free hand, taking a step back.

“Huh? Oh!” you exclaimed. Right.  Crap. You forgot about that little white lie.  “Sorry, hang on a sec.”  You quickly went to your medical bag and pulled out a white disposable mask, placing it over your face.  “Is that better?” You asked, your voice muffled.

The tension in Toga’s shoulders instantly left, her posture easing as her hand dropped away from her face. “Yeah, thanks.  Are you feeling okay?  I could try to do this myself this time…”

You balked at the thought of Toga treating her own injuries.

“I’m fine right now, I promise.” You replied. 

The blonde shrugged and fully entered your space, although her folded hands in front of her body communicated she didn’t want to touch anything.

“So, a guy jumped you in an alley?” You asked.

“Yeah.  He was big, too.  And had a quirk that gave him extra reach on his arms.”  Toga explained.

You weren’t quite sure what sort of errands required Toga to be in alleyways, but you had a feeling none of them were good. The curiosity pulled at you - you could feel the question on your lips, but you swallowed it down.  When you had first joined the League, you and Shigaraki had discussed the importance of compartmentalizing your role from the others.  You were the only one out of the group who was defenseless after all, so as the weakest link within the League, you had both decided it would be best if you knew as little of the League’s affairs as possible, in case you ever got captured and questioned.  You were allowed to participate in general discussions regarding the League’s next moves and what areas were important to you that you wanted to focus on, but the nitty gritty details were kept separate: private meetings with other villains, locations, times, that sort of thing.  So, despite your curiosity, you knew not to pry.

Instead, you asked, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she replied, “but I can’t get this to stop bleeding.”

“Let’s take a look.” You gingerly removed the cloth from the wound to see a deep gash in the skin before new blood filled up. You placed the washcloth back over the wound before it could spill over.  “Hm. Better keep that on there.  You’re going to need stitches.”

“I figured.” She grinned. She took over holding the cloth to her head while you grabbed your medical bag.  You escorted her into your bathroom and had her sit on the toilet seat. Her outfit was speckled with blood, some of it from her wound, and, you suspected, some of it not.

“So…” you started, as you washed your hands in the sink. “What happened to the thug?”

“I drained him.” She replied cheerfully.  The casualness of her statement filled you with a confusing mixture of fear and pity.

“You killed him?” you asked, as you prepped your needle and thread.

Toga looked at you with her yellow feline-like eyes.  “He would have killed me if I didn’t.”

“Tilt your head back.” You instructed.  Toga did as you said, and you carefully removed the cloth before placing your fingers over her open wound. She winced slightly at the contact, but quickly relaxed as your quirk soaked in. 

Silence filled the room as you cleaned her wound with antiseptic and set to work.  The heavy quiet dragged on as your mind mulled over the girl next to you.  You had a thousand questions in your mind, but none of them seemed very appropriate to ask, not without upsetting her.  And despite your good standing with the League, you made it a careful point not to get on anyone’s bad side.  It wasn’t so much that you didn’t trust them, although a part of you was always wary around those who were willing to commit violence.  But you also understood on a personal level that the problems these villains had went far deeper than society was willing to acknowledge.  Mental illness, quirkology, environment… all of it played a role in dealing the hand that these outcast individuals had been dealt.

Minutes passed as you stitched up the cut and cleaned the blood from the sealed wound once more. You were washing your hands when Toga finally spoke, her voice soft.  “Are you mad at me?”

You paused to look down at her.  Her brow was furrowed, her mouth pulled into a sulky frown as she stared at her hands. She looked like a child waiting to be scolded, and in that moment, you could see how young she still was.  You gave a soft sigh.  “Of course not.  He attacked you, right? You had to defend yourself.”

You paused then followed up with, “I’m sorry you had to do it.”

“Don’t be…” she replied. “I liked killing him.”

Your hands faltered as you began putting away your supplies and Toga noticed. 

“You don’t like it, do you?” she asked, accusation lacing her voice. She was defensive, waiting for your judgement. 

You couldn’t blame her. No doubt her quirk was something she likely struggled with all of her life before finally giving in to it.  She had never given you her story directly, but it wasn’t hard to guess.  Everything about her – from her ramblings to her actions - spoke of a caged animal who finally got a taste of freedom and refused to be captured.

Contradicting feelings warred within you, and you struggled to wrangle them.  You had to admit, you hated the idea of her killing.  More importantly, you knew that her victims weren’t always street thugs, villains, or corrupted heroes.  But at the same time, despite this uncomfortable fact, you also understood how strongly quirks affected behavior, how it could act like a poison, messing with the mind and forcing its way into being expressed.  It wasn’t the first time you’d seen it; you understood it intimately.

You looked down at her and a familiar sense of pity unfurled in your gut, snaking into your veins, pulling at your emotions even as your core roiled at the idea of needless violence. She was just like him... a victim in her own way, despite the horrific things she did.

“You think I’m a monster.” Her words cut through your thoughts, and your attention refocused on her. She had her knees hugged up to her chest, her feet propped on the closed toilet lid that she occupied.  You mentally scolded yourself for abandoning her as you got lost in your head and crouched down next to her.

“No.  I don’t think you’re a monster.” You answered soothingly.

“Then why do you look scared of me?” Toga demanded. 

You gave her a smile that you hoped reached your eyes. She was more perceptive than you gave her credit for sometimes.  You had to choose your words carefully. 

“I’m not scared of you.” You explained.  “ But I am a healer, Toga. I see someone who’s hurt, and I want to take that pain away.  It’s what my quirk is. It’s a part of who I am and it’s what motivates me. So, I won’t deny that it’s hard for me sometimes to understand why you do what you do because it’s so opposite of how I am.”

Toga averted her eyes, her body tightening in on itself.

“But…” you continued as you placed a hand on her forearm, “I’m not scared of you.  And even though you do monstrous things, I don’t think you’re a monster.”

Toga slowly lowered her knees, letting her feet touch the floor as she stared at you.  “Why not?” she asked.

“Because,” you replied, “You still care about people.  You and Twice were the first to welcome and befriend me when I joined the League. And the way you take care of Twice… like he’s your big brother… that counts for something.  You even care about Dabi, even though he’s an ass. That was why you checked on him that night, right?  You treat each of us like family.  Now why would a monster do that?”

“But I still want to cut you guys all the time…” she confessed.

“I know.  But you don’t.  That should count for something.”

Toga smiled at you with teary eyes.  “You’re so nice, big sis.”  Her compliment made you smile. 

Toga hopped of the toilet with a nimble bounce, signaling the end of the conversation.  “Am I all done?”

You nodded.  “You’re free to go.” You announced.  Toga made her way to your bedroom door, but she halted when you called her name.  “Toga… don’t forget to change your clothes.”

Toga looked down at the bloodstains splattered across her school uniform.  “Yeah, I guess you’re right.  Thanks, big sis!”

She left your room with a jovial wave.  As soon as the door closed behind her, you slumped down onto your bed as you removed the white mask from your face and placed it on your nightstand.  Exhaustion washed over you again, deeper this time than it was before.  It wasn’t even so much due to your quirk since you didn’t have to use very much of it this time.  Instead, your mind focused on Toga, replaying the conversation.  It filled you with a swath of competing emotions; pity, anger, frustration, helplessness, fear.  The feelings swirled in you making a rank stew in your soul, old and familiar.

This was just like before.

You shoved the feelings aside, unwilling to look too closely at them. You already had enough on your plate as it was… you didn’t want to dredge up more of the past.  It would only add more stress and it wouldn’t change anything.

You laid down again in the hopes that this time, finally, your sleep would be nightmare free and uninterrupted.

 * * * * *

The withdrawal-induced restlessness Dabi felt lasted throughout the day, making sleep near impossible.  To keep himself from going crazy, he forced his energy into cleaning up his space, despite his typical disdain for chores.  He straightened up his desk, took out the trash, and most importantly, did his laundry. It was overflowing and stank of mildew, and he was in desperate need of clean towels.  His bed was no better, reeking of sweat and infection and covered in chip crumbs. But while his body appreciated the movement, the lack of mental power the activities required did little to distract from intrusive, obsessive thoughts.

He wasn’t sure which thoughts he wanted to avoid more - thoughts of his family or thoughts of you.  The memories of family were old and familiar, but the emotions in them were raw, threatening to suck him in and shred him to pieces like it’d already done so many times before.  But thoughts of you weren’t much better, at least not to Dabi. He didn’t like the warmth he felt each time he thought of you, and yet he kept going back to that feeling, like opening the fridge to stare at that last piece of cake.  He was at war with himself, and he didn’t know how to fight it.

Somehow, with all of his coming and going from his room, he somehow managed to never run into you. He wasn’t entirely sure if that was a good thing or not, but like all other uncomfortable thoughts, his forced himself not to focus on it.  It shouldn’t be important.  You shouldn’t be important.  His mouth pressed into a thin line.  The number of times he had to tell himself that were becoming too many to count, and it never did seem to make much difference.  

The cleaning only occupied him for so long.  Towards the end of it he found himself sitting in his room, waiting for his clothes to finish drying so he could retrieve them.  He had laid back on his bed just for a moment, to stare at his phone. He woke up an hour and a half later, his mind muddled with jumbled dreams and memories.  Cigarette smoke, a child’s laughter, the sound of himself screaming in agony…

He shook his head to knock the unwanted fog from his brain and grabbed a smoke to soothe the shaking in his hands.  The cigarette was gone within a minute.  The haze still lingered though as every inch of Dabi’s nerves hummed and his gut clenched in discomfort.  So, he inhaled a second cigarette for good measure and followed it up with an electrolyte drink paired with a couple of antacids.  His laundry was likely done now; no point in letting it sit there and risk another League member touching his things.

With the laundry dry and sitting on his bed in a crumpled heap, he stared at the contents, a frown on his face.  Your towels were mingled with his, and the sight of it filled him with an uneasiness that had little to do with his withdrawal.  It looked entirely alien to him, intrusive in his personal space.  His stomach gave a weird flutter before giving way to a wave of nausea.

Stupid, he thought to himself.  They’re just fucking towels.

He began folding the first towel. It was half-assed in its effort and one hundred percent intentional, as if giving careful care to your items would give away something about himself he wanted to keep secret.  But even as he did so, intrusive curiosity crept into his mind.  How did you fold your towels?

Idiot.  He caught his wandering mind and reeled it back in forcefully, but it did little good. His mind was a master escape artist, running away to explore other unwanted thoughts without his permission as soon as his mental back was turned.

As he folded your items, his hands slowed slightly in their actions, taking in the feel of cotton on his fingers. He watched as he rolled the soft material between his thumb and forefinger while memories bubbled forth, broken and vague.  Waking up in the shower, sitting on the toilet with your towel over his head, feeling of your hands working the cotton over his wet hair. He tried not to think of your face, but of course not wanting it made it appear in his mind.  He remembered your eyes, the concern in them, and the memory filled him with a warmth that he was still struggling to understand, even as he tried to deny its presence. 

It was short-lived – the memory of your tender gaze soon faded away to a terrified one, and now he was remembering your scar.  A new thought came into his mind then, dark and plaguing. The look of fear you’d given him that night - did you wear that same frightened expression on your face when you were burned, marked by whatever asshole laid their hands on you?

Dabi could feel his body temperature begin to rise.

The last towel was folded, and he swiftly grabbed the pile and shoved it on top of his dresser as if were contaminated.  Contaminated with memories, contaminated with you…

He faltered for a moment, his anger disrupted by that strange sense of guilt that gnawed at him.  The unwelcome mental picture of you cowering in fear as flames licked your skin danced in his imagination.  No wonder you had been so utterly terrified of him that night. No wonder you’d been unable to look him in the eyes the next day…

Dabi caught himself staring at your things and forced himself to turn around to finish his laundry. He folded his clothes swiftly, not caring whether or not they were done nicely before shoving them into the dresser drawer. Then, with his clean towels in his arm, he went into the bathroom to give himself that much-needed shower.

 * * * * *

You woke up feeling groggier than usual as the orange-red glow of the late afternoon haze filtered into your room. As predicted, your sleep was restless and riddled with hazy uncomfortable dreams that instantly began to fade away as soon as you opened your eyes.  You sighed in annoyance as dissatisfaction slinked across your tired skin. It was as if you had slept the entire time with your body tensed, ready to run at a moment’s notice, and now you were feeling the effects. 

You got out of bed with a stretch to ease the stiffness in your muscles.  Maybe something to eat and drink could lift your spirits and wake your body up.  You slipped on your shoes and opened the door before remembering to grab your mask off of your nightstand.  Then, you left your room to trudge downstairs.

The smell of pizza greeted you as soon as you stepped out onto the main floor, and your stomach growled in response, your mouth watering.

“Y/N!” Toga cheered. “Did you take a nap?”

You frowned as your hand self-consciously went to your messy hair. Was it really that obvious?

“Yeah, I was pretty tired.” You confessed, as you tried to fix your stray strands.

“Are you feeling any better?” Magne asked.  You could tell she was asking about the ‘flu’ you were supposed to have.

You shrugged. “Yeah, a little…”

“And how about Dabi? You were treating him too, right?” Magne continued.

You felt embarrassment bubble in you, and you scratched at your cheek as a distraction.  “He’s doing okay… I think it’s hitting him harder, though. He’s probably going to need some more time to recover.”

“He came down here yesterday without a mask and everything.” Spinner grumbled. “Then decided to take a stroll.  He couldn’t be that bad, could he?”

You shrugged. “Stomach bugs are weird and vary from person to person.”

Shigaraki’s voice surprised you from behind.  “How’s his burn?”

He knew about that…?  Maybe Dabi said something the day before.  Either way, no point in lying about it now…

“It’s doing well... but it’s not completely healed yet.”

Shigaraki grunted and grabbed a slice of pizza from the open box sitting on the bar.

“Hey, Y/N!  You want some pizza?” Twice offered.

“Yes, that’d be-“

“She can’t eat pizza when she has the flu!” Toga scolded.  “She might throw it up.  She needs something simple!”

Your heart sank.  No pizza??

“No, it’s okay…” you started, your eyes staring at the perfect slice.

“I’ll go make you something, okay big sis?” Toga chirped as she bounded lightly towards the small kitchen behind the bar.

Oh… oh no….

“Oh, um… it’s okay Toga, I’m not really hungry…” you tried to call after her, but she was already gone and out of earshot.

You fiddled with your hands nervously.  Cooking was not one of Toga’s strong suits.  Fortunately, Kurogiri was present, watching the exchange.

“I’ll make sure she doesn’t burn down the kitchen.” He commented, as he followed after her.

You stood there awkwardly, strongly contemplating grabbing the entire pizza box and running away with it. But you’d just had that personal exchange with Toga earlier, so abandoning her when she was trying to do something nice for you probably wouldn’t go over well.

Damn it.  You were too nice for your own good sometimes.

On defeated feet, you walked over to the couch and sat down next to Compress who was reading a book. He put the item down as you sat next to him and gave you a smile.  “How nice of you to grace me with your company, little flower.”

You crossed your arms and sulked into the couch cushions, wishing they would swallow you up.  “Toga is cooking for me.”

“Oh dear, so I heard.” He commented.  “However, Kurogiri is supervising her.  Perhaps this time it won’t be so bad.”

“Kurogiri doesn’t eat.” You pointed out.

“True,” he laughed. “But perhaps you set your standards too high.  I never said he’d ensure that the food is good; however, his assistance may ensure that it is edible.”

“Don’t you use logic on me, Mr.” you replied, even as you tried to suppress a smile.

“Then perhaps a magic trick then?” he offered.  “As a distraction.”

“Sure.” You grinned.

A few minutes later, Toga came out with two steaming bowls sitting on a rectangular tray.

“Oh good! You’re still here!” Toga smiled.  “I made you soup!”

You stifled a groan as you stood up and stared at the contents.  It… didn’t look bad…. It looked like it was canned soup at least, which, all things considered, were one of the simplest things to make. Still, it had that a slight burned odor to it when the steam reached your nose.

“Why are there two bowls?” you asked.

“Oh!  One’s for you and one’s for Dabi.”  Toga explained.  Behind her, Magne chuckled at the table.  “He hasn’t come down to eat yet today so he’s probably hungry.”

“It was my suggestion.” Kurogiri stated.  “You are still sick after all, so it would be in the League’s interest if you and Dabi had your meals in your rooms until you are no longer contagious.”

“Maybe it can be like a little dinner date!” Toga added.

You fought the flush of hot heat that seemed to take over your insides.  “A what?”

The last thing you needed was the League thinking you and Dabi were dating.

The blonde girl giggled as she handed you the tray.  Her hands instantly went up to her hot cheeks, her eyes glazed over with infatuation. “What I wouldn’t give to have a private dinner date with Izuku!”

“Oh geez, not this again…” Spinner grumbled.

“Hey!” Toga shot at him.  “It’s rude to tease a girl in love!”

You were grateful that Toga was easily distracted, and you took the opportunity to make your escape. “O-Okay. I guess I’ll go take this upstairs then… Thank you, Toga.” You mumbled.

You walked out of the room quickly, the soup sloshing in the bowls and threatening to spill.  But you wanted to get out of there before things got even more awkward.  Toga wasn’t even the real concern – the real concern was Magne.  Her chuckle had not gone unnoticed by you, and she was a master conversationalist when she wanted to be.  The last thing you needed was more intrusive questions or implied statements, especially with everyone there to listen in.

You took the stairs instead of the elevator, not trusting the old rust bucket to run smooth enough with bowls of hot soup in front of you.

Dinner date.  You wanted to laugh.  Dabi certainly wasn’t the type to do dinner dates.  In fact, Dabi probably didn’t even date. He probably just hooked up with random girls whenever he felt like it.

Your stomach tightened into an uncomfortable knot.

It didn’t matter.  You weren’t his type anyway.  And he shouldn’t be yours, not with all of his baggage. And boy, did he seem to have a lot of baggage.  Besides, he didn’t need the pressure of someone pining over him while he struggled to keep himself together.  He needed someone he could trust.  He needed a friend.

You felt yourself start to calm as you centered yourself on that single fact.  He needed a friend. You could do that.  You’d already committed yourself to it.

You made it to your own room and set the tray on the floor outside your door so you could go in and grab your medical bag.  If you were going to take soup to Dabi, then you might as well treat his wounds and give him his pills.  It was about time for it anyway.  With your bag slung onto your shoulder and the tray once again in your hand, you went over to his door and knocked.

It opened and you froze, eyes wide, as a warm humid air wrapped you up in the scent of shampoo and body wash.

Dabi stood before you in nothing but a pair of grey sweatpants that left little to the imagination.  Shit. It hadn’t even been a full five seconds and you were already staring at his crotch.  Hot embarrassment flooded you as you averted your eyes, only to get stuck on his glistening, bare form.  You’d seen him shirtless many times, had your hands on his body, even… but something about this moment was different.  Maybe it was the shower.  Maybe it was the simple - yet absolutely sinful - sweatpants.  Or maybe it was how he seemed to be carrying himself in this moment, like he was the king of his domain.  He was a living art piece, every angle of him stunning from the slope of his shoulders to the cut of his lean waist. Even his stitches looked beautiful, the light bouncing off of them like gems.  Whatever it was, Dabi seemed to be a thousand times hotter than you remember him being, and it left your brain feeling dumb as hot desire washed over you.

You were staring.  You knew you were staring but you couldn’t break the trance he seemed to put you in. Your eyes took in the cut of his cheekbones, the slope of his nose, the shape of his lips.   Aqua blue eyes stared at you in knowing amusement, grabbing you like the tide and pulling you in.  You could feel yourself floundering beneath his intense gaze as you struggled to get a hold of yourself.

“Uh…” you stuttered.

You were still staring.

“Hey, Doll­…” He greeted, a playful grin on his lips.  His voice washed over you, and you felt lightheaded.

This was so embarrassing.  If he had any doubts that you found him attractive before, then he certainly didn’t now.

“Hi.” You said dumbly.

His eyes broke contact with yours to look down.  “Hey-” His hand shot out to quickly grab the tilting tray, soup splashing messily over the sides of the bowls.

“Shit! Sorry, sorry.” You cursed, as you adjusted your hold. You kept your eyes down, unable to stare at him any longer.  “Can I come in?”

“Yeah.” 

Was that a chuckle you heard in his voice?  How dare he.

You crossed the threshold, only to find yourself even more smothered by the clean scent of his recent shower that permeated the entire space like a fog.  Beneath it, the faint hint of cigarette smoke was present, but it was muted.  The light in the room was dimmer than you remembered and you realized why – he had put one of his shirts over his shoddy lamp, reducing its brightness.  The humid warmth in the room was paired with a strange heavy silence.  Your eyes instantly checked his window and there was no billow of the curtains this time, no street noise coming forth.  Your breath froze in your throat for a moment as you realized – he remembered.  All the things that had bothered you this morning were modified for your arrival.  A weightlessness swelled in your chest, intertwining with the attraction you were still grappling with.  You set the tray down with shaky hands before wiping your sweaty palms onto your pants.

Dabi came to stand next to you with his towel on his shoulder, the warm bare skin of his chest brushing against your arm as he stared down at the bowls.  With his proximity so close and your own emotions running amok, it took every ounce of mental fortitude not to hug him right then and there.

“Did you make that?” he asked, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“Oh, uh.. Toga did.” You finally said, as you moved slightly away from his bare skin.

“We should have let the tray fall.”  He stated as he stared at the contents with distaste.  You couldn’t help but laugh at his comment, and it helped clear some of the brain fog.  He gave you a soft glare.  “Why did you even take this?  You should have just said no.”

“Well, not all of us can be as nice as you, Dabi.” You teased.  “Besides, she wanted to do something nice for us because she thinks we’re sick.”  You explained.

“If I eat that I probably will be.” He retorted.

“Oh, come on… it’s probably not that bad… just a little smokiness to it.  That shouldn’t bother you, right?” You put a spoon into a bowl and handed it to him.

He gave you a deadpan look as you held the bowl against his chest, his hands refusing to take it. “I’m not eating it.”

“Hey, if I have to eat this, then so do you.” You glared.

“Like hell.” He replied. “Besides, I already have food here.”

You set the bowl down and stared at the bags on his desk.  “Yes, chips, beef jerky, and cigarettes!  So healthy.”

“The three basic food groups.” He agreed with a grin. He sat down in his desk chair, his legs spread wide as he slouched back.  It took extra effort to not let your eyes wander.  “Tell ya what, doll… you try it first.  If you don’t throw up or die, then maybe I’ll consider eating mine.”

You rolled your eyes at him and grabbed your bowl.  “Fine, you big baby.” 

You filled your spoon and raised it to him in a mock toast before placing it into your mouth.  He watched the motion in silent amusement, his eyes focused on your lips as they closed around the spoon.

It was awful.  Definitely burnt.  And the parts that weren’t burnt were overcooked, making the textures all wrong in your mouth.  You swallowed forcefully, suppressing a gag.

“Mmm… You look like you enjoyed that.”  Dabi teased.

“Hey at least I’ve actually tried it.” You shot back.  “So, I guess that means only one of us is a little bitch.” 

Dabi’s eyes widened, the light in them dancing in amusement, as a grin spread across his face. “You kiss your mother with that mouth, doll?  You’ve been with the League too long.”

You pointed your spoon at him.  “Don’t try to act like you know me.  And in case you haven’t noticed, I’m not dead.  So eat up.”  You picked up his bowl again and held it under his nose. By this point, you knew the soup wasn’t really that edible, but now you were determined to have him suffer with you.

The smell wafted up and he wrinkled his nose.  He pushed the bowl away back towards you.  “I don’t think so.”

You narrowed your eyes at him.  “You said you’d try it if I did.”

“I said I’d consider it.”  He replied. “It’s been considered and denied.”

“You’re an ass.” You pouted. “It really is awful though…” you confessed.  “and she had Kurogiri with her, too.  Like… how?”

“Kurogiri doesn’t eat.” Dabi replied.

You laughed.  “That’s what I told Compress!”

Your conversation was interrupted by a loud, hungry rumble in your gut.

A low chuckle rumbled from Dabi’s chest that made your heart pound and your flesh feel warm.  “C’mon doll, don’t torture yourself.” He said. “Why don’t we just go get a bite to eat. There’s nothing keeping us locked up in here.”

Toga’s words echoed in your head.  Dinner date.  Oh geez, if she or Magne saw you two leaving the premises together, you’d never hear the end of it.  The offer was tempting though, and you were pretty sure Dabi was starting to get tired of his snacks.  Junk food could only satisfy for so long; at some point he needed a proper meal.

But something nagged at you as you stared at the man in front of you.  He seemed to be doing okay at first glance… his recent shower certainly seemed to lift his spirits.  But you had been too distracted by his attractiveness earlier that you hadn’t taken the time to really assess him.  Now, you could see the exhaustion still in his face, could see the small wiggle of his leg and the drumming of his fingers on the table.   You checked the time on your phone – no doubt your quirk and the pills were beginning to wear off.  But how far along that was, you couldn’t really say; it was hard to tell with Dabi; he didn’t show his pain very easily.

You knew your appetite would disappear once you pushed yourself into sensory overload.  But Dabi couldn’t wait, even if he might try to play it off that he could.  More importantly, you didn’t want to try to deal with a withdrawal-suffering Dabi out in public. Your heart sank slightly. Goodbye delicious dinner, for the second time that night.

“…I should probably treat you first.” Your eyes landed on his bag of goods as your stomach rumbled again. “But maybe a snack would be good.” You confessed.  You felt embarrassed for asking, especially after the big show you’d just point on… but pride had to take a back seat before your stomach ate itself.

His blue eyes stared at you for a long moment.  You could feel your skin start to prickle under the weight of them.

“Sure, doll.”  He finally said.  He rummaged through one of the bags until he found what he was looking for under a bag of spicy chips.  “Is this your style?”

He tossed you a prepackaged muffin about the size of a softball.  You couldn’t fight the smile that blossomed across your face.  “Yeah, thanks.”  You opened up the wrapping and began breaking off pieces of it.  “You want some?” you offered, holding the muffin towards him.

He shook his head. “Nah.  Don’t feel much like eating.”

You broke off half of the muffin for him anyway.  “I still need to give you your pills, so you should eat something first.  Besides, this is too big for me to finish by myself anyway.” 

Was it a lie?  Of course. You were starving.  Did Dabi know that you were lying?  Of course.  But he took the other half of the muffin anyway.  You sat on the edge of his bed while he sat in his chair as the two of you ate together in silence for a moment. As you ate, your eyes wandered around his room.

That was when you noticed it.

 “Are those my towels?” you asked. 

Dabi looked over at his dresser as he stuffed the last of the muffin into his mouth.  “Yeah.  They’re clean now.”

“Thank you…” you replied. Your eyes scanned the room, taking in the details.  “You cleaned up…”

Dabi shrugged. “Don’t sound so surprised. I’m not a complete slob.”

You stared at him as he began fidgeting with a pack of cigarettes, tapping the box on the table, flipping it over, and tapping the other end.  Over and over it somersaulted, and you wondered if he was craving one right now.  Why didn’t he just take one out and light it up?

Was Dabi… being considerate?

Then again, the action didn’t come as much of a surprise to you as it might have before.  He’d been more willing to do small acts of kindness ever since the night of his withdrawal.  Bringing ramen.  Adjusting his room for your sensory overload.

Now this.

Was it fueled by guilt? Or did he actually care?

He looked like he was waiting for something.  You watched as he rubbed at his scarred arm with his free hand, irritation flashing across his eyes.  Of course. He was waiting for you and your quirk. You ate your muffin faster.  As soon as it had disappeared into your mouth, you reached for your bag and took out the pill bottle.  His eyes were on it instantly, the shaking in his leg stilled by the sight of it, his shoulders releasing some of their tension.

“Here.” You offered, handing him his pills.  He took them and swallowed them dry before opening up a beverage and taking a swig.

Dabi eyed the bottle in your hand as you closed it.  “That’s looking awfully low there, isn’t it?”

You put the container back in your bag, enclosing it in a zippered space.  “It’ll be enough to last us through tomorrow morning.”

“That’s cutting it real close, don’tcha think?” he replied.

You looked up to see his brow furrowed in concern and offered him a reassuring smile.  “It is.  But I’ll be picking up the refills tomorrow before our evening session, so there’s nothing to worry about.  Now let’s take a look at your back real quick.”

He stood up and dragged his chair over to where you sat and straddled the seat with his back facing you. The bandage was still on, but you could tell it had gotten wet in the shower.  You’d have to be careful when changing it this time, since the bits of skin that were starting to heal might reopen.

You applied your quirk first around the bandages, then began to delicately remove the wet gauze and tape. Your fingers were cold on Dabi’s skin and a small shiver ran up his spine at the sensation of your touch.  The wound didn’t show any signs of infection or fresh damage, so you continued business as usual, applying the antiseptic followed by fresh gauze.  As you patched him up, your eyes kept drifting to your towels, thinking about what had happened that night.  There was something important you’d been meaning to ask him.  Something you had to know.

“I… have a question.” You ventured.

“Hm?” Dabi responded, his head turning slightly to the sound of your voice.

“The next day… after I helped you out that one night… was there anything… off?  About you specifically?” you asked.

There was a long pause and you could tell Dabi was thinking heavily, which only made the dread in your gut sink in deeper.

“I couldn’t feel anything.” He finally admitted. 

“I’m not talking about the pain.  I’m talking about… I don’t know.  Anything else.”

“I know.” He replied. “When I woke up, I couldn’t feel anything.”

Your brow furrowed and the dread hardened into a stone.  “…what does that mean?”

“It means I didn’t care about a thing, doll.  Everything was turned off.” He was facing away from you and in that moment, you wished he wasn’t – you desperately wanted to see the expression on his face.  Your hands felt clammy as you processed his words.

“You mean your emotions?” you clarified.  You needed to understand more.  You needed to know how bad it was.  “What… did it feel like?”

“Empty.”

You finished putting the last bandage on him but you barely noticed as your vision became unfocused, your thoughts whirling.  Holy shit. You had turned off his emotions?  You supposed in hindsight it made sense, since it was likely his memories and the emotions attached to them that were torturing him that night.  Why else would he have been blabbering incoherent apologies as if he were desperately trying to atone for something? But still… the severity of that made your blood run cold. Emotions were everything, contrary to what some people might think. They fuel how people think, how they act, how they react… entire personalities – entire identities are built around how emotions are felt and how they are dealt with.  You very well could have entirely erased Dabi as a person. In fact, you likely did, at least temporarily.

You swallowed the hard lump in your throat and tried to calm your panicked breathing.  “…How long did it last?”

He was quiet again, and the silence was worse than anything.

“Please tell me.” You begged.  “How long?”

“Hours.”

Your heart was racing and your ears ringing.  Your eyes began to sting but you fought it, focusing on a patch of scarred flesh on his back to distract yourself, memorizing its pattern.  You didn’t want to cry in front of him. Not again.  And certainly not twice in one day.  You wanted to apologize, to beg his forgiveness, but you couldn’t make the words come out, not without your emotions spilling out with them.  Instead, you forced yourself into action, treating his scars with your quirk. 

There was so much more you wanted to know. How did he get his emotions back?  What did it feel like? Was it slow, or at all at once? Did he feel relieved?

Did it hurt?

But you couldn’t bring yourself to ask those questions, no matter how badly you wanted to know, no matter how badly you wanted to understand.  They were too personal, and you could already tell by Dabi’s growing reluctance that he didn’t want to talk about it any further.

You’d apologize to him. At some point, once your emotions were under control, you’d apologize.

You finished numbing his back and shoulders, even tracing down his triceps a little.  “Turn around,” you instructed.

He did as you asked, adjusting himself in the chair so he was now facing you.  You avoided looking at him, the shame and guilt far too heavy for you to lift your eyes.  Unbeknownst to you, a frown pulled at his brow, his lips.  You wore your emotions so plainly…

You took his hand in yours and continued your quirk as your skin began to prickle and sting. The sound of the shower dripping in the bathroom was louder now. Dabi shifted slightly in his chair and the scraping sound against the floor was like nails on a chalkboard.  The odors in the room went from pleasant to offensive.

“I gotta question for ya,” Dabi suddenly ventured.  “Did you change my clothes that night?”

Your hands faltered and you glanced up at his face before you could catch yourself.  His eyes had a glint in them you couldn’t quite place in your distracted mental state.  You felt embarrassment creep across your skin.

“I did.  I had to get you into the shower before you combusted.” You replied as you continued to treat him, your hands on his collarbone. The feel of it was so familiar now…

“I was naked?”

“Only for a moment!” you replied.  “You were in your boxers for most of it, but I had to change you out of those after the shower.” God, this entire conversation was so embarrassing… why did he have to ask about this of all things?

“…did ya peek?” he asked.

Your mouth struggled like a fish out of water for a moment as you glared at him.  “NO!” You finally exclaimed.  “Of course, I didn’t!  Why would you even…”  but then you saw the grin on his face and you realized he was teasing you. 

You playfully punched his arm.  “You’re an asshole.” You fumed.

He laughed.  “That didn’t even hurt.” He mocked.

“Of course it didn’t, idiot. I already used my quirk there.” You shot back.  “Now stay still so I can get your damn face.”

“So feisty…” he murmured.

Shit.  With your senses heightened, you could almost feel the vibration in his voice, as if he were closer to you than he actually was. For the briefest moment, it distracted you from the growing pain of your scar, from the sound of the drip drip from the bathroom shower.  You wondered what it would feel like to have those words uttered against your skin, his hot breath warming your flesh, the feel of his rough lower lip brushing…

You clenched your jaw until you nearly gave yourself a headache, forcing the intrusive thoughts out of your mind.  You weren’t here for this.  You were here to treat him and get out of his space.  You weren’t his type.  You repeated it to yourself like a mantra, a prayer, a reminder to the illogical part of you that wanted to follow the lure of his voice.  Why did he have to be such a flirt?  It didn’t surprise you, but it certainly left you feeling confused when his actions and words sometimes contradicted themselves.

All it meant was that he was getting comfortable with you again. He was treating you like a friend, and friends teased all the time.  Right?

His eyes watched you closely as your hands caressed his jaw, relieving the ache there.  You seemed lost in your thoughts and while you certainly didn’t look comfortable, you also didn’t look too be too horribly in pain. You were doing better today.  Still, your fingers danced quickly across his skin, skating under his eyes which he instinctively closed, and barely touching his lower lip.  It happened far too quickly before the presence of you disappeared, and it left him feeling empty.  How badly he wanted to grab your hands right then and put them back onto his face. 

When he opened his eyes again, your own eyes were downcast as you stretched your fingers slightly.

“You okay?” he ventured. The question sounded odd coming from him, even to his own ears.

You looked up at him then, and you could see he was concerned. That’s right… he knew about your quirk and your scar now.  You clasped your hands in your lap to keep them from shaking.  Shaking from the pain you were feeling, shaking from the fear of your own thoughts and desires.

“I’m fine.” You lied. Did he know you were lying with this too?

He knew.  In fact, you’d given him the same false words he always gave you.  It was like looking into a mirror.

“You don’t gotta do the legs.” He offered.  “I’m not dressed for it anyway.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” You chided.  “Of course I’m going to do your legs.  The better I treat you, the better you can rest.  And your body needs rest to heal your burn.”

He noticed that you made no comment on his withdrawal, which a part of him appreciated; it helped him avoid the discomfort of shame that was always associated with it. Still…

“It’s not like I’m going anywhere, doll.  I won’t be needing them.  Besides, the drugs help.” He replied.

You eyed him for a moment, assessing.  “How about I just do your calves then?” you bartered.

He assessed you in return before he gave a small half-smirk.  “Deal.”

By the time you’d treated his calves down to the tops of his feet, you were definitely grateful you didn’t have to do any more.

PING……..PING……

You rubbed at the bridge of your nose, feeling the onset of a headache as you skirted just shy of overload. You closed your eyes, hoping maybe the lack of visual stimulation might make the auditory more bearable.  Or at least bearable enough that you could actually move your body instead of feeling frozen.  But it only made it worse, allowing your brain to hyperfixate on it. You covered your ears against it as you struggled to find your way out of it, to regain control of yourself.

While you lost yourself in your senses, Dabi watched you in displeasure.  He’d made sure to have everything ready before you showed up.  He even made sure not to light up a cigarette, as much as that had grated on him, since he knew the smell would linger long after. But clearly, something was bothering you.  What had he missed?

He watched, waiting, giving you time to figure yourself out or ask for help while he secretly tried to decode the mystery.  Your eyes were closed, your hands over your ears.  Was it multiple sensory attacks?  You flinched again.  And again. There was a rhythm.  So, it was something you were hearing.

Curiously, Dabi closed his own eyes listening for anything that stood out.  Slowly, the quiet sound of water dripping greeted his ears like a whisper.  He opened his eyes just in time to see your flinch match with the sound.

That was it.

“It’s the shower.” He commented. 

It wasn’t a question – it was a statement.  You opened your eyes and looked at him with surprise before giving a nod, your hands still over your ears.  He knew his shower leaked for a bit after he used it, but he’d gotten so used to it that he just tuned out the sound by this point.  But for you… especially after using your quirk on him…

Why didn’t you just get up and leave?  Why stay here if it was bothering you this much?  Obviously, you wanted to get away from it…

Maybe you couldn’t.  Maybe, for some reason, you were stuck in what you were experiencing, unable to find your way out.

Dabi could relate to that.

And he didn’t like it.

He stood up and closed the bathroom door before returning to sit in the chair in front of you, waiting.

You could still hear it. But it was manageable now, muffled. Quieter.  You could feel yourself start to process the rest of what you were feeling.  The pain on your back; the feel of your clothes, your hair; the smell of Dabi’s body wash, fresh linen… cigarettes.  Slowly, your hands lowered from your ears as you focused on each sense, identifying all you recognized.  The world was still loud around you, but at least you could somewhat function again. Slowly, you opened your eyes to see him watching you through an unreadable expression.

“Better?” he asked.

“Much.” You replied. “Thank you.  Again.”

“It’s fine.”

A heavy, awkward quiet filled the space, and in that moment, despite Dabi’s kindness, all you wanted was to be back safely in your room.  Maybe it was because you were feeling overwhelmed by your own emotions, unable to properly control how your heart pounded around him, or how you couldn’t keep your eyes off him. Or maybe it was the way he kept looking at you, his expression unreadable yet his gaze intense, as if you were all that he was focused on and he was determined to discover all of your secrets.

Either way, you felt an ache grow within you, threatening to drown you. But you couldn’t focus on it, couldn’t dismantle it or bury it, not while your brain fought the senses overwhelming you. You could handle one or the other… but you couldn’t handle both.

You needed the comfort of your room; you needed your safe space.

“I’m… going to go lay down.” You said quietly, as you grabbed your bag.  It felt heavy in your hand.

If Dabi noticed the shift in your mood, he didn’t say so.  Instead, he stood from his seat and shoved his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants.

“Yeah.  Me too.” He replied.

Despite the suddenly aloof atmosphere, he still walked you to his door.  After you left, he leaned his back against the cold wood and ran his hand down his face.

So much for not caring…

________________________________________________

Part 10 ________________________________________________

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IELTS Essay: Noise

There is too much noise in many public places in cities.

What are the causes of this problem?

What can be done to solve the problem?

Public areas in cities today are becoming increasingly noisy. In my opinion, this change is caused by surging urban populations and shifting attitudes to personal space. The best solutions involve innovative urban design.

The underlying reasons for higher noise levels in public spaces are growing residential figures and changes in social behavior. Firstly, the migration of individuals from the countryside to cities has been well documented over the last century. This trend shows no sign of abating and it is self-evident that more residents talking, operating vehicles, and interacting in public areas will create more noise. Moreover, people are now less self-conscious. This is a uniquely modern trend and is most apparent on social media. Most people are now comfortable making videos in public, taking photos, and talking loudly on their phones. This psychological shift has its benefits but one drawback is the contribution to noise levels.

The most realistic solutions are adaptations by the authorities. I strongly believe that the trends themselves cannot be countered since they follow the dictates of human nature. Attempting to ban phone class in public or restrict residency numbers in certain cities would in fact engender greater problems. Instead, governments can make myriad minor adjustments. Public spaces could include more structures, such as trees and statues, in order to absorb sound. On public transport, there could be softer padding so that sound does not bounce and travel as far. There may also be steps that could be taken in terms of traffic and residential areas that would encourage more spread out cities with lower density. These are minor solutions to a large problem, however, their impact in the aggregate would be meaningful.

In conclusion, although cities are becoming noisier as they become more populous and people are more open today, this can be remedied if authorities devise novel counters. In the future, this issue will only become more pressing.

.

IELTS Essay: Offices

Nowadays, a lot of offices employ open-space designs instead of separate rooms for work.

Do the advantages of this outweigh the disadvantages?

Many offices these days are opting for open designs over more traditional, compartmentalized floor plans. In my opinion, despite the limited advantages for efficiency, this is a positive change due to its social and work-related benefits.

On the one hand, an open layout can reduce efficiency. When individuals work in private offices or cubicles, they are less likely to be disturbed and can therefore work more effectively. Each time a person is interrupted, this not only requires them to stop working but it may also take an indeterminate amount of time to focus again. Over the course of a day, various interruptions in the aggregate can massively reduce the amount of work completed. Recent research has in fact shown that communication around the office, though beneficial in other ways, does lead to declines in total work output. An office trying to achieve optimal output thus should emphasize private working spaces.

On the other hand, increased communication is a boon both socially and creatively. A standout example of this would be the offices designed by Apple founder Steve Jobs for both Pixar and Apple. He intentionally created offices that directed individuals to meet in common areas and that would facilitate interactions between different divisions in the company. The impact of this on morale is massive as individuals can make friends and enjoy each other’s company throughout the workday. Moreover, the true intention of this design was to facilitate creativity. By meeting others on a regular basis, employees are more likely to combine diverse perspectives and be more imaginative in their work.

In conclusion, although there may be minor tradeoffs in terms of productivity, this is a progressive change as it allows employees to converse and be more creative. Such offices should become the rule, rather than the exception.

IELTS Essay: Governments and Private Companies

Scientific research should be carried out and controlled by the governments rather than private companies.

To what extent do you agree or disagree?

Some feel that scientific research should be conducted by governments instead of private entities. I am largely in disagreement with this sentiment since the risks for public health entailed do not outweigh the competencies of corporations.

Those in favor of state control over research argue governments are not motivated to generate revenue. Companies are inherently concerned with amassing capital and maximizing returns for shareholders and equity partners. An illustrate example of the threat here would be the opioid crisis currently ravaging the United States. Purdue, a privately-owned pharmaceutical manufacturer, produced a pill with knowledge of its extremely addictive properties and intentionally misled the public. The results have been millions of deaths and rising addiction rates to opioids such as heroin. In contrast, the government is able to prioritize public health since they do not have to earn a profit.

However, the example above is an extreme exception as most companies are motivated to innovate and contribute to the public good. The examples of this behavior abound though they are less likely to receive excessive media attention. Such breakthroughs include medicines such as the vaccine for Covid-19 developed by Pfizer and the technologies that companies such as Apple, Google, and Samsung have pioneered in recent decades. These private companies are able to hire and pay the best employees and are often led by visionary leaders who are driven to excel and overcome competition from other firms. The corporate environment creates the catalyst for scientists and researchers to develop transformative devices and make discoveries that benefit the general citizenry.

In conclusion, although companies are likely to pursue profits at all costs, they are also more motivated to innovate. The role of government is therefore to contain the worst excesses of the corporate world.

IELTS Essay: Formal School Age

Some people think that children should begin their formal education at a very early age. Others think they should begin after 7 years of age.

Discuss both views and give your own opinion.

Many feel that children ought to commence formal schooling from a very young ago while others feel classes should start after the age of 7. In my opinion, though there are social benefits to early schooling, many of these can be replicated outside the classroom and there are emotional advantages to attending school later.

There are legitimate reasons for young children to enter school related to socializing. This can be best illustrated by the case of home-schooled children who often have underdeveloped social skills that can persist into adulthood. In contrast, children who are active members of a social group from a young age are far more likely to develop outgoing, positive ways of engaging with others. As they progress through normal childhood developmental stages and become less egocentric, the presence of other children, and teachers to some extent, has enormous benefits. However, parents can reproduce these advantages by ensuring their children have time to socialize with neighborhood friends.

Furthermore, entering school after the age of 7 can serve as a long-term boon for emotional health. When students begin formal schooling, they necessarily feel stressed not only from competition with other children but also due to the burden of homework and grades. If children remain home longer, they will form stronger familial bonds that will encourage healthy relationships later in life. Research has shown that the early years are essential in dictating how a child will develop interpersonally. A child who received adequate love and attention is considerably more likely to feel secure and establish healthy relationships with friends and family in adulthood. Academics can always be strengthened later but this is not always true for unseen emotional work.

In conclusion, despite the social benefits of schooling for young children, the emotional ramifications of remaining home in a supportive environment are more important. School administrators should consider this question carefully.

IELTS Essay: Animals

Many believe that it is important to protect all wild animals, while others think that it is important to protect some, not all of them.

Discuss both views and give your opinion.

Some have suggested that protection of wild animals should be selective. In my opinion, humanity has responsibility for all wild animals, though it is occasionally justified to divert resources towards more valuable species.

Those in favor of safeguarding certain wild animals argue the circumstantial factors. These factors can range from the threat the specific animals face to the value of the animal itself. For instance, tigers are an endangered wild animal and require intensive conservation efforts compared with animals such as rats and pigeons, which have adapted skillfully to urban environments. Most would admit that there is little logic in providing equal support to species in different circumstances. A more extreme critic could add that some animals are more deserving of preservation. The tiger, to continue the previous example, is greatly valued for its elegance. Other animals, such as bees, are valuable not for their beauty but their usefulness to humanity.

However, all animals should be protected as humanity has been the catalyst for their endangerment. Before the rapid industrialization and surging populations of the last several hundred years, humans and animals lived on relatively equal terms and shared the Earth. Since human development has outpaced nature and now threatens the habitats of countless species, it is a duty for mankind to enact safeguards for all animals. Without such forward-looking protections, there is likely to be a “domino effect” as species die out and impair fragile ecosystems globally. Therefore even if an animal is not on the verge of extinction, it might be important to maintain their population levels so as to not start a cycle of irreversible harms.

In conclusion, humans should endeavor to protect as many animals as possible although there are exceptional cases where some species may be prioritized. Governments and individuals should collaborate to ensure wild animals are not unduly threatened by human progress.

IELTS Essay: Criminals Reoffending

Recent research suggests that the majority of criminals who are sent to prison commit crimes after they are released.

Why is this the case?

What can be done to solve this problem?

Historically, most people who were incarcerated commit crimes again after being released from prison. In my opinion, this is related to economics and psychology and the chief solutions are governmental.

The causes of high recidivism rates are identical to the original explanations for the crimes in question. The vast majority of criminal activity can be traced back to poverty. Individuals who are wealthy enough to afford a good standard of living rarely have a motive for crime. However, those who lack financial means to live a decent life are more likely to commit crimes and this is exacerbated for past criminals who struggle to apply successfully for work with a past offense on their permanent record. Moreover, there are psychological reasons that may also persist. Many criminals had difficult upbringings and do not have access to trained therapists who can help them work through their issues. These causes combined are the reason that prison often fails to rehabilitate inmates.

The ideal solutions should be enacted by the authorities. Firstly, governments must make consistent efforts to ensure released convicts can support themselves financially. This might involve small stipends to help prisoners adjust but the focus should be on education. An individual who has earned a high school or university degree or learned a skilled trade has little reason to commit crime after being set free. Secondly, governments could overhaul rehabilitation methodologies. Though society is becoming increasingly secular, there is research that suggests recidivism rates are considerably lower if a prisoner has faith in a religion. Concern for one’s immortal soul is a powerful incentive for ethical behavior.

In conclusion, many criminals reoffend due to economic and psychological reasons and governments must take decisive action to counter this pattern. Looking at successful models in other countries is also advisable.

IELTS Essay: Copying

The tendency of human beings to copy one another is shown in the popularity of areas such as fashion and consumer goods.

To what extent do you agree?

Some have suggested that the popularity of specific consumer trends evidences a natural human inclination to copy one another. In my opinion, this is largely true though there are other potential practical explanations.

Those who oppose this belief argue that imitation is rooted in reason. There are legitimate practical justifications to follow others. If a product such as a new smartphone is popular, then that is evidence it is a quality item. In this way, people are copying on a rational basis, not out of an inborn human desire. Moreover, popular items are likely cheaper and more widely available. A trendy pair of jeans made by Levy’s, for instance, is produced in the millions and stocked in department stores around the world. Individuals will encounter these jeans frequently and their purchase is simply a matter of convenience.

However, I believe that copying others satisfies a deeper human drive to feel part of a larger group. The natural tendency of humans to congregate also compels them to adopt similar customs and habits. Imitation shows that there is commonality and eases the fear of otherness. For example, Apple has built their brand based on the power of an inclusive community of like-minded users. By joining such an ecosystem, people are no longer isolated and feel part of a larger whole that elevates their individual self-esteem and protects them from other groups. Humans do not now face significant physical threats from nature but the desire to copy one another in order to join a modern-day tribe persists in contemporary consumer culture.

In conclusion, the popularity of similar consumer items illustrates an underlying need in humans to imitate one another in order to feel safe and accepted. This is not necessarily a negative insight though it should be managed carefully by individuals.

IELTS Essay: Fast Food, Families, Nutrition & the Environment

Many claim that the fast food industry had a negative effect on the environment, eating habits, and families.

To what extend do you agree or disagree?

Some would argue that the prevalence of fast food in society negatively impacts families, nutrition, and the environment. I am in complete agreement with this sentiment.

Firstly, fast food has destabilized traditional family meals. In the past, it was common for individuals to spend time eating a family meal so that parents and children could share quality time together. Fast food does not make this impossible, however, consumers are more likely to eat fast food while driving, watching television, or outside the home. The impact on families is marginal since fast food meals may be the exception though it is also decidedly negative.

Secondly, few would claim that fast food is healthy. The products at most fast food establishments are extremely high in sugar, fat, calories, and chemical preservatives. For instance, a cheeseburger from McDonald’s contains red meat that has been treated with steroids, salty cheese, and various other ingredients with, at best, doubtful dietary implications. This applies for the majority of fast food and is the main reason many today strive to eat at home or at healthier restaurants.

Finally, the production of fast food has significant environmental repercussions. Firstly, this involves factory farming. In order to supply beef, chicken, and pork there are massive farms that not only occupy land but also produce methane and other gases harmful to the ozone layer. Secondly, the transportation of goods that ensures consistency across franchises requires fossil fuel consumption. The chief culprits here are cars, trucks, and airplanes.

In conclusion, though there may be limited benefits related to convenience, fast food is an overwhelming negative in terms of families, eating habits, and the natural world. Whenever possible, consumers should not opt for fast food.

IELTS Essay: Celebrity Views

Film stars and celebrities often share their views on public matters that have little to do with their profession.

Is this a positive or negative development?

It is common for famous figures with large platforms to share their viewpoints on various topics. In my opinion, though there is potential for abuse, it is a positive overall as they can contribute diverse perspectives.

Critics of the publicity celebrities receive for their comments argue they are not always well informed. There are experts in every field, ranging from politics and science to sports and the arts and yet stars in the entertainment world possess outsized platforms. For instance, many actors, athletes, and singers have become part of the anti-vaccination movement. The views of health experts and epidemiologists are often subordinated to celebrity comments more likely to generate online traffic and ratings. However, this argument is undermined by research showing that professionals are notoriously poor at making predictions concerning their own area of expertise.

Moreover, celebrities in film and music engender diversity. The entertainment world, relative to other professional spheres, is made up of a wide variety of ethnicities and socioeconomic backgrounds. Most actors move to Hollywood from a different part of the world and then later become stars. In the music industry, listeners actively seek out new voices, styles, nationalities, and personalities. These individuals can then provide the average person an insightful glimpse into another part of society. The most recent example of this would be the awareness raised related to environmental issues by various singers and actors when they accept awards.

In conclusion, although there is risk that celebrities will be uninformed on a topic, their opinions are still important as they are typically candid, authentic, and diverse. In this era of inclusivity, it is important to value all viewpoints.

IELTS Essay: Clothes, Culture, & Character

Some people say that it is possible to tell a lot about a person’s culture and character from their choice of clothes.

Do you agree or disagree?

Many believe that fashion choices communicate information about an individual’s personality and culture. I am largely in agreement though I would concede globalization has partly obscured these distinctions.

Those who argue that a person’s culture and character cannot be determined from their clothing point to the impact of globalization. There are now international companies like Nike, Tommy Hilfiger, and Louis Vuitton that manufacture and ship identical clothes all around the world for consumers. These consumers are influenced by the same media and admire the same public figures. This modern convergence of production and culture means that disparate nations are more similar than at any point in human history. It is not unusual to see an individual living in South America, for instance, wearing the same shoes and clothing as someone in Asia or Europe.

Nonetheless, fashion preferences still reveal what a person values and what they wish to project to the outside world. A person who wears a suit and tie appears professional and this likely matches their personality. If they dress very formally when at work it might also indicate the office culture in their country. For example, it is common in East Asian countries for workers to dress very formally for work while in Southeast Asia the clothing is more casual due to the tropical climate. There are also individual differences that are, on average, greater than the disparity between cultures. A person who is into sports is more likely to wear sporty clothes regardless of where they live. Social media and globalization can even contribute to this trend as a consumer can follow their favorite artist and emulate both their personality and fashion choices.

In conclusion, though globalization theoretically makes it more difficult to distinguish a person’s culture and character from their clothes, in fact, these choices continue to be revealing. This self-expression is one of the benefits of modern fashion.

IELTS Essay: International Stars and Historic Figures

Many young people today know more about international pop or movie stars than about famous people in the history of their own country.

Why is this?

What can be done to increase young people’s interest in famous people in the history of their country?

Younger generations today are often more interested in international celebrities rather than figures from their country’s past. In my opinion, this is a natural tendency related to mass media and can be mitigated by improving history lessons in schools.

Younger people today organically gravitate towards individuals they resonate with and see in entertainment. This applies equally to those in the film and music industries. For example, one of the most popular singers for the last decade has been Taylor Swift, an artist who prolifically releases albums, updates her Instagram, and is generally present online and in the entertainment world. Young people listen to her songs and identify with her and then follow her personal life closely in order to enjoy a vicarious, uplifting feeling. This stands in marked contrast to historical figures who no longer contribute or offer any present value.

This tendency to value current stars can be countered with more engaging history classes. History lessons in most contexts focus on dry facts and propaganda. However, there are historians who can enliven historical events such as in Robert Caro’s non-fiction or Hilary Mantel’s historical fiction. If students were introduced to passages from those sources, there is a stronger likelihood that it would instill in them a lifelong passion for the study of history and the figures that have shaped our current world. If such lessons were combined with more relevant current events lessons, then students might be more compelled to understand, respect, and continue researching great historical actors.

In conclusion, though there is a natural inclination to pay more attention to contemporary pop culture figures, an emphasis on quality texts could encourage young people to care more about individuals from the past. This will not cause a seismic shift but could have a marginal impact.

IELTS Essay: Sales

There are different methods businesses use to increase their sales.

What are the different ways companies use to increase sales?

Which one is the most effective?

There are a variety of methods employed by businesses to grow their sales revenue. In my opinion, these typically relate to marketing and innovation, with the latter being the most effective.

Most companies choose to target increased sales through advertising campaigns and new products. Marketing and advertising are self-evidently important. Nearly every major company reserves a substantial portion of the budget for television advertisements, online marketing, billboards, and so on. Companies that excel with viral marketing, such as Starbucks, are able to dominate the competition through brand awareness and grow sales consistently. Furthermore, the introduction of new products is also a key catalyst. This can include new menu items, such as the recent popularity of Popeye’s new chicken sandwich or technological advances like the electric vehicles produced by Tesla.

Though advertising can be extremely persuasive, there is no substitute for a truly revolutionary and unique product. The best example of this would be the most successful consumer electronics product in history, the iPhone. When it launched there was no comparable product, with Blackberry phones being the closest analogue. The iPhone allowed users to make phone calls, send message, take photos, check email, and use the internet. These are routine features now but at the time these innovations drove rapid revenue growth and countless other companies raced to replicate their success. This model applies to a range of industries as a novel product can drive demand while a company need only focus on maintaining their supply chain.

In conclusion, sales figures rise as a result of marketing strategies and successful innovation, with the latter the single greatest method for generating more revenue. Companies must balance both techniques yet prioritize new ideas whenever possible.

IELTS Essay: Children Learning Languages

Because many children are not able to learn foreign languages, schools should not force them to learn foreign languages.

To what extent do you agree or disagree?

Some feel that since it is challenging for children to learn a foreign language, schools should not emphasize this subject area. In my opinion, the challenge is the entire justification for supporting second language education.

Critics argue that the majority of children are simply incapable of learning an additional language. The best evidence for this is anecdotal and relates to the increasingly large burden of work placed on young children. Schools in many parts of the world, particularly in high-achieving nations such as South Korea and Japan, are in session for many hours and students learn an array of subjects. They are usually taught English, the world’s lingua franca, and this is especially difficult for speakers of Asian languages, where there is little shared linguistic history. The end result is often that students waste time and may feel discouraged and lack self-esteem.

However, children can learn languages better than adults and the challenge presented is itself an important lesson. If the schools have invested in proper training and use engaging materials then the lessons will not be boring and there is a stronger likelihood of success. Research has shown that language learning is most effective before the age of 7, with pronunciation becoming a stumbling block for older learners who already have fixed vocal formations. Moreover, the difficulty of learning a language encourages children to work harder and expand their ability to learn in creative ways. This applies to all subjects but languages stand out as students must seek novel memorization techniques and view the world from a completely different perspective.

In conclusion, despite the low rates of success in many cases, the impact of attempting to learn a language is itself tremendously beneficial. Schools should therefore continue funding this part of the curriculum.

IELTS Essay: Local Environmental Responsibility

Governments should make people responsible for looking after their own local environment.

Do you agree or disagree?

Some would argue that climate change is such a pressing threat that governments should issue mandates to make individuals responsible for protecting the local environment. In my opinion, this might raise environmental awareness, however it is not advisable as other steps are more likely to produce results.

Those who suggest individuals should be compelled to accept responsibility are hoping for a united effort from the general public. The entire reason the Earth faces potential catastrophe is because of over-population and consumer habits. There would be a noticeable improvement if individuals were forced to recycle, clean up litter in their neighborhoods and reduce their carbon footprint by not using private vehicles, single-use plastics, and airplanes. There is the added argument that it is important to instill public duty in the mind of the average person. The government could fix these problems but that would only enable bad behavior from citizens in the same way that an overly permissive parent engenders a spoiled child.

However, the impact from the steps mentioned above would be marginal compared to the regulations governments can enact on various industries. Individuals might not follow the mandates from governments and they would be extremely difficult to enforce in populous nations that value individual liberty such as India, the United States, and Brazil. If governments instead passed laws related to both small and large businesses they could combat global and local issues. Companies that contribute to air and water pollution could be severely fined and the businesses that profit the most from mass consumerism could be forced to institute more environmentally friendly policies. These simple reforms would have tremendous impact.

In conclusion, although this policy would help individuals become more active in their communities, it is more important for governments to enact sweeping regulations on corporations. In this way, the most progress will be made.



Competitiveness for Men & Women

Some claim that men are naturally more competitive than women.

To what extent do you agree or disagree?

Men are stereotypically considered to be more competitive than women. In my opinion, though this is ostensibly true, in fact, competitiveness just finds different expression in females.

The traditional argument in favor of this claim is that men are predisposed genetically to aggressive traits. Men have elevated levels of the hormone testosterone. This is supposedly an evolved adaptation as males in human pre-history had to battle one another for dominance and required a surplus of strength to hunt and provide for the whole family. In the modern world, this translates to a heightened aggressiveness often reflected in the number of ambitious men, driven to excel in their chosen field. Numerous studies and tests have confirmed the surface-level validity of this argument.

However, this ignores the fact that women simply have different outlets for their competitive qualities. In the past, societal prejudices often discouraged women from expressing an interest in competitive sports and ambitious career paths. It is now more common for females to embrace their competitive drive and strive for goals similar to men. However, this is merely a redirection of innate desires that were already present. Instead of competing in traditionally competitive fields, women in past generations focused their energies towards more domestic matters. These might not have been as seemingly competitive but women nonetheless had to compete against each other to gain the highest possible position in society available to them at the time.

In conclusion, despite the evolutionary evidence to support the natural competitiveness of males, I feel that the sexes are generally equal in this area though women express this desire more subtly. Such narrow stereotyping of both genders is often overly simplistic.

IELTS Essay: Newspapers & Learning

Some people think that newspapers are the best way to learn about current events. However, others believe that they can learn news better through other media.

Discuss both views and give your opinion.

Many are of the view that news is best received through traditional newspapers while others feel that more modern media is preferable. In my opinion, despite the better habits engendered by reading the newspaper, it is impossible to argue convincingly against the convenience of newer mediums.

On the one hand, reading the newspaper allows for a healthy, distraction-free environment. This relates to both the content and the presentation of newspapers. Newspapers undergo rigorous editing and articles are necessarily published more slowly, allowing for better writing and fewer sensationalist headlines. An individual reading the newspaper can be compared to someone eating healthy foods or doing exercise. Similarly, newspapers are not vulnerable to the wide array of potential distractions on digital devices. There is less chance a newspaper reader will be distracted by social media or their personal communications.

On the other hand, there are a wide variety of functions only provided by more recent forms of media. Newspapers are primarily based on text, with images adding slight variety. In contrast, online media enables an individual to watch videos, listen to audio, cross-reference sources, consult primary sources, and generally take full advantage of the digital world. For example, a person who reads an article about a politician’s remarks can then check for the video in order to hear their words in context and later visit a site such as Twitter to analyze reactions from the general public, journalists, experts, and the politician. This information can then be easily shared through online messaging services or social media.

In conclusion, there are definite advantages to non-digital news sources, however, these are overshadowed by the versatility of modern media. It is the duty of individuals to ensure they enjoy the positives without the drawbacks of spending too much time online.

IELTS Essay: Shopping Habits & Age

Shopping habits depend more on your age group than anything else.

To what extent do you agree or disagree?

Many would argue that an individual’s shopping habits depend more on age demographics than other factors. In my opinion, age is relevant in terms of a person’s tastes, however social class is a greater determiner.

Those who would argue in favor of age point out how a person’s preferences are largely fixed. The past several decades have witnessed seismic changes in culture, particularly related to technology. A person who grew up before the digital age is more inclined to spend money on books, holidays, furniture, and other non-digital items. The style of these items is also likely to be more traditional and less modern. However, someone under the age of 40, is more likely to spend on a new phone, electronic vehicle such as a Tesla, or clothing and furniture that is more modern and minimalist. These disparities widen when considering the youngest generations who are even more inclined to value the virtual world through purchases such as NFTs and cryptocurrencies.

However, for the majority of major purchases, wealth determines what a person can afford and therefore buy. This is evident for a variety of products ranging from food and wellness items to technology and fashion. For instance, most individuals would love to buy the newest smartphone when it is released, drive in a luxury car and shop for expensive and healthy organic products at the supermarket. However, one’s financial status will either allow a person to express these desires or force them to live frugally. The best evidence for this is the lack of discretion children show when it comes to shopping. They are uninhibited by financial concerns and therefore attempt to buy whatever they like.

In conclusion, despite the clear differences in taste present in individuals or different generations, financial flexibility is the clearest factor influencing a person’s shopping habits. This has been true for most of history and still remains the case today.

IELTS Essay: Cigarettes

Smoking is a major cause of serious illness and death throughout the world today. In the interest of the public health, governments should ban cigarettes and other tobacco products.

To what extent do you agree or disagree?

Many today are calling for a complete ban on tobacco related products due to their health effects. In my opinion, since tobacco offers few tangible benefits, such a prohibition would be justified.

Opponents of such a policy argue that it conflicts with individual and economic freedom. Firstly, individuals should have the right to live their life as they wish as long as they are not harming others. This is the basic tenet that underlies most democratic societies and smoking cigarettes falls firmly within this sphere of an individual’s rights. Secondly, there is an economic factor. Tobacco companies produce billions of cigarettes a year, providing employment and paying significant taxes throughout the process. If these companies were suddenly forced to declare bankruptcy and shut down, it would have catastrophic short-term effects on the economies of both developed and developing nations. The economic downsides alone could, temporarily, do more harm than good.

However, tobacco is an almost entirely harmful product in its effects. In contrast to other narcotics, such as caffeine, alcohol, and cannabis, there is no discernible sensation produced by smoking cigarettes or chewing tobacco. Tobacco contains nicotine, which is highly addictive and engenders a chemical dependency, and that is the reason it has become such a common habit. Moreover, there are meaningful health problems that for smokers as well as unintended parties through second-hand smoke. It is common for long-time smokers to suffer from a weakened immune system, conditions like emphysema, and increased risk for lung cancer. These maladies place an added burden on the health system and hospitals.

The limited benefits of cigarettes compared with the massive potential health costs for individuals and society justify the ban. Individuals have always had to sacrifice elements of freedom in order to ensure greater security and this issue is only viewed differently for historical reasons.



IELTS Essay: One Universal Government

The world should have only one government rather than a national government for each country.

Do the advantages of this outweigh the disadvantages?

There have been suggestions historically for a single government that could control all nations. In my opinion, there are utopian benefits that would result from this, however, the drawbacks related to autonomy make it a negative theoretical proposal.

Supporters argue a single government would be more effective and focused. This is best illustrated through major problems that all nations currently struggle to solve such as climate change and the recent health crisis facing the world. A single centralized government could better protect the environment by enacting strict legislation against the burning of fossil fuels and force all citizens to get vaccinated against Covid-19. In purely hypothetical terms, such unilateral power could achieve tremendous ends. However, in reality, there is a strong likelihood that a government would either pursue different, less desirable goals or be unable to enforce their mandates.

Beyond the infeasibility of such a world government, there are more basic reasons to oppose its existence. Variety in government is valuable in itself. Take for example the different governments currently in power around the world. Each country has, to varying degrees, chosen a government that represents their values and enacts laws based on the kind of nation they wish to have. The result is that some countries, such as those in Western Europe, lean more towards a socialist system that ensures a minimum standard of living for all citizens, others place greater emphasis on individual empowerment, others on transparency and still others on security over freedom. This diversity is a defining feature of human society.

In conclusion, a single government for the entire planet could help resolve global issues but would ultimately limit the distinctiveness of each individual nation. Therefore, there are other solutions that should be undertaken to remedy the current crisis of confidence in government.

IELTS Essay: Happiness

Some people think personal happiness is directly related to economic success, while others believe this depends on other factors.

Discuss both sides and give your own opinion.

Many are of the belief that happiness is a result of financial success, while others feel there are more crucial factors. In my opinion, a certain degree of financial stability is a basic requirement for happiness but is less important overall than one’s family and health.

Those who claim that happiness correlates highly with earnings argue that it affords individuals a higher standard of living. A person with a considerable salary is able to buy a nice house, provide for their family, and purchase luxuries ranging from good food and frequent holidays to expensive vehicles and fashionable clothing. Each item taken on its own only contributes a small degree of pleasure, however, such purchases add up to a generally content, comfortable and enjoyable lifestyle. If a person is inclined to equate pleasure with happiness, then there is a legitimate argument to be made for the pursuit of happiness being the pursuit of money.

However, the majority of individuals, wealthy and otherwise, would state that happiness is more a consequence of quality time with family and good health. A comfortable home filled with luxuries is enjoyable but the most sustained happiness comes from relationships. Someone who has lost touch with their family and has frayed interpersonal bonds with their relatives, is not likely to be able to fill such a void with physical possessions. Anecdotally, towards the end of life most people recognize that their happiest moments were spent in the presence of loved ones. Additionally, good health is a more powerful pre-condition for happiness since no amount of wealth can buy relief from chronic suffering.

In conclusion, happiness depends more on one’s relationship with their family and physical health rather than financial success. There are, naturally, exceptions as happiness is subjective and can be defined differently.

IELTS Essay: Violent Entertainment (Games and Movies)

Movies and computer games containing violence are popular. Some people say they have a negative effect on society and should be censored. Others say they are just harmless relaxation.

Discuss both these views and give your own opinion.

Some feel that violence in entertainment is a root cause of problems in society and should thus be censored. In my opinion, while there is legitimate cause to establish reasonable boundaries, such content has little actual negative impact.

On the one hand, there is a general level of acceptance that gratuitous violence should be restricted. This is particularly the case if films are being broadcast on public channels or it is possible to gain easy access to violent games. In most nations, programming during the daytime has higher thresholds for acceptable content due to fears of influencing impressionable children. The worry is that very young children and teenagers will become desensitized to violence and potentially establish either a confrontational way of interacting or, in extreme cases, a pattern of behavior. Studies have not shown much evidence for these claims however they possess a commonsensical logic.

On the other hand, the majority of individuals have no difficulty distinguishing between fiction and reality. Consumers of violent entertainment are simply passing the time or experiencing a vicarious thrill. There is even the slight chance that by watching violent entertainment, audiences will be dissuaded from such behavior or feel their need for violence has been sufficiently expressed. For instance, an individual who plays violent computer games or is obsessed with horror films, according to research, is no more likely to commit a violent crime or display abnormal behavior. The actual causes of problems in society relate to employment, economics, discrimination, income inequality, and various systemic barriers.

In conclusion, though there are certain levels of violence that should be censored depending on the context, most explicit content ought to be permitted in games and movies. Efforts to heavily censor would be short-sighted and misguided.

IELTS Essay: Success

Some people say that individuals who make a lot of money are the most successful. Others think that those who contribute to society like scientists and teachers are more successful.

Discuss both sides and give your own opinion.

Many would argue that those who contribute significantly to society, such as artists, teachers and scientists, are more successful than the affluent. In my opinion, although earnings can be a sign of success, one’s worldly impact should be held in higher esteem.

On the one hand, wealth allows an individual to enjoy their life to the fullest. It is common in popular culture to elevate values related to altruism, however, most honest individuals would admit that success can be equated with what one can afford. The wealthy can afford the possessions and lifestyle they desire and also have the free time and peace of mind to completely enjoy their leisure. In past centuries, such people were admired as shameless examples of personal enjoyment. Therefore, this financial freedom can be viewed as the strictest and more direct definition of success.

However, money itself does not always engender a feeling of satisfaction in the same way as more active pursuits in life. Many wealthy individuals feel that they have contributed little to society and this diminishes their enjoyment of their gains. Such dissatisfaction is less present in individuals who, as long as they are not living in destitute poverty, pursue meaningful outlets for their energies. For example, renowned scientists throughout history are often not extremely wealthy, yet they are considered great successes due to their contributions and the personal joy they derive from the full exercise of their abilities. This fact can be extended to all other professions that involve determination, creativity, and the growth of one’s influence.

In conclusion, despite the material benefits of wealth, it is clear that one’s ability to shape the world is a surer symbol of success. Every individual and society must locate a balance between these two ideals.

IELTS Essay: Value of the Arts

In today’s world of advanced science and technology, many still greatly value artists such as musicians, painters and writers.

What can the arts tell us about life that science cannot?

Many people today continue to value the arts despite a growing emphasis on science and technology. In my opinion, this is because only the arts allow for self-expression and create fundamentally crucial and uplifting truths about humanity.

The first reason the arts continue to be relevant relates to their capacity for self-expression. This is important not only for individuals but also for society at large. For individuals, the ability to express themselves is a crucial element of being fully human and having strong mental health. This explains the popularity of classes for painting, music, and dance as a means of relaxing and expressing one’s thoughts and feelings. In the aggregate, millions of people expressing their viewpoints leads to a plurality of perspectives that can enrich society. For instance, all the most revered periods of human history, such as the Renaissance, were defined by a flourishing of the arts.

Secondly, art has the capacity to create value in a way that science cannot. Although science is capable of making tangible improvements in the lives of individuals, it is unable to impart meaning. In contrast, the arts are interpretations of the world that can uplift and enliven. For example, great filmmakers over the course of the 20th century have explored complex subject matter in classic films such as The Godfather, not only entertaining viewers but also presenting a vision and insightful understanding of American history. If the arts are extended to include the writings and teachings of religious leaders, it is easy to see their impact on values and morality.

In conclusion, the arts still occupy a prominent position in society as they allow for individual self-expression and the creation of ideals. Therefore, it is important that governments continue to fund and support these seemingly less worthwhile pursuits.

IELTS Essay: Traditional Clothing

In many countries, people now wear western-style dress such as suits and jeans rather than traditional clothing.

Why is this?

Is this a positive or negative development?

It has become increasingly common in recent years for individuals globally to dress in western-influenced clothing. In my opinion, this is a natural result of corporate and cultural globalization and is broadly negative.

The main cause of this phenomenon is globalization. This relates firstly to culture. The growth of the media industry generally and online media more specifically has spread primarily American cultural values. Individuals living in distant nations watch the latest blockbuster Hollywood movies, listen to the same singers and emulate their lifestyle choices including fashion. Secondly, mass production enables this homogeneity. Hundreds of years ago, consumers had no choice other than to buy clothes produced by local artisans. Now, companies like Louis Vuitton and Tommy Hilfiger can fabricate identical items of clothing to be shipped globally at affordable prices, forcing many local businesses into bankruptcy.

The positive side of this trend, lower prices and potential inspiration from western fashion, are largely overshadowed by the injurious impact on cultural diversity. For example, in many parts of Asia, there are the rich cultural traditions of various ethnic minorities. These skilled garment-makers follow traditions dating back hundreds of years. The clothing produced is not only beautiful, but also more environmentally friendly and unique. However, these days few local residents are interested as they prefer wealthy western fashion brands that showcase their social status. The result is that the values being espoused by fashion are material wealth and appearances rather than tradition, culture, and artistic skill.

In conclusion, western fashion trends are ubiquitous today due to the effects of globalization and this represents a negative shift in values. Individuals should therefore strive to ignore these trends and purchase clothes that express their culture better when possible.

IELTS Essay: Computer Games

Many adults nowadays prefer spending their free time playing computer games.

Why do they do this?

Is this a positive or negative development?

A large proportion of adults now enjoy playing computer games during their free time. In my opinion, this is a result of developments in mobile technology and is decidedly negative since computer games encourage passivity.

The primary cause of increased interest in games is their availability. In the past, computer games could only be played on desktop computers at home. Now, it is possible to play the same essential games on laptops, tablets, and smartphones. This means that individuals are more likely to become addicted over time as research has shown the strength of intermittent rewards in forming addictive habits. For example, the average worker can play games on their phone while on the commute to work, during work on a desktop or laptop, and throughout the day whenever they have a break. This creates a powerful feedback loop in the same way as other drugs.

In my opinion, the entertainment value of such games pales in comparison to their impact on sedentary lifestyles. Before computer games became pervasive habits, individuals were more likely to spend time talking with friends, reading books, participating in physical activities, and being generally more productive. All these habits were better for mental and physical health. Computer games, on the other hand, require a minimal level of mental activity and feed users small bursts of dopamine that keep them occupied and entertained for hours. The cumulative effect, particularly when coupled with other passive activities such as using social media and watching streaming sites, is a generation of less active and creative individuals.

In conclusion, adults play computer games more often these days because of the availability of mobile technology and this is harmful as it fosters passivity. It is therefore important for adults to set limits for themselves.

IELTS Essay: Curfews

Some countries are considering imposing curfews in which teenagers will not be allowed outdoors at night unless they are accompanied by an adult.

To what extent do you agree or disagree with this policy?

Some governments are considering proposals to institute curfews for teenagers that would require them to be in the presence of an adult after certain hours. In my opinion, the marginal benefits of such a policy would be greatly outweighed by its social drawbacks.

One the one hand, requiring teenagers to remain at home at night could help curb juvenile delinquency. In certain cities, it is common for particular neighborhoods to be full of criminal activity late at night. A teenager who is either engaging in such activity or simply passing through those areas is at significant risk. By staying home, teenagers would be forced to engage in more wholesome activities and the authorities would be better able to police the streets. In this way, governments could limit both crimes commited by and upon teenagers.

However, the cases mentioned above affect a minority of teenagers while this reform would impair the social growth of the majority. Ensuring teenagers stay home essentially limits their social acquaintances to within their family. In many situations, if the family is small or there are issues related to abuse, this could foster an unhealthy psychological and social dependence. When teenagers hang out with friends at concerts, malls, parks, and other public venues they begin to develop their identity and manage the demands of interpersonal relationships. Any reforms that hinder such growth are negative for the progress of society more generally.

In conclusion, despite the positive effect a curfew would have on misbehavior, such suggestions should be ignored in order to guarantee the healthy social development of adolescents. There are less restrictive methods of reducing juvenile deliquency that could instead be considered.

IELTS Essay: Crime Rates and Technological Prevention

Crime rates will fall as advances in technology make it easier to detect and prevent crimes.

To what extent do you agree or disagree?

Many people believe that as technology advances, it will ease the challenges of law enforcement. I am generally in agreement though these innovations will not completely eliminate criminality as it is inherent to human nature.

Critics would argue that crime is a natural human instinct. Crime has existed in all human society for thousands of years and improvements in law enforcement can only hope to limit, not extinguish, a basic element of human nature. The reason for this is the natural conflict between the desires of individuals and the expectations of society. In most cases, an individual inhibits his or her impulses, but some lack this restraint and violate the dictates of society. Many of these individuals, for reasons related to nature or upbringing, would struggle to control themselves even if there was near-certainty they would be apprehended.

Nonetheless, crime can be effectively countered by more invasive surveillance. Governments now have the capacity to install cameras in the physical world and watch individuals carefully online as well. The best known examples of this would be in countries where cameras are common. In these, often authoritarian nations, governments are able to record footage of nearly every street. As criminals are aware there is a near 100% chance they will be filmed and arrested, crime statistics in those areas are negligible. This reduction in crime due to an awareness of ubiquitous surveillance can also be extended to the online sphere, where law enforcement can monitor VPNs, IP addresses to detect and trace illegal activity.

In conclusion, despite the likelihood that crime will never be completely eliminated, the advent of increased surveillance in particular will lead to drastic reductions in offences in the coming decades. Governments will then, as always, have to balance the priorities of safety against claims to freedom and privacy.

SPORTS FACILITIES

At present, public health is declining as an increasing number of people in countries around the world are suffering from diseases such as diabetes, liver disease, cardiovascular problems, and cancer.

While taking exercise goes some way to dealing with these issues, it is not the only, nor even the most important method for solving such problems, and the facilities provided for exercise do little to tackle poor public health.

With a view to tackling obesity-related illness, many governments have spent vast sums of money on sports facilities and China highlights this point. Residential districts are full of exercise equipment, there are a large number of gymnasiums available and many new public swimming pools have been constructed. In theory, these measures would encourage people to exercise more and thus improve overall public health. However, in practice, people do not use these facilities due to a range of alternative, low energy entertainment options such as playing video games or watching television and, as a result, the majority of people do very little exercise which means such investment wastes public funds.

In light of these arguments, alternatives are required to deal with public health, and education is the most important solution. Many people lead unhealthy lifestyles because they are not well-informed about the health risks that they are taking, such as consuming high levels of cholesterol from food. If more time is spent teaching people from an early age about the importance of a healthy diet, they will grow up to be careful about the sorts of food that they consume. High energy diets are a major factor in obesity and solving the issue of food intake is half the battle. Furthermore, education could change social values about sports and teach people that regular physical exercise is essential, thus improving the effectiveness of existing public sports facilities.

In conclusion, building more sports facilities would do little to alleviate current problems with people’s health because social values are not focused on the links between exercise and health, and it does nothing to solve dietary imbalance. By changing the education system, it would be possible to change eating and exercise habits amongst the younger generations, thus this is the best way to improve public health.

[lonelyandlovelorn]

Sorry, I’m Awkward - Part 4

A/N: This is the end, I’m actually pretty proud of this. I hope you guys like it too, I love reading your guys’ comments and notes in reblogs. 

Genre: fluff 

Warning: swearing, fighting, small injury

Word count: 2500

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem reader

Summary: On a mission with the Winter Soldier himself, you learn he’s not actually an ass and that you’re more embarrassing than you thought. 

Masterlist

Sorry, I’m Awkward Masterlist

When you arrive at the gala, you immediately feel out of your element, even as you force yourself to relax. The atmosphere practically reeks with fakeness and trying too hard. Every other woman in the room is dressed similarly to you, though you are happy to notice that none of them seem to catch Bucky’s eye. When that though crosses your mind, you immediately shake it off, focusing on the mission. With a moment’s scan, you spot the target, a graying man near the other end of the room. You inconspicuously point him out to Bucky who nods.

The expression on his face is too serious for the gala, and you’re sure you aren’t faring much better. You wrap your arm around his right bicep, giving a fake giggle for those who might have been watching. Bucky’s eyes rove you for a moment before you can see him compartmentalizing everything in his mind until a seemingly carefree smile lights up his face. You would be glad to see it if it weren’t for the fact that you know the way a real smile lights up his eyes and crinkles his eyes. His real smiles are warm and light, everything that the people in this room are not. 

You both make a few rounds of guests, keeping an eye on the man without being obvious about it. You keep up the facade of a rich young couple in love, being a little touchier than might be fully acceptable. You need to keep up the act though, so you keep your arm tightly wrapped in his, sometimes rubbing your fingers along his forearm or simply intertwining them with his. He had been given a bit of tech from Tony that would hide the appearance of his metal arm, but that didn’t change the way it felt. There was no way to explain the admiration you had for this man or his arm without sounding horny as hell. There was just something about it that you hadn’t thought much of until you held onto it for so long. At first, when you were messing with it, Bucky seemed as nervous as he had been the day before when you had grabbed it, but he eventually calmed down with your soothing and gentle strokes. 

Finally, you both made it around to the side of the room where the target was standing. You kept up conversation with another young couple nearby for appearances, but neither of you paid any attention to them. When the man began leaving the room quietly, you tightened your hold on Bucky, He seemed to understand and you both politely wrapped up the conversation before making to follow. In case there were any eyes on you, You grabbed Bucky’s hand and made a show of jokingly dragging him somewhere private, giggling demurely the whole way. Once out of the room and into the hallway the man had gone down, you dropped the act. You were sad to have to let go of Bucky for the first time that night. 

You both crept quietly down the hall until you saw him around a corner. You followed him until you saw him go into a room. He was only in there for a few moments as you both watched. The door opened once more and you quickly grabbed Bucky’s jacket, pulling him against where you stood on the wall. 

He glanced at your lips. “Again?” he asked quietly. You only looked at him doe-eyed before pressing your lips to his. His right hand moved to your waist as his left cupped your cheek and threaded into your hair. You were both breathing heavily when you heard a throat being cleared to your left. You both pulled away to look at him. You put on your best acting face, giving a shy giggle and looking abashedly down. 

“You can’t be back here,” the man said, looking slightly ruffled at the scene he had just walked in on. Bucky wore a lazy smirk, playing the part of a playboy millionaire perfectly. A little boy caught in the act of doing something wrong, but not caring one bit for the consequences. 

“Sorry sir,” you said quietly, “we were just looking for somewhere private. We’ll be out in just a moment.” You made a show of fixing your hair that Bucky had mussed. You were honestly still a little breathless. You saw the man give a gruff nod before walking away. When he rounded the corner, you straightened up and Bucky moved to give you space. You both looked to his office, making eye contact and nodding before walking in the direction he had come from. Luckily, the door was unlocked. You still had to be careful though, knowing you only had a few moments before he sent someone to look for you. 

You were quick and efficient going through his computer to find the files you needed, emails and communications that would incriminate him and put him away. As you pulled the flashdrive out, you looked to Bucky who was keeping watch. Suddenly, you both heard noise in the hallway. 

Bucky muttered, “Trouble,” before stepping out into the hall. You followed him out to see two bulky men looking at you both exiting an off-limits office. 

“Can we help you?” They were an intimidating picture with their bulky arms crossed over broad chests, but when you trained with two super soldiers for a living, they didn’t scare you much. 

“Sorry, gentlemen, we were just leaving,” Bucky said smoothly, making to move past them. One of them grabbed his arm (the flesh one, luckily) to stop him. 

“I can’t let you do that.” Bucky looked to you. All you did was nod, and he took your cue. Bucky lashed out at the man holding him, getting a good hit in with his metal arm and leaving a nasty mark. The other man turned to you. Settling into a battle stance, you slipped the knife out of your thigh strap and kicked off your heels. He came at you quickly and the fight was on.

Even if you train with super soldiers, it doesn’t mean you’re as strong as them. Cap frequently had you on your back when you sparred, and the few times you had faced off with Bucky had left you aching for days. You were a good fighter, but so was your opponent. He was built like an ox and you had trouble doing more than dodge. You were fast, but your hits lacked real power. You attempted to swipe at him with your knife, getting a few good slashes in before he knocked it out of your hand. Before you could get it back, he had it in his hand and it was all you could do to dodge every swing. You felt a sting along your back as you spun away from him. Finally seeing an opening, you called on every bit of Black Widow strength within you to climb onto his shoulders to wrap your thighs around his neck. With the knife still in his hands, he got a few good cuts into your legs before you finally brought him down. As you stood up and swept the hair out of your eyes, you looked to see Bucky take down another guard who had come along. He blew a few strands of hair from his face as he turned to you. 

“We better get going.” You could only nod in agreement and slip your shoes back on, following Bucky out of the building through your memorized path on the blueprints you had studied. You made it out and got into the passenger seat of the car you had been sent for the night. You were still amped up on adrenaline when you got in the car, but as your heartbeat settled, the stinging cuts on your body came to your attention. You let out a hiss as shifting in your seat unsettled the one on your back. Bucky looked to you in concern but you just waved him off. 

You managed to fake feeling okay until you followed him into the room. As you moved, you realized that the cut on your back was probably deep enough to need stitches and you couldn’t reach it by yourself. You sat down on the bed slowly as Bucky called Steve to let him know you were ready for extraction. 

He turned to you after hanging up. “Steve said they should be here in a few hours.” Your face was surely pale and you were a little unfocused, which he obviously noticed. “Hey, doll, you okay?” 

You shook your head slowly. You were stubborn sometimes, but you knew you needed help with your wound. You kicked your heels off again before standing on shaky legs and turning to show him your back. You heard his sharp intake of breath, so you knew it must look pretty bad. “Alright, go ahead and lay on your stomach, I’m gonna get the first aid kit.” You listened to him, sprawling on the bed. You were aware enough to know that sleep would be a bad idea, so you tracked him with your eyes, watching him take off his jacket and rolling his sleeves up to his elbows. If you weren’t in so much pain, you definitely would have appreciated the sight. 

Bucky sat on the edge of the bed next to you, looking you over for a moment. “Alright, I’m going to have to unzip your dress to get at it.” You nodded in acquiescence, shivering at the feel of his fingers on your side. You were kind of mad that the only reason he was going to see your pretty lingerie was because you were hurt. That didn’t stop the satisfaction coursing through you at his stuttered movements and small gasp when the lace came into view. Luckily, the cut was fairly low on your back so the brassiere was untouched. He quietly peeled the wet fabric from your back and began working with determined attention. He made sure to focus on stitching you up instead of the expanse of exposed skin and lacy material in his view. 

You watched him as much as you could to distract yourself from the pain. Unfortunately, admiring his brow furrowed in concentration only did so much, so you began talking. “Tell me a secret.” He paused his work to look at you with a slightly quirked eyebrow. 

“A secret?” he asked, returning his focus to the needle in his hand. 

“Yeah. It can be anything, just something I don’t know about you that other probably don’t know about you. Distract me.” You weren’t sure why you had chosen that as a distraction, but you wanted to get to know him better anyway. 

“Alright, I’ll tell you a secret doll,” he said quietly, leaning closer to you. “I know you were awake this morning.” You can’t say for certain whether your sharp inhale was a product of that statement or the tug of your skin as he finished suturing your back. You were silent as he finished his task bandaging you up. When he was done, he lightly patted your back and stood up to put away the supplies without a word. 

You slowly sat up to face him. “Why didn’t you say anything?” His eyes flashed to you and he stared at you a moment before they moved quickly to the ceiling. 

“Doll…” You looked down to realize that your dressed was pooled around your waist and you were sitting in front of him in only a bra from the waist up. At least it was a cute one. You quickly pulled the dress up to cover your front before he turned to the duffle bag and pulled out one of his large Henleys. He held it out to you, but you didn’t take it as you waited for him to answer. He sighed and grabbed your hand, pressing the fabric into it before answering your question. 

“I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to force you to face it. Who am I to judge? Maybe you just like cuddling, that’s not my business.”

“But don’t you want to know why I didn’t move?” You weren’t usually so brazen and confident when faced with an embarrassing situation, but if the way he reacted to your touch and the kisses was anything to go off of, you weren’t alone in your feelings. You kept eye contact with him as you dropped the top of your dress to pull his shirt over your head. His eyes didn’t leave yours, but the way his pupils dilated did wonders for your confidence. The shirt hung loosely on your frame and his eyes trailed over the image of you wearing his clothes before he cleared his throat.

“Why didn’t you move?” he asked nervously. 

You smiled sweetly at him. “Because I like being in your arms.” You stood up, letting the dress fall to your feet. The shirt was large enough to cover your decency, but Bucky definitely got a glimpse at the other half of your matching set, and even when the hem settled there was still plenty of leg on display. You moved into Bucky’s personal space, and his arms wound around you as if on instinct. You let a smirk play on your face as your arms moved to wrap around his neck, your fingers playing with the hair at the back of his neck. “Whattaya say, soldier. Wanna try dating in the 21st century?”

A real smile lit up his face and your heart stuttered. “Doll, I would be honored.” You grinned before pressing a real kiss just for the two of you to his lips. It wasn’t as heated as the others, but it was every bit as magical. When you pulled away, you were happy to see he looked as dazed as you felt. 

“I wonder what the team will think?” you pondered out loud. You had left the compound a rather stoic and uncomfortable pair, no one would guess you would come back half in love. 

“Steve and Sam will make fun of me for weeks, with the way I’ve been eyeing you.” You laughed at that, pressing a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth. 

“You can hide with me anytime. Maybe I’ll even show you this whole lingerie set Nat got me.” You shot him a wink and were proud to see the man blush, even as hunger filled his eyes. 

“Why does that have to wait until we get back?” You smacked his arm but couldn’t help but laugh. 

Your back still stung, but you were on a high. Your mission was successful, and you were coming away with a boyfriend. Maybe being a little awkward wasn’t so bad. 

--

I made a ko-fi! There’s no obligation, I just wanted to try it out.

Tag(s): @emotionallysalty @ficrecsandreviews @fandomsfallnomore @aquaastrid @mariah-vg @eury-dice3

[blackfemmecharacterdependency]

Share a Lair 18 || Share Those Secrets

Charlotte managed to get Piper to drive to the airport with her. Jasper was leaving too, as she suspected, so she would be sending all three of her guys off and she was in no condition to be able to drive away. She knew beforehand. By the time it happened, it was much worse. She hugged Henry and Jasper, tried not to cry on either of them. They held hands and headed for boarding. She clung to Max, trying not to cry, and also trying to let go of him, because it had to be done. She forced herself to smile and moved to kiss him. His tears wet her face and she lost it. “Why are you crying right now?” She asked. “We were supposed to tough it out!” Now, she was crying too.

“I know. I’m sorry, but I’m soft!” He said, squeezing her tightly. He didn’t want to let her go.

It was hard to watch for Henry and Jasper, so while Jasper teared up a little and begged Charlotte to just get on the next plane and come too, Henry pulled him away and awkwardly said, “We’ll see you at Thanksgiving…”

Charlotte wiped her face on Max’s shirt and he made a disgusted expression, “That was snot!”

“It’s payback. You were supposed to hold it together!”

“You KNEW that I wouldn’t!” He cupped her face and kissed her as the announcement sounded that he needed to board the plane. She pushed him, urging him to go, before she begged him not to. And whenever he left, she hugged herself and bit her lip.

“I really don’t get it,” Piper said.

“What? Why I didn’t go with them?”

“No. Why on Earth did they use a commercial flight whenever the Hero League supplies them with a ding dang private jet?” It was because they were going to be under their secret identities and couldn’t be seen near the jet just yet, but Charlotte didn’t feel like explaining. She was super sad.

Piper wrapped an arm around her back and said, “Come on. Let’s get you back to your dope ass house.”

Piper was around for a few hours before she had to head out. Charlotte hadn’t known how to tell her that she really didn’t want her there, anyway. She just wanted to be able to settle in by herself, since she would have to get used to being there by herself. She had no idea how much.

After only a couple of weeks, she lost contact with Max. Jasper had texted only to say, “Max scored an in into a target and was given the order to go all in.” She had no idea what that was supposed to mean, but Max’s number was disconnected and the only social media that he had left was for his alias, Borya Kozlov. And it had been altered significantly by the Hero League’s tech teams to look like it was many years older and even had doctored photographs that Charlotte had to presume were manufactured by a superpower, and not just some image designer. She had to get things translated, because she didn’t know a lot of Russian and Max wouldn’t let her try out his new and improved Instant Language Learner, because he had a rule about not allowing her to test out things that he wasn’t 100% certain of success. He had gone through a lot of mistakes in his youth and wasn’t going to let her become a target of any of the same type. So, she had been trying to learn Russian on her own.

Initially, she and Jasper had begun together, but he was a lot better at picking up languages, as a grammar nerd and a linguistics hoe. Charlotte understood and even memorized the rules and conditions, but actually executing the words, she was unable, so she’d stop trying to learn and didn’t think about the fact that she would probably have to READ it - that she tried to pick back up on, after she found the Kozlov pages, but she still needed a translator.

It became her thing. A month passed and Henry’s birthday and Thanksgiving were on the horizon. She was relieved and excited, because those were times that they could see see other and Jasper thrived at doing big birthday things for Henry, while Henry thrived on making a bomb ass Thanksgiving. The previous year was their first after meeting Max and he was still sort of a private person and a jerk to them, so they had a minimalist celebration in the tower and made their rounds through Swellview, collecting plates of food and Henry’s presents. She was looking forward to this year being the first in her new home - her and Max’s home… but a couple of weeks before, she heard a sound that she had only heard in the background before and hadn’t heard in a while…

“Incoming Call from President Kickbutt…” She furrowed her eyebrows in confusion for a moment, wondering why on Earth she would be receiving such a call, because she didn’t work for Kickbutt and Max was out on assignment… She rushed to the monitor and saw a woman with strong features and an interesting hairdo on the screen. “Good afternoon, Miss Page. I take it you know who I am.”

“Yes, Madame President. Of course. What do I owe this honor?”

Kickbutt raised an eyebrow. That wasn’t what she expected, but she welcomed it. She looked slightly amused, but mostly unphased. “I’m afraid it won’t be news that you’ll be able to fully appreciate at the moment, but it is imperative.”

“Is Max okay? Is Henry alright?” Charlotte asked, panicking.

“Max is doing a stellar job. This is the most impressed with his work that I have ever been. You should know that he is very deep undercover, and now has ties to at least 12 high profile Russian supervillains, terrorists, and mobsters. At least one of them is suspected of being a spy, so he is unable to do ANYTHING that could possibly draw attention to something outside of his fabricated identity.”

“Including any contact with me.”

“Especially any contact with you. It’s the people closest to us that bring out our most vulnerabilities. I’m afraid that until we have solid evidence and have made every possible arrest that we are unable to risk him venturing outside of the parameters of this mission.”

“He’s… not just hero-ing? He’s on a high profile case???”

“It was not our intention, but it’s the way that things have happened. Whenever he caught the attention of an assassin who took an immediate liking to him, he leaned into it and now, we’re here. This unfortunately means that any visitation plans must be altered. As of right now, Henry is only acknowledged as a financial connection for him, so he is not watched as much and will be allowed to come to visit you for Thanksgiving. Your little friend Jasper insisted that the world would end if I wasn’t able to accommodate this. But. There is no way that we can risk Max coming outside of the boundaries of his assignment, currently. Millions of lives could be at stake if we lose just one of the 12 persons of interest.”

“Max is isolated and surrounded by terrorists and mobsters…”

Kickbutt shrugged, “He’s moving up in ranks, so he should be fine. And he’s one of the smartest young men to have ever worked for me. I assure you, as long as his cover isn’t blown, he will not be in any danger.”

“Are you able to communicate with him, at all? Does he… have someone near him?” Charlotte asked, twiddling with her shapeshifting necklace, anxiously.

“He has a handler. My very own daughter. And, he still has Henry, Miss Page.” Charlotte nodded her head and within moments, the call was over. He still had Henry. That helped her to be able to make it through the day… Not so much to sleep at night.

.

Henry was Ricardo Richfield and everybody called him Richie Rich. Jasper was his “simple plaything” or “trophy husband” to everybody. His alias was Douglas Ritchfield and according to the paper trail created for their safety, he and Ricardo had been married for three years. The mansion that they were moved into was big enough that it was extremely unlikely that anyone would come across the underground lair, and Max’s lab was one of those where someone could definitely find it and see into parts of it, but they couldn’t access it.

So, the first weekend that they were in Russia, they threw a huge party to celebrate Richie coming to Russia. The story was that he had done some things in the Americas and was hiding out here to avoid “justice.” He was supposed to be laying low and staying out of trouble, but the personality of his character was to absolutely not do that. He was a spoiled little rich kid playing gangster games and that would mean that he might attract those who may wish to do business with him.

Borya was a Russian scientist who he would make rich by funding his experiments. Max came up with these aliases for them, avoiding the typical “lay low and be mild mannered” and reaching more for, “Get into the thick of the crime world and bust it up from the inside out.” Henry and Jasper didn’t have many talents that could be impressed upon the criminal element, so Max settled for the “useless rich kid and even more useless lover” angle. That way, he could also express anytime they frustrated him, in Russian and they wouldn’t know, but the people around them would and it would probably be funny.

Max had a little bit of familiarity with Russian, because some of his favorite scientists were Russian and he’d watched several recordings of them, so he recognized a lot of words and also had their accent pretty well down pat. (Same for German, and Japanese, but that’s another point altogether). Max adjusted well to Russia.

As soon as they were away from Charlotte, he focused on some mental exercises to try to compartmentalize her away. The thing of it was that in trying to do that, he wound up just thinking about her more. She became his meditation center.

He would wake up everyday, brush teeth, wash up, burn one of her favorite candles and hope that she knew he was thinking of her as he tried to clear his mind and empty himself out for another day of work. Another day of pretending.

It didn’t take long for him to get his foot in the door of something very heavy. It was at the party that he met Zenovia. She was looking into his lab when he approached and directed her back towards the party.

“What are you making in there? Looks illegal,” she teased. He frowned, gripped her arm and forced her down the hallway, only to be met with a battle. She was a trained fighter. He instinctively defended himself, despite the fact that it wasn’t actually part of his character’s background to be able to fight the way that he did. “Who ARE you, really?” she wondered.

“Just someone who wants to live long enough to be rich and powerful,” he said.

“I can probably help you with that.” And just like that, she began introducing him to people and saying that in his lab, she could tell he was smart and that he could probably do jobs that they needed a scientist of questionable moral fiber to handle. He… handled a few things. It was troubling, but he had to weigh out sacrifices. The more that he did, the less he wanted to think about Charlotte. He didn’t want her to be a part of this world he had gotten involved in. He even withdrew from Henry. 

Whenever it was time for Henry and Jasper to go to home for Thanksgiving, Jasper asked if there was anything that he wanted them to bring Charlotte and all he could think was his apologies. Instead, he said, “Hopefully, I’ll see her at Christmas.” he couldn’t think about her too much. That could make it all so hard for him. He and Henry had inadvertently received a bigger assignment than planned whenever they got to their station and while Henry was mostly doing his best at being the residential superhero, while Max only sometimes could act, if Henry was going to be gone, Max would have to be responsible for hero tasks AND be undercover. That was the most difficult placement he had ever had and he couldn’t dare allow himself any distractions. Not right now. She would understand. And if she couldn’t, he would eventually make it up to her.

Charlotte was at Henry’s parents’ house whenever he and Jasper arrived and they joyously screamed whenever they saw each other, hugging and hopping and all talking at once. Henry glanced around, “Where are my parents?”

“We literally haven’t seen either of them all week,” Charlotte said, shaking her head.

Jasper wondered, “Were you able to get everything that I messaged you for the feast?”

“Yeah. Who do you think you’re talking to?” She asked.

He furrowed his eyebrows and said, “Umm, only the youngest crisis management specialist in the state…” She fought off a smile and he shook his head and excitedly yelled, “CONGRATULATIONS ON YOUR NEW JOB!!!”

She smiled bashfully and shook her head, “I’m in a probationary period, and only even working with police forces of Swellview, Neighborville, Bordertown and Hiddenville… I’m gunning for that Metroburg spot, but it has literally NEVER gone to a non-supe and I need to build my resume and finish my next degree.”

The boys dropped their things in the living room and the mood got a little tense for a moment as Henry and Jasper glanced at each other, silently deciding who would say something about it. She stopped smiling for a while and just said, “Maybe, I’ll be able to see him at Christmas!” She tried to pretend that she was fine, but secretly stalking his alias on social media and seeing how he seemed to be spending his holidays with Zenovia was heartbreaking.

This wasn’t like when Jack was surrounded by fans and given numerous declarations of love from his fan base. It should have been similar, but this woman was always tagging Borya and they seemed very close. She knew that it was business, but it was also undercover and she wasn’t basic. She knew that… whatever the reasons, there was something else there that, while it probably was only business for him… it bothered her.

Henry tried to distract her from her sorrows and Jasper stole her phone and hid it to keep the obvious obsessing to a minimum.

Once the guys were full of food, wine and beer, she was still functional. Sometimes, you gotta push through that itis, and that was definitely what she was used to. Henry had fallen asleep on the couch. Jasper was sitting on the floor near him, with his head leaned back, mouth wide open, and she noted that Henry’s phone was on the table.

Before the move, Henry’s phone might as well had been her second phone. She knew all of his passwords and everything. So, she figured that since she couldn’t access Max through her own, Henry’s should be as easy for her.

It wasn’t a holiday in Russia, so she figured that he was probably just chilling, if not working and if he was working, Henry’s phone would be the best out, anyway. She opened Richie’s social media and saw Borya hearted a lot of things in the notifications. She checked and saw that they were mostly photos with her in them. She wasn’t tagged and the photos were set to private, so Henry must’ve allotted for Max to see them. Then, she went to check Max’s page - which was usually private and only had a few public posts that she could stalk, but since Richie and Borya were friends, she could see more and she hated to see it.

The woman, Zenovia was all over Max in public settings, their faces were really close in several photos, and if Charlotte’s translations were correct, she called him by affectionate names in comments on things. The ONLY thing that was a little bit of reprieve was the fact that Max had not posted anything about her. She sort of just barged into his space by tagging him to things and commenting. But… Still… Charlotte opened Henry’s texts and found his exchanges with Max.

“You shouldn’t do this, Girl. You already know what it is and it’s business and that’s it and he has responsibilities and…” She closed the app. She couldn’t violate his privacy or Henry’s that way. She set it down and wondered if this was going to aggravate her for the rest of her life. Probably. But, she wasn’t going to spy on Max. Lurking his social media because she missed him was one thing. Invading the privacy of his relationship with Henry was on another level and she felt like she had more morals than that.

Instead, she picked up the phone again and texted, “Dude, if you possibly can, I think you need to try to reach out to Charlotte.” She watched as Max typed, stopped and resumed, and finally, eventually the reply came.

“I find it incredible that you would be so reckless as to mention her name in a text. What if Zenovia had this phone? What if she was right next to me? What if one of the others were. I’m extremely disappointed by this and you need to promptly delete it.”

She replied. “Sorry. I’m so sorry. This is Charlotte. Henry fell to sleep…” Her heart was pounding in her throat and her hands were all sweaty and she couldn’t remember the last time that something made her this nervous. Then, the phone began to vibrate in her hand and the name Borya the Beast flashed with a photo of Max. She took a deep breath and answered, “Hello?”

Max felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. Recalling her voice and hearing her voice were very different things and it had been months. “Hello.” His chest was on fire and he had never wanted to rush to somebody more than he did right now. “So, you’re… playing on people’s phones?”

“I was… Just lonely. I’m sorry. I didn’t think about… I didn’t think. Are you pretty mad?”

“I was mad when I thought it was him,” he said, with a chuckle, then to someone in the background, he said something in Russian like ‘Taking this outside’ or ‘Going outside for a moment,’ or something like that. She only got the word for “outside.” It wasn’t terribly noisy on her end, but she could bet that it was more difficult for him to hear on that end. Plus, he probably needed privacy to chew her out for this little stunt. When it was quiet on his end, his voice was clearer and she could hear gentleness in it, “So… Please don’t do that, ever again, okay?” She nodded, blinking out her tears. “Char? Are you still there?”

“Yeah. Yes. Sorry, I won’t. I just… I don’t know what came over me.”

“I know what came over you. We haven’t been able to talk or see each other in four months and believe me, I KNOW how hard it is. It’s torture for me, and I think you care just as much about me as I do about you, so I think it’s as hard for you…”

“No… I mean, yes, but also… You’re big on family and spending time with them and now it’s the holidays and your folks are all celebrating in Hiddenville, but you’re thousands of miles from home, surrounded by people who aren’t even your friends, and on top of that, I miss you. I miss you, but I worry, too. About the danger and the enemies, and the double life… that… woman…”

He was being emotionally stirred up, up until “that woman.” Then, he asked, “What woman?”

“You know, the one that keeps tagging you to photos of you and her all over each other and practically sexting with you in the comments sections of said photos. Zenovia.”

He shut his eyes tightly and whispered, “She doesn’t mean anything to me.”

“I know that. But, still… It’s hard to watch..”

“You aren’t supposed to be watching. You’re supposed to be keeping a safe distance, physically and electronically. Charlotte… She is a very dangerous person. I don’t ever want you to leave a trail to yourself that she could find. She’s evil and ruthless and wouldn’t hesitate to hurt you. She’s also got a soft spot for me and being close to her makes it easier for me to get closer to Russian overlords. Had I not utilized that attachment, it might have taken twice as long, maybe even longer to get where I am. Just… don’t watch for this stuff. I can’t break character, and I can’t get distracted…” She sniffled and he sighed. He hated making her cry. He knew that there was no way around it, with this subject matter, but he still hated it. “I love you,” he said, softly.

“I love you, too,” she said. It was the quickest she had ever replied it and he had to remind himself that millions of lives could be affected if he failed. Because he just wanted to jump in the jet and hold her and kiss her and look her in the eyes and promise her that everything he did was to make sure that he did his job and lived to return to her.

“Hey, whenever this is over, maybe you should just marry me and become part of my cover,” he said, trying to lighten up the mood.

“Yeah. I should,” she said. He couldn’t tell what he was hearing in her voice, but he hadn’t expected her to say that. She hadn’t laughed, so he didn’t know if she took it as a joke, and she didn’t inflect her voice, so he wasn’t sure if she was being sarcastic or trying to contain some anger. “I should’ve come with you. It’s not like I couldn’t work from there. I chose my career.”

“Well… it’s going good, though! I’ve seen the reports done on you in your local news outlets. You’re right out of college and already securing the bag. That’s amazing, Charlotte. I wouldn’t have asked you to trade that in for me.”

“You’re saving a multitude of lives,” she reminded him.

“While losing the love of mine…” he said so softly she might not have heard him if he weren’t in complete silence.

“You’re not,” she said. She took a deep breath and assured him, “I can handle it. I knew well enough what I signed up for. You know… When military personnel is deployed, sometimes there’s absolutely NO WORD from them for months and only snippets of visits. And their purpose is questionable. You’re a true hero and… I can do this. I have to. Or what? I get to feel the way that I felt tonight for even longer, while I try to get over you, or worst case scenario, for the rest of my life, because I never can? The options outside of sucking it up and being patient until we can be together again all seem miserable.” She sniffled, “Is there any way that you can arrange for me to come to see you?”

He sighed a sigh of relief. The moment Zenovia was mentioned, he was certain that a breakup was soon to follow. Charlotte reaffirming that she believed in him and in them was something he didn’t realize that he needed so much to get him through all of this. “I’ll think of something.”

[neshabeingchildish]

Share Those Secrets

@chenoahchantel @adorkable-blackgirl @kiddangers @famousflowermagazine

Share - a - Lair 18

Charlotte managed to get Piper to drive to the airport with her. Jasper was leaving too, as she suspected, so she would be sending all three of her guys off and she was in no condition to be able to drive away. She knew beforehand. By the time it happened, it was much worse. She hugged Henry and Jasper, tried not to cry on either of them. They held hand and headed for boarding. She clung to Max, trying not to cry, and also trying to let go of him, because it had to be done. She forced herself to smile and moved to kiss him. His tears wet her face and she lost it. “Why are you crying right now?” She asked. “We were supposed to tough it out!” Now, she was crying too.

“I know. I’m sorry, but I’m soft!” He said, squeezing her tightly. He didn’t want to let her go. 

It was hard to watch for Henry and Jasper, so while Jasper teared up a little and begged Charlotte to just get on the next plane and come too, Henry pulled him away and awkwardly said, “We’ll see you at Thanksgiving…” 

Charlotte wiped her face on Max’s shirt and he made a disgusted expression, “That was snot!”

“It’s payback. You were supposed to hold it together!”

“You KNEW that I wouldn’t!” He cupped her face and kissed her as the announcement sounded that he needed to board the plane. She pushed him, urging him to go, before she begged him not to. And whenever he left, she hugged herself and bit her lip. 

“I really don’t get it,” Piper said.

“What? Why I didn’t go with them?”

“No. Why on Earth did they use a commercial flight whenever the Hero League supplies them with a ding dang private jet?” It was because they were going to be under their secret identities and couldn’t be seen near the jet just yet, but Charlotte didn’t feel like explaining. She was super sad. 

Piper wrapped an arm around her back and said, “Come on. Let’s get you back to your dope ass house.”

Piper was around for a few hours before she had to head out. Charlotte hadn’t known how to tell her that she really didn’t want her there, anyway. She just wanted to be able to settle in by herself, since she would have to get used to being there by herself. She had no idea how much. 

After only a couple of weeks, she lost contact with Max. Jasper had texted only to say, “Max scored an in into a target and was given the order to go all in.” She had no idea what that was supposed to mean, but Max’s number was disconnected and the only social media that he had left was for his alias, Borya Kozlov. And it had been altered significantly by the Hero League’s tech teams to look like it was many years older and even had doctored photographs that Charlotte had to presume were manufactured by a superpower, and not just some image designer. She had to get things translated, because she didn’t know a lot of Russian and Max wouldn’t let her try out his new and improved Instant Language Learner, because he had a rule about not allowing her to test out things that he wasn’t 100% certain of success. He had gone through a lot of mistakes in his youth and wasn’t going to let her become a target of any of the same type. So, she had been trying to learn Russian on her own. 

Initially, she and Jasper had begun together, but he was a lot better at picking up languages, as a grammar nerd and a linguistics hoe. Charlotte understood and even memorized the rules and conditions, but actually executing the words, she was unable, so she’d stop trying to learn and didn’t think about the fact that she would probably have to READ it - that she tried to pick back up on, after she found the Kozlov pages, but she still needed a translator. 

It became her thing. A month passed and Henry’s birthday and Thanksgiving were on the horizon. She was relieved and excited, because those were times that they could see see other and Jasper thrived at doing big birthday things for Henry, while Henry thrived on making a bomb ass Thanksgiving. The previous year was their first after meeting Max and he was still sort of a private person and a jerk to them, so they had a minimalist celebration in the tower and made their rounds through Swellview, collecting plates of food and Henry’s presents. She was looking forward to this year being the first in her new home - her and Max’s home… but a couple of weeks before, she heard a sound that she had only heard in the background before and hadn’t heard in a while…

“Incoming Call from President Kickbutt…” She furrowed her eyebrows in confusion for a moment, wondering why on Earth she would be receiving such a call, because she didn’t work for Kickbutt and Max was out on assignment… She rushed to the monitor and saw a woman with strong features and an interesting hairdo on the screen. “Good afternoon, Miss Page. I take it you know who I am.”

“Yes, Madame President. Of course. What do I owe this honor?” 

Kickbutt raised an eyebrow. That wasn’t what she expected, but she welcomed it. She looked slightly amused, but mostly unphased. “I’m afraid it won’t be news that you’ll be able to fully appreciate at the moment, but it is imperative.”

“Is Max okay? Is Henry alright?” Charlotte asked, panicking.

“Max is doing a stellar job. This is the most impressed with his work that I have ever been. You should know that he is very deep undercover, and now has ties to at least 12 high profile Russian supervillains, terrorists, and mobsters. At least one of them is suspected of being a spy, so he is unable to do ANYTHING that could possibly draw attention to something outside of his fabricated identity.”

“Including any contact with me.”

“Especially any contact with you. It’s the people closest to us that bring out our most vulnerabilities. I’m afraid that until we have solid evidence and have made every possible arrest that we are unable to risk him venturing outside of the parameters of this mission.”

“He’s… not just heroing? He’s on a high profile case???”

“It was not our intention, but it’s the way that things have happened. Whenever he caught the attention of an assassin who took an immediate liking to him, he leaned into it and now, we’re here. This unfortunately means that any visitation plans must be altered. As of right now, Henry is only acknowledged as a financial connection for him, so he is not watched as much and will be allowed to come to visit you for Thanksgiving. Your little friend Jasper insisted that the world would end if I wasn’t able to accommodate this. But. There is no way that we can risk Max coming outside of the boundaries of his assignment, currently. Millions of lives could be at stake if we lose just one of the 12 persons of interest.”

“Max is isolated and surrounded by terrorists and mobsters…”

Kickbutt shrugged, “He’s moving up in ranks, so he should be fine. And he’s one of the smartest young men to have ever worked for me. I assure you, as long as his cover isn’t blown, he will not be in any danger.”

“Are you able to communicate with him, at all? Does he… have someone near him?” Charlotte asked, twiddling with her shapeshifting necklace, anxiously. 

“He has a handler. My very own daughter. And, he still has Henry, Miss Page.” Charlotte nodded her head and within moments, the call was over. He still had Henry. That helped her to be able to make it through the day… Not so much to sleep at night.

.

Henry was Ricardo Richfield and everybody called him Richie Rich. Jasper was his “simple plaything” or “trophy husband” to everybody. His alias was Douglas Ritchfield and according to the paper trail created for their safety, he and Ricardo had been married for three years. The mansion that they were moved into was big enough that it was extremely unlikely that anyone would come across the underground lair, and Max’s lab was one of those where someone could definitely find it and see into parts of it, but they couldn’t access it. 

So, the first weekend that they were in Russia, they threw a huge party to celebrate Richie coming to Russia. The story was that he had done some things in the Americas and was hiding out here to avoid “justice.” He was supposed to be laying low and staying out of trouble, but the personality of his character was to absolutely not do that. He was a spoiled little rich kid playing gangster games and that would mean that he might attract those who may wish to do business with him. 

Borya was a Russian scientist who he would make rich by funding his experiments. Max came up with these aliases for them, avoiding the typical “lay low and be mild mannered” and reaching more for, “Get into the thick of the crime world and bust it up from the inside out.” Henry and Jasper didn’t have many talents that could be impressed upon the criminal element, so Max settled for the “useless rich kid and even more useless lover” angle. That way, he could also express anytime they frustrated him, in Russian and they wouldn’t know, but the people around them would and it would probably be funny.

Max had a little bit of familiarity with Russian, because some of his favorite scientists were Russian and he’d watched several recordings of them, so he recognized a lot of words and also had their accent pretty well down pat. (Same for German, and Japanese, but that’s another point altogether). Max adjusted well to Russia.

As soon as they were away from Charlotte, he focused on some mental exercises to try to compartmentalize her away. The thing of it was that in trying to do that, he wound up just thinking about her more. She became his meditation center. 

He would wake up everyday, brush teeth, wash up, burn one of her favorite candles and hope that she knew he was thinking of her as he tried to clear his mind and empty himself out for another day of work. Another day of pretending. 

It didn’t take long for him to get his foot in the door of something very heavy. It was at the party that he met Zenovia. She was looking into his lab when he approached and directed her back towards the party.

“What are you making in there? Looks illegal,” she teased. He frowned, gripped her arm and forced her down the hallway, only to be met with a battle. She was a trained fighter. He instinctively defended himself, despite the fact that it wasn’t actually part of his character’s background to be able to fight the way that he did. “Who ARE you, really?” she wondered. 

“Just someone who wants to live long enough to be rich and powerful,” he said. 

“I can probably help you with that.” And just like that, she began introducing him to people and saying that in his lab, he could tell he was smart and that he could probably do jobs that they needed a scientist of questionable moral fiber to handle. He… handled a few things. It was troubling, but he had to weigh out sacrifices. The more that he did, the less he wanted to think about Charlotte. He didn’t want her to be a part of this world he had gotten involved in. He even withdrew from Henry. Whenever it was time for Henry and Jasper to go to home for Thanksgiving, Jasper asked if there was anything that he wanted them to bring Charlotte and all he could think was his apologies. Instead, he said, “Hopefully, I’ll see her at Christmas.” he couldn’t think about her too much. That could make it all so hard for him. He and Henry had inadvertently received a bigger assignment than planned whenever they got to their station and while Henry was mostly doing his best at being the residential superhero, while Max only sometimes could act, if Henry was going to be gone, Max would have to be responsible for hero tasks AND be undercover. That was the most difficult placement he had ever had and he couldn’t dare allow himself any distractions. Not right now. She would understand. And if she couldn’t, he would eventually make it up to her.

Charlotte was at Henry’s parents’ house whenever he and Jasper arrived and they joyously screamed whenever they saw each other, hugging and hopping and all talking at once. Henry glanced around, “Where are my parents?”

“We literally haven’t seen either of them all week,” Charlotte said, shaking her head. 

Jasper wondered, “Were you able to get everything that I messaged you for the feast?”

“Yeah. Who do you think you’re talking to?” She asked.

He furrowed his eyebrows and said, “Umm, only the youngest crisis management specialist in the state…” She fought off a smile and he shook his head and excitedly yelled, “CONGRATULATIONS ON YOUR NEW JOB!!!” 

She smiled bashfully and shook her head, “I’m in a probationary period, and only even working with police forces of Swellview, Neighborville, Bordertown and Hiddenville… I’m gunning for that Metroburg spot, but it has literally NEVER gone to a non-supe and I need to build my resume and finish my next degree.” 

The boys dropped their things in the living room and the mood got a little tense for a moment as Henry and Jasper glanced at each other, silently deciding who would say something about it. She stopped smiling for a while and just said, “Maybe, I’ll be able to see him at Christmas!” She tried to pretend that she was fine, but secretly stalking his alias on social media and seeing how he seemed to be spending his holidays with Zenovia was heartbreaking. 

This wasn’t like when Jack was surrounded by fans and given numerous declarations of love from his fan base. It should have been similar, but this woman was always tagging Borya and they seemed very close. She knew that it was business, but it was also undercover and she wasn’t basic. She knew that… whatever the reasons, there was something else there that, while it probably was only business for him… it bothered her. 

Henry tried to distract her from her sorrows and Jasper stole her phone and hid it to keep the obvious obsessing to a minimum.

Once the guys were full of food, wine and beer, she was still functional. Sometimes, you gotta push through that itis, and that was definitely what she was used to. Henry had fallen asleep on the couch. Jasper was sitting on the floor near him, with his head leaned back, mouth wide open, and she noted that Henry’s phone was on the table. 

Before the move, Henry’s phone might as well had been her second phone. She knew all of his passwords and everything. So, she figured that since she couldn’t access Max through her own, Henry’s should be as easy for her. 

It wasn’t a holiday in Russia, so she figured that he was probably just chilling, if not working and if he was working, Henry’s phone would be the best out, anyway. She opened Richie’s social media and saw Borya hearted a lot of things in the notifications. She checked and saw that they were mostly photos with her in them. She wasn’t tagged and the photos were set to private, so Henry must’ve allotted for Max to see them. Then, she went to check Max’s page - which was usually private and only had a few public posts that she could stalk, but since Richie and Borya were friends, she could see more and she hated to see it. 

The woman, Zenovia was all over Max in public settings, their faces were really close in several photos, and if Charlotte’s translations were correct, she called him by affectionate names in comments on things. The ONLY thing that was a little bit of reprieve was the fact that Max had not posted anything about her. She sort of just barged into his space by tagging him to things and commenting. But… Still… Charlotte opened Henry’s texts and found his exchanges with Max. 

“You shouldn’t do this, Girl. You already know what it is and it’s business and that’s it and he has responsibilities and…” She closed the app. She couldn’t violate his privacy or Henry’s that way. She set it down and wondered if this was going to aggravate her for the rest of her life. Probably. But, she wasn’t going to spy on Max. Lurking his social media because she missed him was one thing. Invading the privacy of his relationship with Henry was on another level and she felt like she had more morals than that. 

Instead, she picked up the phone again and texted, “Dude, if you possibly can, I think you need to try to reach out to Charlotte.” She watched as Max typed, stopped and resumed, and finally, eventually the reply came.

“I find it incredible that you would be so reckless as to mention her name in a text. What if Zenovia had this phone? What if she was right next to me? What if one of the others were. I’m extremely disappointed by this and you need to promptly delete it.”

She replied. “Sorry. I’m so sorry. This is Charlotte. Henry fell to sleep…” Her heart was pounding in her throat and her hands were all sweaty and she couldn’t remember the last time that something made her this nervous. Then, the phone began to vibrate in her hand and the name Borya the Beast flashed with a photo of Max. She took a deep breath and answered, “Hello?” 

Max felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. Recalling her voice and hearing her voice were very different things and it had been months. “Hello.” His chest was on fire and he had never wanted to rush to somebody more than he did right now. “So, you’re… playing on people’s phones?” 

“I was… Just lonely. I’m sorry. I didn’t think about… I didn’t think. Are you pretty mad?”

“I was mad when I thought it was him,” he said, with a chuckle, then to someone in the background, he said something in Russian like ‘Taking this outside’ or ‘Going outside for a moment,’ or something like that. She only got the word for “outside.” It wasn’t terribly noisy on her end, but she could bet that it was more difficult for him to hear on that end. Plus, he probably needed privacy to chew her out for this little stunt. When it was quiet on his end, his voice was clearer and she could hear gentleness in it, “So… Please don’t do that, ever again, okay?” She nodded, blinking out her tears. “Char? Are you still there?” 

“Yeah. Yes. Sorry, I won’t. I just… I don’t know what came over me.”

“I know what came over you. We haven’t been able to talk or see each other in four months and believe me, I KNOW how hard it is. It’s torture for me, and I think you care just as much about me as I do about you, so I think it’s as hard for you…”

“No… I mean, yes, but also… You’re big on family and spending time with them and now it’s the holidays and your folks are all celebrating in Hiddenville, but you’re thousands of miles from home, surrounded by people who aren’t even your friends, and on top of that, I miss you. I miss you, but I worry, too. About the danger and the enemies, and the double life… that… woman…” 

He was being emotionally stirred up, up until “that woman.” Then, he asked, “What woman?” 

“You know, the one that keeps tagging you to photos of you and her all over each other and practically sexting with you in the comments sections of said photos. Zenovia.” 

He shut his eyes tightly and whispered, “She doesn’t mean anything to me.”

“I know that. But, still… It’s hard to watch..”

“You aren’t supposed to be watching. You’re supposed to be keeping a safe distance, physically and electronically. Charlotte… She is a very dangerous person. I don’t ever want you to leave a trail to yourself that she could find. She’s evil and ruthless and wouldn’t hesitate to hurt you. She’s also got a soft spot for me and being close to her makes it easier for me to get closer to Russian overlords. Had I not utilized that attachment, it might have taken twice as long, maybe even longer to get where I am. Just… don’t watch for this stuff. I can’t break character, and I can’t get distracted…” She sniffled and he sighed. He hated making her cry. He knew that there was no way around it, with this subject matter, but he still hated it. “I love you,” he said, softly.

“I love you, too,” she said. It was the quickest she had ever replied it and he had to remind himself that millions of lives could be affected if he failed. Because he just wanted to jump in the jet and hold her and kiss her and look her in the eyes and promise her that everything he did was to make sure that he did his job and lived to return to her.

“Hey, whenever this is over, maybe you should just marry me and become part of my cover,” he said, trying to lighten up the mood.

“Yeah. I should,” she said. He couldn’t tell what he was hearing in her voice, but he hadn’t expected her to say that. She hadn’t laughed, so he didn’t know if she took it as a joke, and she didn’t inflect her voice, so he wasn’t sure if she was being sarcastic or trying to contain some anger. “I should’ve come with you. It’s not like I couldn’t work from there. I chose my career.”

“Well… it’s going good, though! I’ve seen the reports done on you in your local news outlets. You’re right out of college and already securing the bag. That’s amazing, Charlotte. I wouldn’t have asked you to trade that in for me.”

“You’re saving a multitude of lives,” she reminded him.

“While losing the love of mine…” he said so softly she might not have heard him if he weren’t in complete silence.

“You’re not,” she said. She took a deep breath and assured him, “I can handle it. I knew well enough what I signed up for. You know… When military personnel is deployed, sometimes there’s absolutely NO WORD from them for months and only snippets of visits. And their purpose is questionable. You’re a true hero and… I can do this. I have to. Or what? I get to feel the way that I felt tonight for even longer, while I try to get over you, or worst case scenario, for the rest of my life, because I never can? The options outside of sucking it up and being patient until we can be together again all seem miserable.” She sniffled, “Is there any way that you can arrange for me to come to see you?”

He sighed a sigh of relief. The moment Zenovia was mentioned, he was certain that a breakup was soon to follow. Charlotte reaffirming that she believed in him and in them was something he didn’t realize that he needed so much to get him through all of this. “I’ll think of something.”

[momentofmemory]

fictober - day fifteen

Prompt #15: “That’s what I’m talking about!”

Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe (Captain America: The Winter Soldier)

Warnings: None

Characters: Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanoff

Words: 1502

Author’s Note: set during ca:tws, right after SHIELD/HYDRA bombs camp lehigh.

>>Faith

Consciousness came back slowly: dust, rubble, trying and failing to breathe. Hearing someone’s voice calling her name. The whirring of helicopter blades and the chirping of crickets, the feeling of arms under her legs and shoulders, the memory of being carried through the dead of night at a pace even her concussed brain could identify as unnaturally fast. Darkness and smoke and gunfire, the sound of a car revving. Knowing something was terribly wrong and bòzhe mòi SHIELD is HYDRA—

Natasha’s eyes snapped open.

It was dark outside, and something was strapping her down.

“Don’t try to move too fast, Nat. You hit your head pretty hard.”

The voice was male, coming from her left—she jerked towards it and nearly hurled when the movement sent her head spinning. Natasha gripped the seat divider next to her—car, her brain supplied; the strap was just a seatbelt—and blinked until the black spots disappeared from her eyes.

Steve sat in the driver’s seat, glancing back and forth between her and the road. “You with me?”

Natasha swallowed and slumped back into the seat.

“Yeah.” She licked at her painfully dry lips. “What’s our status?”

“Not the best.” Steve said. “SHIELD’s been compromised, but there’s no way to know how deep it goes. If their influence is anything like what Zola said, we can’t risk contacting anyone connected with them.”

Natasha tried to wrap her head around that, but only succeeded in making her head hurt worse. “There must be someone we can trust. Stop at the next gas station and I’ll see what Barton knows.”

“Barton’s off the grid.”

Natasha bristled. “He might be off your grid, but—”

“In Central Asia.”

Oh.

Natasha’d forgotten he’d been chasing down a lead on Taskmaster before all this went down.

“And it’s not just about who we can trust.” Steve flicked on his turn signal before passing the car in front of them, because apparently going twenty over the limit was fine, but only if you communicated your intentions to the drivers behind you. “SHIELD’s surveillance network is too advanced. They’ll know to be watching anyone they think we’ll contact.”

Meaning, no Avengers back up, and that covered pretty much everyone Natasha knew.

She swung her feet up on the dash and definitely did not sulk, choosing instead to stare out the window and count the miles as they ticked by. Privately, she wondered if it was wise to travel down the highway like this, but despite the darkened sky there were a surprising number of cars on the road. She peeked at the clock on the dash—5:23am. The early shift headed to work, then. She must have been out longer than she’d realized.

She winced and eased her throbbing skull back onto the headrest.

“So, Mr. Man With a Plan,” she said, closing her eyes, “where’re we headed.”

“Somewhere safe.”

Steve may have been terrible at straight-up lying, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t good at avoiding the truth.

Natasha cracked one eye open. “Somewhere I wouldn’t approve?”

“We’re going back D.C. to lay low and figure out our best move. That meet your approval?”

It didn’t, actually. “You’re being uncharacteristically vague and unhelpful.”

Steve glanced in the rearview mirror, checking for tails for the fiftieth time since she’d woken up. “You could try being uncharacteristically trusting.”

“Low blow, Rogers.” Lower than she’d like to admit, but now wasn’t the time for that. Just like now definitely wasn’t the time to think about how all these years she thought she’d been wiping out her ledger, the cloth itself had been drenched in red.

She tapped her fingers against the glass window and tried to chase away her past. As she did so, she realized the car was different from the one she remembered Steve hot-wiring outside the mall yesterday—probably because the other one was ashes at this point.

She cleared her throat and compartmentalized—she was still good at that, at least. “So if you won’t tell me where we’re going, can you at least tell me where you borrowed this from?”

“Stole.”

Natasha wondered if she’d hit her head harder than she thought. “…What.”

“This one’s stolen.” Steve tilted his head towards the back of the car. “There’re swastikas all over the bumper.”

“Captain America is driving a car with Nazi propaganda on it?”

“Yeah, and SHIELD will be just as confused as you are.” Steve switched lanes. “We get some extra cover, and a Nazi loses their car. I call that pretty patriotic.”

Natasha rolled her eyes, and then frowned as Steve pulled onto the exit ramp. She sat up a little further. “Steve?”

“Natasha.”

She’d just about had it with this whole trust thing, which she was also pretty sure was supposed to be a two-way street. She punched the button to raise her seat all the way up. “Why are you taking the exit?”

“We’re exiting.”

“Steve, this is the suburbs. We don’t know anyone here.”

“You don’t know anyone here,” Steve said. He pulled to a stop in front a traffic light. “And SHIELD doesn’t, either.”

“Steve, who the hell—” Natasha froze, remembering the man Steve’d been chatting up on the National Mall. “Oh, no. Oh no, no, no. Please tell me you’re not doing what I think you’re doing.”

Steve’s patented jaw of justice clenched. “We needed somewhere to go, in D.C.”

“Which definitely doesn’t mean the house of some guy you just met!” Natasha hissed, then grimaced as it exacerbated her headache. “Bòzhe mòi, Captain America is a Disney Princess.”

“Natasha.”

“Don’t look at me like I’m the problem here!”

Steve yanked the wheel and pulled into a gas station parking lot, forcing Natasha to clutch at the armrests. The car shuddered to a stop and Steve took the keys out of the ignition. “We’ll need to walk from here. I don’t want to bring any more attention than necessary.”

“Want to—Steve!”

Natasha stumbled out of the car after him, wincing as the movement jostled her ribs, which had chosen that moment to remind her of their bruised state. Steve was at her side in an instant.

“It’s not far,” he said.

Like that made things any better.

“You don’t know anything about this guy’s past! Who he works for! What he’s done!”

Steve’s eyes snapped, and when Natasha pushed away from him, he let her. “I know what he’s doing now, and that’s enough.”

“That’s what I’m talking about!” Natasha threw her hands up in frustration. “You can’t just—you can’t just ignore what people did and expect things to go the way you want them to!”

“I know,” Steve said. “Because that’s how things like Operation: Paperclip and Zola and Hydra happen. That’s not what this is about.”

“Then what is it about, Rogers?”

Steve shrugged helplessly, then ran his hands through his hair. He shrugged again. “…Faith, I guess.”

“Faith.” She could hear Madame B’s scoffing voice in her ear. “Faith, after what we just saw? What we just learned about everything we’ve been working for?”

“Faith in people, Nat,” Steve repeated. “And trust, too.”

Natasha stared at him. “You’re out of your mind.”

“Yours isn’t so great right now, either,” Steve said, offering a small smile.

Natasha bit her lip, and looked at the car. She could jump back in. Steal the keys from Steve, drive off and hunker down in one of her safe houses. Not look back.

He’s Captain America. He tends to inspire a certain sense of… Loyalty.

She sighed, remembering Maria’s words. “Don’t make me regret this.”

Steve’s smile grew softer, and Natasha scowled. “If we get killed, I’m haunting you all through the afterlife.”

The sun was starting to rise when they finally reached the nondescript house Steve identified as his friend’s, and after Natasha scoped it out—concussion or no, she was good at this—she and Steve slunk to the back of the house and rapped on the door.

Natasha shifted her weight from side to side, uneasy out in the open like this, but the door opened before she could change her (or Steve’s) mind.

“Hey, man.” He looked as confused as Natasha felt.

“I’m really sorry about this,” Steve said, no preamble as usual. “We need a place to lay low.”

Natasha wasn’t much better. “Everyone we know is trying to kill us.”

The man looked at their disheveled appearance, and Natasha tensed, ready to run. But to her surprise, he nodded, and moved out of the way.

“Not everyone.”

Natasha brushed by him without a word, trusting Steve to handle the details. She listened to them talk as she hunted down the bathroom, but it wasn’t anything she didn’t already know, so she tuned them out and closed the bathroom door.

Faith, huh.

She stripped and turned the shower on, stepping into the cool water. She stood in silence, water dripping in rivulets down her body, and washed away all the sweat, blood, and ash she’d been covered in.

She wondered if that meant he had faith in her, too.

[rckfllrs-blog]

☁ * ⋆ : aw, look at this photo! it’s ORION ROCKEFELLER with their family! they’re an ARCHITECT, right? this photo must have been before HIS SON WAS BORN, but after HE RENOVATED ROCKEFELLER MANOR. i heard that when they were younger, they used to DRAW/PAINT – i can’t imagine them doing that now! man… i wonder if their family knows they ARE SUFFERING FROM UNDIAGNOSED PTSD. ( c, 18, pst. )

hellllooo everybody! i’m c ( the shawn mendes mascot on the main ) and this is my dorito of a muse, orion rockefeller. i’ve been working him up in my mind ever since we started working on goldstone and i am so freakin’ hyped to be able to finally write him with u all <3 so pls, keep reading for some info about him! ( and buckle up, bc it’s kind of a wild ride! )

tw: death, mentions of ptsd.

orion was born on february 14th, 1979 which makes him an aquarius, and also a valentine’s day baby

he's a GIANT goofball. ever since college, he's always been sort of a social butterfly and a people pleaser

genuinely one of the most caring people on the planet??? as a kid he'd get into fights with bullies who were picking on the smaller kids

has the DEEPEST divide between his private and public life. even his own son is mostly unaware of his childhood/background

he's an architect, and designs buildings/infrastructures for communities and stuff like that. he's won tons of awards for his work and travels a lot for conferences and things like that

his mother passed away during childbirth, so he never got to meet her, but her name was emily rockefeller ( originally adams ) and from what his father told him about her, she was a lovely, kind, but passionate woman and she would’ve loved him fiercely. ( his father also often told orion when he was being particularly stubborn that orion reminded him of emily, and that he has her eyes. )

his father was james “jimmy” rockefeller, a decorated US airforce pilot. he was also a descendant of the rockefeller family ( if you’re not from america/not too versed in american history, the rockefellers are considered the richest family in american history — john d. rockefeller was a stupid wealthy man! )

growing up without a mother was difficult, but he and his father were extremely close, and james made sure that he was close with his mother’s family, especially her sister and her parents. as for his paternal family, he didn’t know much about them growing up, besides the fact that he’s distantly related to america’s first millionaire. he was also pretty close with a lot of his father’s friends from the military and their children as well.

orion had a relatively normal childhood, save for the slight melancholy around mother’s day every year. his father did his best to deter him from any sort of toxic masculinity, and made sure he was getting the best education possible. when his father was away on assignment, he was usually in the care of his mother’s sister. he rarely got into trouble at school except for the occasional fight when he’d stick up for the smaller kids who were getting picked on.

his father was rarely away on assignment, maybe only once or twice, and when he was he usually returned within a few months. in the summer of 1990, he was deployed to iraq to serve in the gulf war, and he promised orion it would be his last deployment.

in february 1991, when orion was about to turn twelve, his aunt picked him up early from school one day, and said they were going to see one of his father’s military friends. orion thought it was odd, but he wasn’t going to complain — what kid doesn’t want to leave school early? when he got there, the home was full of people he didn’t recognize, all with solemn looks on their faces. his aunt had to turn away as they bore the news.

that afternoon, one week before he turned twelve, orion learned that his father had passed away. he was spared the details, but learned later in life that the plane he’d been piloting had been shot down in a freak ambush.

orion doesn’t remember much of the next few years of his life. they were a blur of a young boy learning how to mourn all over again, and trying to grow up at the same time. at first, he was placed with his mother’s sister, but as a traveling artist, she was deemed unfit to care for him. he was then sent to a distant uncle on his father’s side somewhere in rural Iowa who treated him like he wasn’t even there. orion attempted to run away twice, and succeeded on his third try when he made it all the way to chicago. he survived there, somehow, for a few weeks before he was found by a few federal agents — lo and behold, his uncle ( who probably wasn’t even his uncle, but orion doesn’t remember ) refused to take him back. so, orion, at the age of fourteen, was put in the foster care system.

on paper, nobody would’ve wanted him. riddled with the deaths of his parents and a habit of running away, coupled with the fact that he missed the “desirable adoption age” by about thirteen and a half years, most people didn’t even want to try. the ones that did, decided he would be too difficult to handle after they met him and saw the cold isolation in his eyes, and the stubborn set to his jaw.

he was moved from foster family to foster family over the next four years, all over california, and had been re-placed five times by his eighteenth birthday. but all the while, he managed to get through school and save as much money as he could, selling five-minute portraits in downtown LA and getting small gig jobs here and there. by the time he turned eighteen, he was determined to have enough to go to college — or at least move out on his own and finally do something on his own volition for once.

little did he know, someone would come knocking on his foster home’s door asking for him a few days after he turned eighteen. they represented the rockefeller estate, and they wanted to have a chat with him about his father.

james had left him his entire estate. all of it. every penny, everything he’d ever owned, all of his mother’s belongings — and on top of it all, the massive manor passed down through the rockefeller family located just at the edge of goldstone, california. his hometown.

he used some ( a relatively small portion ) of the money to accept his offer at university of california, san diego as an architecture major, and was at the top of his class there all the way up until he graduated as part of the class of 2001.

in his junior year of college, like any other guy, he slept around a bit, and thought nothing of it — up until a girl he’d slept with months ago approached him in the middle of his senior year and told him she was pregnant. she didn’t want to keep it, but it was also too late to terminate the pregnancy, so she was thinking of putting the baby up for adoption. immediately, memories of his entire adolescence flooded back to him, and he begged her not to — instantly, he offered to take full custody of the child, and she could visit whenever she wanted, if she wanted to at all. she agreed, and lo and behold, branwen rockefeller was born. ( he named him branwen after somebody his father had told him about when he was a kid — he doesn’t remember the story, or if he was related to him, but he remembered the name. )

he then went on to pursue a masters in architecture, and his main project was actually renovating the rockefeller manor — obviously, after 22 years of being owned by a bank, and many years before that of no upkeep, it needed some renovation. orion spent his entire MA studies renovating it and actually presented the whole process to receive his masters degree, which he did.

he spent the next few years traveling — with branwen by his side, they’d stay in goldstone for most of the school year, but every chance they’d get to take a vacation, orion would take them somewhere he’d always wanted to go as a kid.

finally, in 2014, when branwen was starting high school, orion figured it would be a good time to completely settle down in goldstone, stop travelling so much and pour his attention into the one thing he’d left unfinished — the manor. it wasn’t unfinished from a construction perspective — it was stunning actually, fully furnished with a gym, a home theater, countless bedrooms, and fully ready to be lived in — but for orion, there was one thing he’d always wanted to do when the timing was right: give kids who felt lost a place to call home. give kids who were like him, back in the day, a place to call home.

so that’s what he did. he spent months gathering the proper licensing and credentials to finally open rockefeller manor to the public. he’s a licensed social worker now, and rockefeller manor offers a place to stay to anybody between the ages of fourteen and twenty one, so long as they display a significant need for help. ( orion often ends up taking the “tougher cases” — the ones with nowhere else to go. and sometimes, kids just show up on their own, nobody to represent them — and who is he to turn them down? )

now, he divides his time between architectural projects for work ( he’s designed countless buildings all over southern california, and is incredibly busy designing new projects all the time ) and taking care of the manor, whether that be the kids that live in it or the building itself.

( as for his secret, he’s experienced symptoms of ptsd ever since his dad passed, but never really knew what it was. it worsened when he began moving around, unable to ever really call one place home, and now that he’s completely boxed away the memories of his adolescence, he’s completely compartmentalized it and honestly made it worse whenever he does get around to thinking about what he’s been through. he’s also never told anybody about his background -- the furthest he’ll go is that his father was an air force pilot, and he grew up in goldstone. he’s always just tried to push through it and ignore it, but when he’s under significant stress or there’s a lot on his plate, he’ll tend to shut down or even spiral into a panic attack. he keeps himself so busy because he can’t be by himself for too long, as his past has drilled into him an innate fear of being alone. during these episodes, he’ll often shut himself in his office with the door locked until it passes, terrified that one of the kids will see him like this — too stubborn to let any of them, especially the ones who look up to him, see him as weak. )

WANTED CONNECTIONS:

obvs, the kids from the rockefeller manor !! he's definitely a parental/paternal figure to them and runs a pretty tight ship to keep everybody in line, but he also knows when it's time to just let them be.

childhood friends?? he lived in goldstone until he was twelve and then disappeared after his father passed until he was in his thirties, essentially. so it would be interesting if there was somebody who knew him as a kid and can see the huge difference in him now (he used to be really irreverent and rambunctious and is now a Certified Gentleman)

his personal assistant !! this one is on the wc page on the main, but he has an assistant that helps him organize his work as an architect. they're probably the closest person to him other than his own son, so maybe they've caught glimpses of his ptsd episodes??

friends!!! he def has a lot of friends around town, he's a pretty familiar face throughout goldstone

perhaps??? a past love interest??? he swore himself off from dating after he had branwen, at least for a while, bc he wanted to focus on being a dad and taking care of the manor, but uh .... love doesn't work like that buddy pal ! hehe

literally anything else i am a heaux for plots

[kumkaniudaku]

Couples Therapy: Rough Patch

ROUGH PATCH: ONE | ROUGH PATCH: THREE

Word Count: 1798

Fifteen days.

Two separate bedrooms, a wall of relative silence, no affection, and fifteen days of painful separation settled over the Boseman household in a thick, heavy fog.

Chadwick and Tasha sat a cushion apart in the quaint downtown Los Angeles office wrapped in their individual thoughts, recounting the last two weeks and some change and wondering where the newlywed bliss turned into constant quarreling.

Maybe it was when Chadwick went back to work sooner than anticipated, effectively cutting their alone time to a measly few minutes of conversation as Tasha rushed out of the door for work or before bed. He couldn’t remember the last time he shared some salty snack with her while they discussed each other’s day.

Tasha was sure the relationship went left when her old friend insecurity came to visit. She still struggled to understand why he chose her of all the women he had access to. And why did he wait so long? She often wondered if this was a pity relationship or one of convenience because, lately, their union didn’t feel like it was built on a foundation of love.

The soft click-click of the Newton’s Cradle resting on Dr. Barea’s coffee table became larger than life in the quiet room until the click and close of the wooden door introduced a third party.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite dating duo turned married couple,” Dr. Barea greeted as she took her seat in front of them. She took a moment to observe their unusual body language and tilted her head. “I’m assuming there’s more going on at home than the need for a baggage dump today. Which of you wants to start?”

Uneasy glances at each other yielded no results from the couple, prompting their therapist to take initiative.

“Okay, no one wants to volunteer, so I’ll choose. Tasha, how about you start us off.”

In her mind, Tasha had laid out the issues she wanted to discuss over and over. When she forwarded Chadwick the appointment confirmation days prior, she took her lunch break to type out a list of concerns and demands that she needed to get off of her chest. But now, with the opportunity to finally release what had been bothering her in an eloquent soliloquy, words she hadn’t planned to say came tumbling out in a rush she couldn’t control.

“Why? We spent years together before this, faking the funk and sharing feelings that platonic friends don’t share and you never, ever made a move to solidify us earlier. Why? Because I really need to know if I’m what you want or simply what you had left.”

“I told you when I proposed. I couldn’t give you what I thought you deserved.”

“Mmm, see, I don’t buy that. I don’t,” CoCo answered, half laughing while she shook her head. “That’s bullshit.”

“Oh, now it’s bullshit. Everything is bullshit when it isn’t what you wanna hear, T.”

“Chad, don’t start that. Ju-”

“Tasha,” Dr. Barea interrupted to stop the rant boiling to the surface. “Do you want him to give you an answer or not?”

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.” Chadwick and Dr. Barea watched Tasha fold her arms and turn her body like a petulant child.

When the young therapist opened her mouth to speak, Chadwick lifted his hand to stop whatever she had to say. It was time for husband and wife to have a heart to heart with no interference.

“Ever since we were kids you have been damn near perfect. You got better grades, larger accomplishments, and the better job when we were done with school. I could not compete, and to be honest, I didn’t want to. I just wanted to be part of your world.”

Dr. Barea could see tension leaving Tasha’s body though she refused to turn and face Chadwick. Her small nod in his direction encouraged Chadwick to continue.

“Do you remember when you broke up with that guy you dated for like six weeks? When I asked you about it, you told me that he didn’t deserve you because he ‘didn’t have a pot to piss in or window to throw it out of’. And I laughed and agreed, but when you left, I stood in my rundown apartment knowing that I would probably never have the chance to have you.”

“Aaron, you know I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Yeah, but you said it,” he said, the hurt still apparent in his tone.

“I waited. I waited until I was doing well for myself and could afford to piss in a hundred pots and choose a window to throw it out of, only for you to be with someone else. Then I fought for you against the wishes of almost everyone around me because I knew you were the only person that would make this worth it. So, please, don’t ever question if you’re what I want. You are all I want.”

Chadwick’s attention had shifted from the back of Tasha’s head to the ground beneath him, robbing him of the chance to see his wife turn to look at him with sympathetic eyes. Fighting the voice in the back of her head that told her it wasn’t a good idea, she reached across the empty cushion to place her palm on his forearm.

“Please...don’t pee in our pots.” For the first time in weeks, Chadwick cracked a tiny smile in Tasha’s direction to earn a similar smile from his wife.

“That was progress. Do you feel satisfied with the answer you received, Tasha?”

She peeled her eyes from her husband to give the woman and answer, “I do. I feel like a bitch for even questioning him.”

“You’re not a bitch, T. Don’t say that.”

“I might not be a bitch, but that doesn’t take away from the fact that I hurt you. I’m so-”

“Why do you do that?” The sliver of warmth in Chadwick’s eyes returned to a cold, dark stare as flashbacks of their last argument played in his mind.

“Do what? What did I do?”

“Every single time I make an observation or I tell you something, you have a rebuttal! Why do you feel the need to have the last word?”

Tasha felt the wind being knocked from her lungs as she took time to seriously contemplate the answer to Chadwick’s question. She mentally recounted all of the instances of her unnecessary commentary or when she cut him off in the middle of a sentence and felt smaller the more they began to stack up.

“I think...I think I’m used to being around people that need my input and guidance every second of every work day. I mean I work with a lot of incompetent people!”

CoCo’s attempt at a joke fell flat, earning blank stares from the other two people in the room.

“So you think Chadwick is incompetent and needs guidance?”

“No! Not at all,” she exclaimed in an attempt to gather her words.

“I think you should tell him that.”

Chadwick’s expectant and sad eyes bore into Tasha’s waiting for even half of the soul sharing he awarded her.

“I do a terrible job compartmentalizing,” she admitted more to herself than to Chadwick. “I’ve always felt the need to interject because I’ve always had to. You know the dynamic between my mom and me, and at work, I’m always the go-to person to keep the ship afloat. I have to remember that you are just as capable if not more than me to make decisions. You’re a breath of fresh air, not a repeat of the outside world.”

In the midst of the emotional moment came a slow round of applause that shifted the couple’s attention from each other to their trusted practitioner.

“I think that is a first for you two since we’ve started this process.”

“Us ending a baggage dump without tears,” Chadwick questioned as he finally tore his eyes away from his wife.

“No. Tasha finally admitted she does things the wrong way every once in a while.” Dr. Barea’s joke added levity to the tense atmosphere in the way that she intended, pulling hearty laughs from her favorite newlyweds. “Here’s my homework.”

“Please, Andrea, no homework this time. Let’s end on a high note.”

“When you become the therapist, you can make those decisions, Mrs. Boseman,” she smiled, earning a playful eye roll. “I want you two to spend some time together. I’m not saying jump back into newlywed bliss, but I do want some uninterrupted, private time between you. Spend the day in each other’s presence with no outside interference.”

“Sounds easy enough. I need a break from writing anyway.”

“And Lord knows I need a reason to stay out of the office on the weekends.”

“You say that now, but here’s the challenge,” Andrea laughed. “Tasha, you have to let Chadwick lead the entire way. No objections unless it is detrimental to your wellbeing.”

“But-”

“Aht! No objections!” Tasha agreed with a childish grumble that pulled a chuckle from Chadwick. He planned to have some fun with that rule. “As for you Chadwick, you are required to show Tasha just how much you want her. I won’t tell you how, but know that it can not be a singular gesture. Make a day out of reminding her why you chose her.”

Once ground rules were established and agreed upon, Chadwick and Tasha walked out of the office with one less weight crushing their relationship. Chadwick followed his wife to her car in silence, sneaking the occasional glance at the striking features that he still found just as beautiful as the day he met her.

Tasha decided to start her exercise early and let him guide her into her seat before closing the door behind her and leaning over to pop his head into the open window.

“I hope I’m not being too forward by asking you to spend the day with me Friday. I know you have to work but, I was hoping we could maybe -”

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

Tasha smiled bashfully at Chadwick’s surprise, “I’ll take a personal day and start the weekend early. Should I wear something specific or?”

“I’ll be happy with whatever you put on,” he smiled. “Meet me downstairs for breakfast in the morning?”

“I’ll be there.”

Though affection didn’t feel “right” following an intense fifteen days, the couple shared smiles and a light handshake before Tasha disappeared into traffic to resume her work day.

Fifteen days.

In two weeks, misunderstandings and missed opportunities to communicate had nearly destroyed a bond that took 20 years to build. Now, one day could make or break Chadwick and Tasha for good.

                                   _____________

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[averagemarvelbitch]

Undercover Love / STONY

Summary: The hospital bills keep on coming and Steve doesn’t know how to help his mother. He decides the army is his best bet. Destiny has a different idea, though, and puts Dr. Erskine and Project Rebirth on his path. Soon, he becomes Captain America and a special forces SHIELD agent with a dream team, ready to take on even the most dangerous missions.

A few years later, Director Carter’s nephew is kidnapped by the Ten Rings and it’s Captain America and the Avengers to the rescue! Falling in love with said nephew wasn’t on Steve’s plans, but he isn’t complaining.

Director Carter might complain. If she ever finds out.

TAGS: Secret Agents AU / Stony / Alternate Universe

Chapters: 3/?

---

The Strategic Homeland Intervention and Enforcement Logistics Division, also known as SHIELD, was a secret organization. In fact, they were so secret that most agents, even the ones with a high level clearance, didn’t know who they worked for. Steve and Bucky were both Level 7 in the scale, being outranked only by their handler, Agent Coulson, Commander Hill and Deputy Director Fury. SHIELD believed in compartmentalizing every piece of information. Nobody spills our secrets, Fury once explained to them after a particularly bad mission, because no one knows them all. It wasn’t something Steve was comfortable with, to be honest, but he learned to live with it all the same. And so, every agent, from level 1 to 9, knew a little piece of information that the others didn’t know. There was only one thing none of them knew: the Director’s identity.

The name and face of the Director of SHIELD was such a well kept secret that it had become a bit of a legend amongst the agents. Some said he was a military man who had singlehandedly fought against the enemy’s forces and emerged victorious, saving Fury in the process, who had lost an eye during said battle. Others said he was, in fact, the President of the United States and SHIELD was just a cover for the government to do in secret things it couldn’t do in public. And then there were the agents who thought the Director was actually Nick Fury himself and he was just trying to create some sort of mystique around his true identity. Steve had heard all of these theories in the last five years he’d worked for SHIELD. He had even created some himself when curiosity got the best of him. Maybe it said something about him that not once, in all these years, he pictured the fearsome Director of SHIELD as a beautiful brunette wearing bright red lipstick.

Steve discreetly looked around the table, trying to read his fellow agents. The red headed woman sitting next to him seemed unfazed by Fury’s introduction of the Director at first glance, but Steve could swear he’d noticed her eyebrows going slightly up for a moment before she schooled her features once more. The man on her side, however, had no such reservations. His eyes were wide, mouth hanging open, and he stayed like that for a few good seconds before the red head not so subtly kicked him in the chin, as if trying to remind the poor sap to be at least somewhat professional about the whole ordeal. Steve didn’t need to see Bucky’s face at all; his soft holy shit was reaction enough.

“Well, I believe I do not need to reinforce how absolutely vital it is that my identity remains a secret”, the woman said with a faded English accent, taking a seat in front of them, “And I will be so very cross if this particular secret leaves this room”, she looked at each one of them for a moment before continuing to speak. “Very well. You have been chosen for this mission not only because of your skills and frankly stellar records, but because, according to Deputy Director Fury, Commander Hill and Agent Coulson, you are trustworthy. This mission is not just about SHIELD security, it’s also… personal to me”.

“So that’s why we were contacted through the super secret channel”, the blonde man said as if he’d just had an epiphany.

“Precisely, Agent Barton. Agent Coulson, if you please”.

Agent Coulson got up, buttoning his suit, and walked towards the wall, where a map suddenly appeared.

“Yesterday, at approximately twelve hundred hours, the Director’s nephew, known as The Mechanic, disappeared nearby the Kunar Province, in Afghanistan”, Coulson explained, marking the spot in the map, ”He was being escorted by American soldiers back to the Bagram Air Base after a missile presentation when his convoy was attacked by members of a group known as the Ten Rings”.

“Shit”, Bucky swore softly under his breath just as Natasha exhaled, her shoulders suddenly going stiff with tension.

“The terrorist group has made no contact with neither family nor work relations of the prisoner, which leads us to believe that they are not interested in money. The Mechanic is quite the ingenious engineer and is the sole developer of most of the technology SHIELD uses, including our weapons, communication equipment and espionage gadgets. If this information fell in the wrong hands, it could mean the end of SHIELD”.

“Your mission”, the Director continued, making all agents turn their full attention to her once more, “is to locate my nephew and bring him home. Alive”, she added, stressing the last word. “You will fly to Bagram Air Base, where you will meet Lieutenant Colonel James Rhodes. He will accompany you in your searches. Are there any questions?”

When none of the agents said anything, she nodded sharply. “Good luck, agents. I trust you’ll bring my nephew back to me as soon as possible”.

“You leave in fifteen minutes”, Fury suddenly said from behind them with a forceful tone, making everyone but Natasha jump on their chairs, “Get up, gear up, and meet me at Deck 03. Go”.

---

Pain. That was all Tony knew in that moment. A kind of pain that he’d never experienced before in his life, the kind that burned his insides, twisted his guts and pressed on his bones, as if wanting to break them into tiny pieces. He trashed around the small cot, or at least he tried to. He turned his head to look at his hands and found both were bound by metal chains. His breathing became even more erratic and he felt the tears streaming down his face as he tried to scream through the rag stuffed in his mouth.

A man suddenly appeared on his line of vision. He looked at Tony with semi closed eyes and a frown, his lips pressed thin against each other. He said something in another language, something the young engineer couldn’t quite understand. Another voice filled the room, replying to whatever the man with kind eyes had said. The man looked regretful for a moment, turning his eyes to the scalpel in his hand and then back to Tony. He sighed.

“This will hurt, Mr. Stark. But it is the only way to save your life. I am very sorry”, he whispered softly near Tony’s ear before nodding to someone. Immediately, two strong hands took hold of the engineer’s head from behind, holding him in place. All he could see was the filthy ceiling. His eyes followed the small light bulb going back and forth, as if trying to hypnotize him. And then he felt it. Something sharp and cold and hard cutting through the skin in his chest. He screamed, closing his hands with such force that the nails pierced the palm. The cutting continued, and so did the pain. Tony could feel his heart beating faster than ever in his ears. He felt the sweat coming off his skin, the bile rising in his throat as he so desperately tried to keep it down. They’re cutting me open, he thought, wide eyes going from one side to the other, they’re cutting me open.

He could feel something moving through the skin and into him, going around, searching for something. Then, the feeling disappeared and he heard a soft klink noise. His voice was starting to become hoarse. He hadn’t even noticed he was still screaming. His wide eyes suddenly started blinking and the screams stopped. The room was slowly fading. The voices going softer and softer, lower and lower, until Tony finally passed out, going completely limp in the cot. I’m going to die, he thought to himself before succumbing to the darkness.

---

It was already nightfall when the team finally arrived at Bagram Air Base, the cold air of the desert slipping through their clothes as they exited the quinjet. A tall, dark skinned man was waiting for them. He stood there, in the middle of the base, hands behind his back, waiting for the team to approach him with a serious, if not worried, expression. He quickly extended his hand when Steve came close enough to grab it.

“Lieutenant Colonel Rhodes, at your service, sir”, he said as Steve shook his hand, “I’m happy to see you, I have to say. We’ll need all the help we can get to locate T…”

“We use codenames only in missions like this, Lieutenant”, Steve cut him off midsentence, “These are Black Widow, Hawkeye, Winter Soldier and I’m Captain America”.

The corners of Rhode’s mouth went slightly up at the last one as he clearly tried to stop himself from laughing. Steve was very used to that reaction and so he didn’t take offense in it.

“Here”, Natasha said, giving the man a small earpiece, which he promptly put in his ear, “All communications go through this and nothing else. From this moment forward, you will be Lieutenant, understood?”

Lieutenant Colonel Rhodes nodded sharply.

“We need to know everything that’s happened since the target was taken, spare no details”, Steve informed him.

“Follow me, Captain. You can have some food while I debrief you on the situation”.

They followed the Lieutenant inside one of the barracks and into a small room. There was a table in the middle of it, with four plates of food lying around. Clint quickly sat down and took one, stuffing his mouth with whatever it was the plate contained, looking quite happy.

“The target arrived two days ago in a private jet for a missile presentation. He spent the night in this Air Base and we left for a testing area near Kunar in the morning. The presentation happened as planned. The target was supposed to come back with me, but decided to join Beta Team instead. The convoy left at thirteen hundred hours, as planned”.

“Any reason why he refused to go with you?” Natasha asked, putting a small piece of bread in her mouth.

“He was being a dick to me because I missed his birthday”, Rhodes explained, shaking his head with a fond smile, “Said he rather go in the funvee”.

“You know the target?”

“Yes”.

“Well, that complicates things”, Bucky replied, crossing his arms.

“My relationship with the target will not affect this mission, Soldier”, Rhodes promised, and then continued explaining, “They were attacked around here”, he pointed at the map, “a few miles outside Kunar. All soldiers in the convoy were killed in combat. This was the target’s last known location”.

“Do the Ten Rings usually work in that area?” Clint asked with his mouth full.

“No. There’d never been a sighting of them near Kunar until yesterday. That’s what’s bothering me. They knew we were coming and they knew who was with us. But the thing is, no one knew T… the target“, Rhodes quickly corrected himself, “was coming that day”.

“Maybe you have a mole amongst your soldiers”, Natasha offered.

“The only people who knew he was coming were me, his aunt and his business partner. The soldiers only found out when we left for the presentation. Even if someone had tipped off the Ten Rings, they would need at least a full day to move that much fire power to our exact location. It’s not impossible, but it’s just… highly unlikely”.

“Is there anything else we need to know, Lieutenant?”

“Nothing relevant, Captain”, he replied, hands behind his back once more, “We’ll start the searches tomorrow at zero six hundred hours. The target is a major contributor to the U.S. Military so they’re focusing a lot of resources on this, not only soldiers but high tech equipment as well. It should help”.

“I’m sure we’ll find him soon enough, Lieutenant”, Steve replied, softening his expression, “Very soon”.

---

Tony hated many things. He hated when Rhodey put ketchup on his pasta, he hated when his bagels came with sesame seed, and he hated mustard. He hated when his dad told him that he wasn’t good enough and he hated the fact that his parents were gone and he was all alone. Tony Stark hated a whole lot of things, but he was pretty sure that there was nothing in his life that he hated more than the desert. His prison cell looked more like a Batcave, if Batman had lost all his money, sold all his tech to pay his debts and had decided to lock himself in it to live the rest of his days as a hermit. And let’s not mention the fact that a few weeks ago, Tony had gone through open-heart surgery with no anesthetics and had now a deep hole in his body the size of a small fist to which a car battery was attached, being the only thing stopping the shards of a bomb HE had made from crawling to his heart and killing him. All of that was bad, very bad, and of course Tony hated the whole situation, but it was the desert he hated the most.

The extremely hot days and excruciating cold nights were driving him crazy. Well, there was also the whole torture thing going on, like how they water boarded him every single day for hours as he desperately held to his car battery, trying to keep it from getting wet like his life depended on it ― and it did. Yeah, the torture thing didn’t help his mood, but honestly, it was all the desert’s fault. Stupid desert.

But he couldn’t think like that, couldn’t dwell on his hatred for the sand and the damn heat and the stupid cold. No, he couldn’t dwell on that because today was a special day. Today, whatever day it was, was the day Tony finally gave in and promised Abu Bakaar that he would build them the Jericho. Of course, he had absolutely no intention whatsoever to give the most dangerous terrorist group on this side of the planet a special missile that could destroy an entire city in less than minutes. No, sir. He had a much better idea. He was going to burn all of them, burn the entire war camp to the ground, and then Yinsen and he would step on their ashes as they walked to freedom. That’s what he was going to do.

Because he was Tony Stark and Stark men were made of iron. And the fucking Ten Rings would regret the very day they decided to mess with Anthony Edward Stark.

---

Three months. They had been searching for the target for the last three months. Steve had had long missions before. Sometimes an undercover op. or shadowing a target could go on for days, even weeks. But three months. He’d never been on a mission that lasted three whole months. And what was worse… there was nothing new. There was no new information, no tip, not even a bloody sign as to where the target was or even if he was still alive. In all honesty, Steve had lost all hope to finding the Mechanic alive a long time ago and it seemed that his teammates agreed with him. The U.S. Army and Air Force had withdrawn their people and resources after a month of searches with no result, and had even tried to declare the target Killed in Action. Steve guessed the Director had had some very stern words with them because soon after they received the news that Lieutenant Colonel Rhodes was given a sort of leave to continue to search for the target with the SHIELD agents and that no more claims would be made until the target was found ― dead or alive.

The worst part about all of it was Rhodes. Every morning they left the Air Base on a helicopter and they would search every inch of the wide, unending desert. And every night they would return without so much as a whiff of the Mechanic’s whereabouts. Steve could tell this mission was taking a toll on the Lieutenant’s spirit. Every night his eyes would grow sadder, his shoulders falling a bit more, his expression a bit darker. He would lock himself in his rooms as soon as they stepped inside the barracks and would only resurface in the morning with renewed determination, marching towards the helicopter as if today was finally the day.

“Can I just say what everybody is thinking?” Clint shouted through the loud noise made by the helicopter. Natasha, who was piloting it, pursed her lips, knowing that whatever her partner was about to say, it would not be good.

“Don’t, Hawkeye”, Bucky warned, eye still trained outside, looking for possible hideouts.

“I’m just saying, man. It’s been three months. There is no way a civilian survives three months in the hands of some fucked up terrorists. The guy is dead. Better accept it now and be done with it”.

“You don’t know him. He’s not like any other civilian. He…” But whatever he was, they would never know because Rhodes was interrupted by a sudden loud noise that sounded an awful lot like an explosion.

“There’s smoke. There, near the mountains!”, Bucky shouted, pointed at the place where thick, black smoke was rising slowly.

“GO THERE! HE’S THERE!”

“How can you know that?”

“Big explosion? That’s definitely Tony! GO! GO!”, Rhodes screamed at the top of his lungs. He seemed so happy, so full of hope, that Steve didn’t even bother to remind him of the codename rule.

It took Natasha a good fifteen minutes to land the helicopter near the exploded area. She waited inside as the others fought through the dark smoke, covering their mouths and noses as they walked inside what seemed to be a former war camp. There were bodies everywhere, melted faces and body parts scattered around as if it was some gruesome horror movie. The smell of burned flesh was unbearable.

“CLEAR”, Steve heard Clint shout from one side.

“ALSO CLEAR”, Bucky replied from the other.

“There’s no one alive here”.

“He did this”, Rhodes insisted, looking around, “He escaped. We need to check the area around it”.

“Lieutenant…”, Steve started to disagree, but the man gave him no chance.

“You listen to me, Captain, he is alive. Tony did this, he escaped. I don’t know how, but he did. So we’re going to check the surrounding areas or so help me God you fuckers can walk back to the fucking base and I’ll do it myself, do you understand?”

The three men exchanged a look before nodding. They radioed the base, giving them the coordinates for the war camp before getting into the helicopter once more. For the next three hours they flew around the exploded area, eyes wide open, trying to catch anything out of the ordinary. Natasha was just about to tell them they were running out of gas when she spotted something.

“THERE! IT LOOKS LIKE A PERSON!”, she shouted to the others.

She turned the helicopter around and smiled. Sure enough, there he was, with a shirt wrapped around his head, swinging his arms. The man felt to the ground just as Rhodey jumped out of the chopper, running towards him as fast as he could, Steve and Bucky right behind him. Rhodey fell on his knees right in front of his best friend, the biggest smile on his face.

“How was the funvee, asshole?”, he asked, hugging the smaller man, “Next time, you ride with me”.

The brunette nodded with a small smile and eyes full of tears before burying his head on Rhode’s neck with a soft cry.

“Here, let me”, Steve offered the Lieutenant, carefully taking the smaller man in his arms.

Steve couldn’t believe how young the target looked, how vulnerable. He couldn’t be more than twenty years old. How could a man so young survive something so horrible? Better yet, how could some this young escape from one of the most feared terrorist groups in the world? He carefully put the young man inside the helicopter, stepping aside so Natasha could insert an IV bag on his arm.

“Are you okay?” Rhodes asked, sitting next to his friend with a worried expression.

“Who the hell are these people? They don’t look military”, the target asked, lying his head on Rhodes’ shoulder.

“They’re SHIELD agents”.

“They’re shit”.

“HEY”, Clint complained from his seat in the front, turning around to glare at the target, “A little gratitude would be nice. We did just rescue you, jackass”.

“Hawkeye”, Natasha warned in a low tone.

Tony huffed, rolling his eyes. “You didn’t rescue me. You spent three months doing God knows what while I rescued myself. The only thing you’re doing right now is giving me a ride. You’re my Uber. And you’re definitely two stars. I’m writing my review right now, takes too fucking long to show up and doesn’t even have fucking candy. Bullshit”.

Steve snorted before quickly composing himself. “We’re glad you’re okay, sir”.

“Why is he calling me sir? Has it been three months or three years? Am I old? Rhodey, am I old? Be honest”.

“Figures not even a traumatic experience would shut you up, Tones”, Rhodey joked before kissing his best friend’s forehead and lying his own head on top of Tony’s, “Don’t ever do that to me again, okay?”

“Yeah”, Tony replied, his eyes losing focus for a second as he touched his own chest where, Steve had just noticed, a faint blue light was coming through the shirt. His eyes met Tony’s for a moment before the young man looked away, closing his eyes with a long sigh. He would tell Rhodey about the arc reactor later. Right now, all he wanted to do was to close his eyes and think of home.

Home. And then the real work would begin.

---

Leave a comment and/or ask to be tagged // Feed my caffeine addiction

[marjaystuff]

Blueberry Blunder by Amanda Flower

Blueberry Blunder by Amanda Flower

Amish Candy Show Mystery Book 8

Blueberry Blunder by Amanda Flower is the eighth book in the “Candy Shop Amish series.”  This series along with the spinoff “Amish Matchmaker Series” are great cozies.  Readers are treated to a unique mystery, brilliant characters, and some funny animals.

“I wrote the construction angle from my own experience when we decided to build my husband’s recording studio. We had to work with a lot of contractors.  We paid for it in cash.  Some of the contractors were not very nice.  Since my husband was at work, I was alone with them. They resented a woman telling them how we wanted things. I would not do it again. Also, I wanted to give Bailey a new challenge.  It is natural for her to want a candy factory.” 

The plot has the main character, Bailey King, building her dream candy factory in Harvest, Ohio. After the construction work stalls, she fires the contractor.  Unfortunately, that same night someone kills him. With a long list of enemies, including people in the Amish community, and a sheriff who has tunnel vision, with his sites on an Amish man, Bailey knows she needs to investigate. This book seems to be introducing a sidekick for Bailey, Charlotte Weaver, her cousin, and assistant in the candy shop.  Charlotte seems to have a knack for piecing together clues and enjoys the investigation process.  But she has an ulterior motive since her dad is the Amish man accused. She is hopeful that Bailey, along with her help, can clear his name. This might spur her family to stop shunning her since she left the Amish community to marry an “Englisher.”

“Charlotte will be Bailey’s partner in the candy shop and in crime solving. It is easier now that she is not Amish.  She will be involved in managing the factory.  It will not be a “buddy mystery series,” like Millie and Lois but will be a major factor in this series.  She is unsure of herself because she made a big decision to leave the Amish community.  But she did it for love. She lost her family with her brothers and sisters resentful.  She is very sincere and wants reconciliation.  Her feelings always seem to be compartmentalized.  Sometimes she is insecure and lacks confidence.”

To add to the drama, Bailey is being filmed by a crew for her upcoming show after accepting a TV producer’s pitch to have a reality show about building the factory.  Then there is the Blueberry Bash Festival to contend with along with Charlotte’s wedding, and Bailey’s boyfriend, Aiden, moving back to Harvest to become a private detective. 

“Aiden is now a private investigator.  He wanted to come back to Harvest to be with Bailey. He could not be working with the Sheriff’s Department because he did not get along with the Sheriff. In this book the Sheriff leaves office, a forced retirement. In the next book Aiden will be the Sheriff. First, the interim sheriff and in the next Candy Shop, Taffy Trouble, he will run for office.  I have not started to write it yet.”

Anyone who wants a good mystery intermingled with some light romance, Amish beliefs, and very humorous characters, both human and animal, should read these books.

[divergent-one-1984]

Organized Crime Ring in Astoria, NY, in a neighborhood under the jurisdiction of 114th PRECINCT and in apartment buildings managed by CENTRAL ASTORIA, LLC. I have been the victim of TARGETED COMMUNITY HARASSMENT SINCE SUMMER 2016 because of my race and gender, I am an African American woman (because of a rumor / gossip mill started by staff at NYC DEPARTMENT OF EDUCATION while I was employed there from 2014 to 2016 I was made the victim of targeted psychological harassment). Due to the illegal access and leaking of private, personal, confidential information by wiretapping / cloning / hacking of personal devices and illegal surveillance in my residence. This includes leaking of confidential medical information (HPV, strains that can cause cervical cancer and an Abortion) - STREET THEATER WEEK OF MARCH 20, 2023 POST 1

STREET THEATER MARCH 21, 2023, which I am sure will extend till MARCH 29, 2023.

Due to the HARASSMENT when I acccompanied bed ridden relative to doctors appointments I have officially stopped going, my last appointment was in FEBRUARY, 2023, where a bunch of stupid people in the medical facility were engaging in STREET THEATER.

Just like I reached my threshold of tolerating / compartmentalizing bullshit at my WORKPLACES I reached mine regarding this and will no longer be attending appointments with bed ridden relative.

This week included the first doctors appointment since I vowed I would not be accompanying bed ridden relative anymore. The appointment was scheduled at ADVANTAGE CARE PHYSICIANS in ASTORIA, NY for WEDNESDAY, MARCH 22, 2023. It appears this doctor (a new one my relative stated they have not been to before) may only hold appointments on sepcific days during the week (It appears WEDNESDAY may be that day, which also happens to be the same day my GYN holds appointments (used to be MONDAYS and WEDNESDAYS, and at some point restricted to WEDNESDAYS only) .

This medical facility, ADVANTAGE CARE PHYSICIANS is the same facility (DIFFERENT NAME, QLIMG THEN) I was a patient at years ago where I received the first ever abnormal pap smear results learning I had HPV in JANUARY 2008.

So I followed through and did not accompany my bed ridden relative.

The "long con" STREET THEATER for this week started on MONDAY, MARCH 20, 2023, where the scheduled time for a regular appointment relative attends multiple days per week was changed, the appointment was pushed back an hour, precipitously changing the transportation pick up time to an earlier slot, 10:10 AM to be exact.

TUESDAY, MARCH 21, 2023 Bed ridden relative was supposed to be picked up by transportation based on the earlier time slot, however they were not, as usual with the STREET THEATER, there is always something going wrong, too many weird things happening for it to be coincidental / random, it is the result of intentional manipulation / miscommunication along the chain of people you as the target have to deal with in any given situation. My relative has been made collateral damage, they are sick with multiple ailments and bed ridden due to intentional medical neglect because of my TARGETING.

WEDNESDAY, MARCH 22, 2023 I prepared bed ridden relative for appointment, transportation was on time; I sent relative on their way, while I remained home. One of STALKER / HARASSER / ABUSER / DOMESTIC TERRORISTS in my building came down the stairs at the same time I was wheeling bed ridden relative out of the apartment door, the same CREEPY DUMMY engaging in SYNCHRONIZED ACTIVITIES PSYCHOLOGICAL HARASSMENT TACTIC, that was monitoring me while I was going to the trash about a month ago at almost 2 AM (see previous post).

As expected some stupid STREET THEATER occured. Bed ridden relative was returned earlier than expected. The appointment was at 11 AM so I was not expecting relative back till around 1 PM maybe, I think they were back before or around noon. When I opened door, I was like you are back so early, relative stated they could not be seen because the room at the center did not accommodate the wheelchair.

The appointment was rescheduled at the office to next WEDNESDAY, MARCH 29, 2023 at 11:15 AM at a facility on 55th AVENUE in ELMHURST, QUEENS.

55 is a NUMBER HARASSMENT reference to my deceased father who was born in 1955 and died at the age of 56 in MAY 2011 of Multiple Myeloma, a cancer of the blood / bone marrow. As I stated previously constant reference to me looking like father / man / transgender dying from cervical cancer as a result of HPV.

So, common sense and logic tells me, relative has been a patient at this facility and they are aware they are in a wheelchair and if they were not I assume the brilliant NYU grad that is my sister would have the wherewithall to mention this; (the same sister who is engaged in my HARASSMENT) would have made this fact that relative is in wheelchair clear when she scheduled the appointment to ensure accommodations, so how is it that this appointment was even scheduled in the first place? Makes no logical sense. Also, not even sure if that is true since I was not there and I am not familiar with the room this doctor uses.

The appointment should have been made at the accommodating facility the first time.

HENCE THE STREET THEATER.

It was scheduled so that it could be rescheduled (to mimic the last appointment I made with my GYN, in which a similar thing occurred as far as rescheduling appt. My last GYN appt was in early 2021, in the midst / 2nd year of the pandemic lockdown I had scheduled an appointment and was called back to reschedule it.

Also I was supposed to schedule a 6 month follow up appointment, which I never did because I had to quit NYC DEPARTMENT OF CONSUMER AFFAIRS, due to the WORKPLACE MOBBING going on for 4 years, therefore no health insurance.

I had given my notice of resignation in FEBRUARY 2021, with an end date in APRIL 2021.

Since ORGANIZED GROUP STALKING is a coordinated effort amongst the STALKERS / HARASSERS / ABUSERS / DOMESTIC TERRORISTS, across places, spaces, entities, etc. I believe my doctors office was made aware of my resignation and that is why my appointment was intentionally pushed back to try to get me to stay at NYC DEPARTMENT OF CONSUMER AFFAIRS, because if I recall correctly, after I resigned I called GYN to make appointment so I could at least have this completed before I left so I would hopefully not have to worry about this till my next annual, however I did not change my mind.

I could no longer stay at NYC CONSUMER AFFAIRS, COMPARTMENTALIZING to ENDURE THE ABUSE WAS NO LONGER AN OPTION, REGARDLESS OF MY FATE, THE ONLY REASON I HAVE HAD PRE-CANCEROUS GROWTHS IN THESE LATER YEARS IS BECAUSE OF THE WORKPLACE MOBBING / ORGANIZED GROUP STALKING / GANG STALKING / COMMUNITY HARASSMENT.

And it finally dawned on me that the HARASSMENT WAS NOT GOING TO STOP. If these people were still harassing me from 2015 till 2021, inside the workplace and in my personal life it is highly unlikely it was going to stop, made no logical sense to keep pretending to live a life that stopped being a life a long time ago. I was basically in survival / existence mode for 6 years and I could not / would not do it anymore. These peoole know what they are doing to me, they know its wrong and the harm it causes but they do it anyway, I can't compete with that, I am 1 person fighting, probably hundreds at this point, with no support at all. I am strong but 1 person against a mob, it's just not a fair fight from jump, a bunch of cowards harassing a single person.

I had to remove myself from that environment, even though I was still harassed at home and outside of work, cutting work out of the equation, took down the chances of fabricated bullshit these people can try to pin on me / frame me with like they did at NYC DEPARTMENT OF EDUCATION and in my personal life once the harassment followed me there, STREET THEATER SKITS have been / are being set up to make me look crazy and / violent, which is a bunch of bullshit, in addition to just cutting down the volume of harassment to a degree, (8 hours a day / 5 days a week harassed by multiple people in the agency daily multiple times a day that can fabricate things against you to damage your employment history and try to get you involved.in the criminal system by hoping with enough agitation, harassment, devaluation, and dehumanization they will get you to lash out and assault someone verbally and / or physically, not to mention on the subway, and any businesses I might frequent during lunch break, and just my walk to and from train station, etc..

Even though we were mostly working remotely by that point I would still being harassed in my home, in the office when I was required to go in and of course continued to be harassed via email, video, phone.

Again, my GYN, only held appointments on WEDNESDAYS at the time. My relative's appointment was rescheduled to next WEDNESDAY, MARCH 29, 2023 to another medical facility the doctor works out of on 55th AVENUE in QUEENS. 55 is a NUMBER HARASSMENT reference to my deceased father who was born in 1955 and died at the age of 56 in MAY 2011 of Multiple Myeloma, a cancer of the blood / bone marrow.

THURSDAY, MARCH 23, 2023 Groceris delivered today.

The STOP & SHOP delivery person dropped off groceries today at around 6:30 AM, the first thing that came out of his mouth was that one of my eggs broke my period should be starting anyday now, probably later today, I am mid 40s, not sexually active, most likely perimenopausal so I could care less about keeping track of my period however the DEPRAVED DISGUSTING PERVERTED STALKERS / ABUSERS / HARASSER / DOMESTIC TERRORISTS are.

As I stated previously, I am constantly harassed about my vagina, reproductive system, menstrual cycle, amongst other things

So, the first thing out of the grocery delivery man's mouth was that "one of your eggs is broken". Based on my body, because as I stated I don't follow my period like that anymore, I have no reason too, I wish I was menopausal so that I did not have to deal with this anymore because I don't want children so its basically an endless nuisance that I have been ready to be done with for at least a decade or more by now.

So that was a NASTY / PERVERTED reference to my impending period. The dozen eggs were in a plastic produce bag, I assume the delivery guy took the bag from the 2 Granny Smith Apples in the order and used them for the eggs. The apples were then apparently placed in a bag full of Cornish Hens, needless to say, the eggs (because it turned out to be more than 1 broken, there were multiple broken, so I just threw the whole dozen out). The apples were also thrown out because this guy either unintentionally or stupidly / intentionally put them in a bag with Cornish Hens, which had chicken juice and / or egg yolk dripping on them. I think the eggs were intentionally broken as well. I did not feel like potentially eating salmonella, so I threw the apples out too.

Shortly after putting away the groceries I went to throw out trash and ran into one of the Latino tenants in the building (there are 2 LATINO tenants and 2 BLACK tenants, including myself, the remaining 4 soon to be maybe 5th (NEW TENANT MOVING IN NEXT MONTH PROBABLY, THEY HAVE BEEN FIXING UP THE APARTMENT the CARIBBEAN / AFRO LATINOS moved out of in JANUARY 2023) are MUSLIM.

I ran into a LATINO tenant by the name of MATILDE (MATTIE). I have known MATTIE, her husband, RICKY, and her 2 daughters since I was a teenager.

There have been SUICIDE PROGRAMMING REFERENCES throughout my HARASSMENT, since SUMMER 2016, she is a reference to SUICIDE, as she shared with me one time when we were hanging out she wanted to kill herself.

This was a while ago when we were cool with each other before I had to cut her off because her and her husband, RICKY, have been harassing me for a while now.

Right before exiting my apartment I could hear someone coming down the stairs as I was gathering the garbage to take out, turns out it was MATTIE, she was walking fast ahead of me; did not turn around / flinch / look me in my face when I called her out because she knows what her, her family and this neighborhood has done to me for the last 8 years and counting.

A little background of how we got along and what our relationship was like before she decided to join the NUTTY CULT OF ORGANIZED GROUP STALKING. First, I would like to state she is religious, as are many LATINOS, so she is probably stanning for RELIGIOUS NUTTERY with the MUSLIMS as well as TRIBALISM with LATINOS who are harassing me. I think she also has ties to the MILITARY, if I recall correctly her oldest daughter's father was in the ARMY.

As I stated I have known MATTIE since my childhood. When her and her family moved here I was probably an early teenager maybe. She has 2 daughters, her oldest is around my age (i think she's slightly older) and her youngest is around my sisters age. I did not hang out with them persay, but we were very friendly / neighborly and would talk to each other when we saw each other in the building / neighborhood.

As the years went on and I grew into an adult MATTIE and I started hanging out socially a little. This was around the early 2010s, We would go out to eat lunch / brunch / dinner in local ASTORIA restaurants.

Below is an image of a Thank You card MATTIE gave me in MAY 2011, (SAME MONTH MY FATHER DIED) for helping her out. I don't recall what I did for her; I am sure there were a couple of things because that's the kind of person I was before I became the TARGET OF GANG STALKING, I show up for people I fuck with, period. If you asked me to do something and I am able to do it and I care about you I would do it. So this may or may not have been the time she asked me to house sit because I feel like this was later like 2014.

Anywho, just to convey the fact that MATTIE and I were once cool to the point where she trusted me to house / cat sat for her for about a week while her and her husband, RICKY, went on vacation to visit her youngest daughter, if I recall correctly she lived in New Mexico.

MATTIE asked me to house sit, feed her cat, check her mail and the mail of the tenant in 2B, a MUSLIM man by the name of ALI, who I too have known him and the woman he lived with NADYA, who died a while ago from cancer, since my childhood.

ALI was out of town at the same time as MATTIE and he had asked her to check his mail so she asked me to check his mail also, while I was doing it for her.

ALI, and his revolving door of MUSLIM people who have occupied that apartment above me in 2B, have been HARASSING ME SINCE SUMMER 2016 as well.

MATTIE encouraged me to stay in her apartment for a while each night, not just come for a few minutes to feed cat / clean out litter, and drop off mail and leave, she told me I could stay a little while, use the computer if i liked, watch tv because she wanted it to appear all was normal, did not want to alert anyone that she was not home.

I obliged and it was all good. I would go stay there mostly just watch tv and hangout with MIDNIGHT, MATTIE's cat because I am a cat lover anyway so I liked sitting.

Around this time, we would go out to eat and drink every now and then, she would sometimes bring me down some food / drink she made or invited me up to eat. I recall Coquitos, a Puerto Rican drink, and Ceviche, etc. She is a good cook.

One of our outings to eat I recall vividly, the day MATTIE told me she had SUICIDAL THOUGHTS, we went to a restaurant, located around DITMARS BLVD and CRESCENT ST, I think. I don't remember the name of it but the new restaurant that is there now is not it, they relocated sometime ago, we went to that place more than once I recall, mostly for brunch, as well as other local ASTORIA restaurants such as MOJAVE, on 31st between 23 Ave and DITMARS, if it's still there.

This one particular time when she made the SUICIDAL CONFESSION, which I think was once we got back to her apartment.

First, MATTIE drank so much alcohol that I had to flag a cab down to drive us back to the apartment building even though the restaurant was within a 5 - 7 minute walking distance from our apartment. We walked there and would have walked back had she not gotten so fall down drunk.

Even though, she is very short, I could not handle MATTIE for that walk because she was so intoxicated, like fall down drunk. If I recall correctly, I took her directly to her apartment, which is where she made initial SUICIDAL CONFESSION and was talking about how unhappy her life was and how she was unhappy in her marraige.

I stayed with MATTIE for a little while because I was understandly concerned and wanted her to calm down and give some time for the alcohol to wear off. I think I tried to get her to drink some water and lay down but she was still fired up.

I don't recall if she came down to my apartment or I brought her down with me but when she came in my apartment, she was still so fall down drunk that she almost busted her face open on the glass side table we had in the living room when she was attempting to make her way to the couch.

MATTIE landed on the floor instead of the table and was laying in my relative's lap continuing to lament THAT SHE WANTED TO KILL HERSELF.

SOCIAL ISOLATION and RUINED RELATIONSHIPS, types of GANG STALKING that are very prevalent in my HARASSMENT.

These are perfect examples of lengths these sick, twisted, pathetic people will go through to harm targets with BLATANT LIES / SLANDER to ISOLATE and RUIN RELATIONSHIPS. How do you manage to turn people like this who I had good relationships with against me? Someone who I had no issues with and had a fairly close and long relationship with, decades, since I was a child, same for ALI, we did not have a close relationship but have the longevity, and also friendly / neighborly greeting and I actually known him and NADYA longer than MATTIE. I believe NADYA and ALI were living here before MATTIE and RICKY moved here, remember I been part of this neighborhood / community since 1976.

When NAYDA, ALI's wife /gf / sponsor. (I don't know the exact nature of the relationship) but when she was sick, my relative had a close relationship with her up until her death, NADYA made food for my relative and spent time with my relative and my relative did things for NADYA when she was sick / dying.

NADYA had also been there for my relative many years before she got sick for a short spell prior to NADYA getting sick and dying.

ISOLATION For this harassment to be successful, it’s important to be able to isolate the target from friends, family members, co-workers and even spouses if they are not already involved in the harassment. To accomplish this isolation many methods are used included, but not limited to: slander, lies, fake files, sabotage, anything that will get the target into a situation where they have no support system. This is important for them to succeed.

RUINED RELATIONSHIPS When targets are in a relationship, the members of the Organized Gang Stalking group will try to ruin that relationship. This could be friendships, family or significant others. If it’s a romantic relationship, they will find out what your significant other likes and try to get them to cheat, or leave you. If it’s a friendship they will tell lies to come between you. The same goes for family. This is done so that targets will have no means of support, once they do realize that something is going wrong in their lives. When this Mobbing continues out in the community it is called Organized Stalking. Organized Stalking is Mobbing that takes place out in public. Deception using lies about the target appear to be the most common method used to get citizens to participate. Specifically, smear campaigns using bogus investigations. Furthermore, it is likely that they take advantage of existing federally-sponsored mechanisms, such as community crime watch or community policing organizations, senior citizens organizations, & religious groups, & use them as unsuspecting instruments in their retaliation campaigns. Many people across the country have reported being harassed by these community groups. Some of these people they’re using think they’re doing a community service. This is a very well funded & organized service/cult that is apparently condoned or even run by the state. The perpetrators of Organized Gang Stalking are serious criminals who do great damage, and the acts done are very serious crimes by any measure. Organized Gang stalking is a highly criminal campaign, one directed at a target individual, and one that aims to destroy an innocent persons life through covert harassments, malicious slander and carefully crafted and executed psychological assaults. Organized Gang Stalking deprives the targeted individual of their basic constitutional rights and destroys their freedom, setting a stage for the destruction of a person, socially, mental and physical, through a ceaseless assault that pervades all areas of a persons life.

In addition to the HATE CRIME element to the ongoing stalking and harassment there is a Religious Zealotry / Nuttery / Judgmental / Fundamentalism / Extremism element to my daily harassment as I am being harassed by mostly Muslim and Latino people. Based on facts / my observation, I would estimate that 9 out of 10 people harassing me on a daily basis are Muslim or Latino, with Muslims ranking number 1, Muslims who appear to be from Middle Eastern / Arab countries and countries on the Asian continent. All of the tenants in my apartment building are involved in my daily harassment, especially the 3 apartments surrounding my apartment. 2 of the apartments are occupied by Muslim tenants and the 3rd apartment is occupied by Latino tenants. Out of the 9 apartments in my apartment building. 2 of the tenants, including myself are African American, the remaining 7 apartments are occupied by Latino and Muslim tenants, with the Muslims being in the majority. IMPORTANT UPDATE REGARDING CHANGE OF TENANCY IN APT BLDG (NEW TENANT(S) AS OF FEBRUARY 1, 2023): 1 OF THE FAMILIES IN THE APT BLDG MOVED OUT TUESDAY, JANUARY 31, 2023. I BELIEVE THESE TENANTS WERE AFRO-LATINO OR BLACK FOLK OF CARRIBBEAN DESCENT (I HAVE KNOWN THEM SINCE I WAS YOUNG, PROBABLY LATE TEENS EARLY TWENTIES) IN MY MIND I WAS THINKING I BET THE NEXT TENANTS TO MOVE INTO THEIR APT IS EITHER MUSLIM OR LATINO, MOST LIKELY MUSLIM

[thelittlevillager]

Love and Respect

Lessons from Love and Respect by Dr Emerson Eggerichs

The Crazy Cycle: Without love, she reacts without respect. Without respect, he reacts without love.

You can be right but wrong at the top of your voice. 

The problem with life is that it’s so daily. 

Each one of you also must love his wife as he loves himself, and the wife must respect her husband (Ephesians 5:33)

When a husband feels disrespected, he has a natural tendency to react in ways that feel unloving to his wife. When a wife feels unloved, she has a natural tendency to react in ways that feel disrespectful to her husband. 

The wife must be willing to treat her husband respectfully without conditions. 

Decide that your wife does not intend to be disrespectful, and that your husband does not intend to be unloving. 

The wife needs love; she is not trying to be disrespectful. The husband needs respect; he is not trying to be unloving. Once you grasp this basic principle – that the “issue” is not the real issue at all – you are on your way to cracking the communication code. 

God designed the woman to love. He’s not going to command her to agape her husband when He created her to do that in the first place. A young wife is created to agape her husband and children. Ultimately, she will never stop unconditionally loving them. But in the daily wear and tear of life, she is in danger of becoming discouraged – so discouraged that she may lack phileo. A kind of impatient unfriendliness can come over her. She may scold and sigh way too much. After all, there is always something or someone who needs correcting. She cares deeply. Her motives are filled with agape, but her methods lack phileo. 

She criticizes out of love, but he “hears” only disrespect. 

Learn how to decode each other’s messages. Whenever a wife is complaining, criticizing or crying, she is sending her encoding message: “I want your love!” and whenever a husband is speaking harshly or sometimes not speaking at all, he is sending his encoded message: “I want your respect.”

1 Peter 3:1-2. Husbands who are “disobedient to the word… may be won… by… respectful behavior”. A simple application is that a wife is to display a respectful facial expression and tone when he fails to be the man she wants. She can give her husband unconditional respect in tone and expression while confronting his unloving behavior and without endorsing his unloving reactions. 

The way to full love a husband is to respect him in ways that are meaningful to him. 

She wants to be cherished as a princess, not revered as a queen. She longs to be first in importance to him. The husband is to be considered “first among equals”. He is her equal, but he is called upon to be the first to provide, to protect – and even to die if necessary. The husband with goodwill and good sense knows that it isn’t his right, but it is his responsibility. She, on the other hand, possesses something within that thirsts to be valued as “first in importance”. When he honors her as first in importance and she respects him as first among equals, their marriage works.

Husbands don’t have to “earn respect” any more than wives don’t have to “earn love”.

As women fear being unloved, men fear being disrespected (held in contempt). 

When a wife scolds her husband, she’s only trying to help correct things, to keep things on an even keel. And there is no doubt at times men need this kind of help. But when a man begins to feel that what his wife is saying reduces him to a child being scolded, there can be trouble. He doesn’t necessarily see his wife’s heart; he only hears her words, which are saying that she is looking down on him. 

“What if your son grew up and married someone like you?”

Constantly ask yourself, “Is what I’m about to say or do going to come across as respectful or disrespectful?” This prevents a wife from misrepresenting her heart by coming across too negatively. 

We easily see what is done to us before we see what we are doing to our mate. 

So who should make the first move? The one who sees himself or herself as the most mature. You know if your spouse acted first, you would respond positively. Knowing that, do you really believe that your spouse doesn’t have enough goodwill to react lovingly or respectfully if you make the first move? When you touch your spouse’s deepest need, something good almost always happens. The key to energizing your spouse is meeting your spouse’s heartfelt desire. 

Obeying God’s Word does not make a wife a powerless hypocrite. Actually, it makes her a woman who loves and reverences God. Showing respectful behavior when we don’t “feel respectful” is evidence of maturity, not hypocrisy. 

Have a firm commitment to get to the Love and Respect sentences before going to bed. “Be angry, and yet do not sin; do not let the sun go down on your anger” (Ephesians 4:26). The struggle is in humbling yourself, authentically making these two brief statements, and then letting them lead to an honest discussion. 

It is easier to forgive when you let go of the belief that your spouse intended evil. “Bear with each other and forgive whatever grievances you may have against one another. Forgive as the Lord forgave you” (Colossians 3:13). 

In the eyes of God, wife’s disrespect is equal to husband’s lack of love. She does not feel she has a right to judge too severely. Forgiveness comes when we see our own unrighteousness. How can we refuse to forgive an offense when we, too, have offended? “Do not judge so that you will not be judged. For in the way you judge, you will be judged… Why do you look at the speck that is in your brother’s eye, but do not notice the log that is in your own eye?” (Matthew 7:1-3). Forgiving is the direct opposite of judging. Nothing is easier than judging, nothing is harder than forgiving, and nothing can reap more blessings. 

Ask the Lord to change the look on her face and the feelings she has. 

Energizing Cycle: His love motivates her respect; Her respect motivates his love. 

The first year of marriage is fundamental. It is important to set the tone for the closeness of the relationship, before the wear and tear of life takes the husband away for periods of time, before they face other problems. 

Wives are expressive-responsive, while husbands are compartmentalized. Think of this difference as two types of electrical circuits. On one circuit there are three thousand lights, and the circuit is so designed that if one light gets smashed, the whole string goes our. On the other circuit there are three thousand lights, and it is designed so that if you smash two thousand of these lights, the other thousand will still work.

The best marriage relationships have some conflict. It’s almost as if you need a degree of conflict to keep the passion there. The sequence seems to have the couple experience a misunderstanding; they have a minor argument, a bump of some kind. But as they work through this conflict, they deepen their understanding of each other and value and appreciate one another all the more as they reconcile the conflict. Don't refuse to make peace by running from conflict with your spouse. Conflict is not a sign you have a bad marriage. 

“The husband must fulfill his duty to his wife, and likewise also the wife to her husband. The wife does not have authority over her own body, but the husband does; and likewise also the husband does not have authority over his won body, but his wife does” (1 Corinthians 7:3-4). Because you have equal but differing needs, you will experience conflict. But you can work this out as partners. The husband should not act independently from his wife, and the wife should not act independently from her husband. A husband and wife should and can act together. 

It is as if God said, “I’m going to allow for tension to exist in your marriage. I intend for you to work this our, because as you work out your tensions, your relationship is going to deepen and then deepen some more, and you’re going to continue to go through life working it out -  back and forth, back and forth.”

Be ready with reasons that you respect him. Look at his desires and not his performances. “The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak” (Matthew 26:41) and “Indeed, there is not a righteous man [or woman] on earth who continuously does good and who never sins” (Ecclesiastes 7:20). 

CHAIRS

Conquest – Appreciate his desire to work and achieve

Conquest – the natural inborn desire of the man to go out and “conquer” the challenges of his world – to work and achieve. As a wife, if you can start to understand how important your husband’s work is to him, you will take a giant step toward communicating respect and honor, two things that he values even more than your love. 

Your first job is to be sure that you support his efforts for conquest – to get out there to work and achieve. Don’t dishonor or subtly criticize his work “in the field”.

Hierarchy – Appreciate his desire to protect and provide

The husband is given the awesome responsibility to love his wife just as Christ loved the church and gave Himself up for her. That is why the good-willed husband who understands this passage sees it as his duty to protect his wife. At the same time, the wife is called upon to place herself under that protection. This is the biblical definition of hierarchy. It is not male superiority for the sake of putting down the female. It is the male’s responsibility to place himself over the female and protect her. 

Men are more vulnerable to criticism when it is related to “headship” issues. 

Authority – Appreciate his desire to serve and to lead

Go on record with your husband that you see him as having 51% of the responsibility and therefore, 51% of the authority. 

Praise his good decisions. Be gracious if he makes a bad decision. Disagree with him only in private and honor his authority in front of the kids.

Insight – His desire to analyze and counsel

The husband wants the same kind of respect at home that he receives at work. 

The bottom line to appreciating a man’s desire to analyze and counsel is to realize he does have insight and to beware of any self-righteousness that might undermine his insight. Admit that you also have sins, issues, and weaknesses (in areas that he has strengths) and that you don’t have perfect judgment in every case. You counsel him respectfully when you differ with his ideas (you can be right but wrong at the top of your voice). 

Relationship – Appreciate his desire for shoulder-to-shoulder friendship

Respond to his invitation to engage in recreational activities together or you come along to watch him (you don’t have to go every time, but just now and then will energize him more than you realize). Encourage him to spend time alone, which energizes him to reconnect with you later. 

Sexuality – Appreciate his desire for sexual intimacy

Just as he should minister to your spirit to have access to your body, so, too, you should minister to his body if you want to gain access to his spirit. Sex is symbolic of his deeper need – respect. 

There are two aspects to understand your husband sexually. First, realize that his sexuality is much different from yours. The second aspect of being able to appreciate your husband’s sexual desire for you is that he needs sexual release just as you need emotional release (intimacy). 

“Why would you deprive him of something that takes such a short amount of time and makes him soooo happy?!”

How does a husband spell love to his wife? COUPLE

Closeness – Am I always remembering to move toward her and accept her need to talk and connect with me to be reassured of my love?

Openness – Do I share my thoughts with her, and am I sure I’m not resisting her efforts to draw me out?

Understanding  - Am I careful not to try to “fix” her every time she talks about one of her concerns or problems? Am I remembering that she is an integrated personality and whatever happens affects all of her, especially her emotions? 

Peacemaking – Am I always willing to resolve issues, and am I careful to never say, “let’s just drop it and move on”?

Loyalty – Do I constantly look for ways to tell her that I will be loyal to her forever – that she’s the one love of my life, the only woman for me?

Esteem – Do I always let her know that I treasure her and put highest value on her as a person? Do I let her know that what she does and thinks are important to me? Does she know I couldn’t possibly do without her? 

How does a wife spell respect for her husband? 

Conquest – Am I always standing behind him and letting him know I support him in his work and endeavors in his field? 

Hierarchy – Do I let him know I respect and appreciate his desire to protect and provide for me and the family? What have I said recently to communicate this? 

Authority – Have I gone on record that, because he has the primary responsibility for me (even to die for me), I recognize him as having the primary authority? Do I let him be the leader? How have I helped in that regard recently? 

Insight – Do I trust is ability to analyze things and offer solutions and not just depend on my “intuition”?

Relationship – Do I spend shoulder-to-shoulder time with him whenever I can? Do I let him know that I am his friend as well as his lover? 

Sexuality – Do I honor his need for sexual release even when I don’t feel like it? 

Eve had paradise but wanted more. In a fallen world, you cannot always have “more”. You can’t grasp the Holy Grail of perfection, which is always beyond your reach. But you can embrace Love and Respect, which will always provide more than enough to energize your marriage. 

Rewarded Cycle: His love blesses regardless of her respect; Her respect blesses regardless of his love. 

A husband’s unconditional love mirrors Christ’s love for the church and a wife’s unconditional respect is like the church’s reverence for Christ. 

Whatever we do as to the lord, we will receive back from the Lord. In marriage, everything you do counts, even if your spouse ignores you! If we take our eyes off Christ (or never put our eyes on Christ in the first place), we are building on sand, and when the storms come we can be swept away. 

“Well done, good and faithful servant! You have been faithful with a few things; I will put you in charge of many things. Come and share your master’s happiness!” (Matthew 25:21). “Serve wholeheartedly, as if you were serving the Lord, not men, because you know that the Lord will reward everyone for whatever good he does” (Ephesians 6:7-8).

Make a concerted effort to speak respectfully, rather than just going with emotions. 

Whatever I do for my spouse, I do it to Christ as well. In the ultimate sense, your marriage has nothing to do with your spouse. It has everything to do with your relationship to Jesus Christ. 

Yes, you will fail to perfectly love and respect, but that doesn’t mean that you don’t love Christ. In fact, your love for Christ is what gets you started again. You practice love or respect because beyond your spouse you see Jesus Christ and you envision a moment when you will be standing before Him at the final judgment, realizing that your marriage was really a tool and a test to deepen and demonstrate your love and your reverence for your Lord.  

Marriage is a test of how you unconditionally love and respect your spouse as you obey, honor and please the Lord. Primarily, you don’t practice love and respect to meet your needs in your marriage, as important as these are. Your first goal is to obey and please Christ. 

My response to my spouse is my responsibility. Your spouse doesn’t cause you to be the way you are, he/she only reveals the way you are. 

No matter how depressing or irritating my spouse might be, my response is my responsibility. 

Think of a speck of sand. If the sand gets in the human eye, it causes irritation, then infection, and if not cared for, eventually loss of vision. But put that speck of sand in an oyster. It causes irritation, then secretion, and eventually the oyster forms a pearl. Was the sand the primary cause of the results in the eye? Was the sand the primary cause of the results in the oyster? No. If it were, the results would be the same. The sand was an agent that revealed the inner properties of the eye and of the oyster. In a real sense, when life with your spouse causes irritation, you can let it develop into an infection or you can allow it to become a pearl. 

You can experience disappointment, but it is your choice to disrespect or be unloving. I can experience hurt, but it is my choice to hate.

“Live as free men… Show proper respect to everyone: Love the brotherhood” (1 Peter 2:16-17). First, the phrase “live as free men” refers to the same inner freedom. In any setting, you can experience inner freedom independent of your circumstances. Second, we see the evidence that we are inwardly free when we can honor and love others. 

I didn’t have to respect him based on his behavior but on who he is as a man, made in the image of God. 

As you learn the truth and seek to act upon it with unconditional respect or unconditional love, realize that you’re leaving a legacy. Parents want their children to love and respect them, but if they aren’t showing love and respect to each other, what kind of legacy are they leaving behind? A husband provides a good example for his children when he unconditionally loves their mother. To walk in the truth means to order your life by the Word of God. If we want our children to walk in the truth, we must live that same truth before them.

Change prayers from “bless me and change him” to “change me and bless him”. 

When we know that we are full and complete in Christ, and our identities are not given to use by our husbands, it is so much easier to Love and Respect. 

Your marriage is a test of your devotion to Christ. He tests you to show you that you can do this, and when you do, your inner freedom will increase. 

The real purpose behind showing love and respect to one another is to glorify God and to obey what He teaches in His word. 

Oneness is undermined, not through daily problems, but when he has an unloving attitude and she has a disrespectful attitude. 

“You do not have because you do not ask” (James 4:2). It is talking about asking for power to cope with life’s real problems. What we should be praying is, “God, here is what is on Your heart. Please fulfill your desires in me.”

Never say, “you are unloving.” Instead, say, “That felt unloving. Did I come across as disrespectful?” If he says yes, say, “I’m sorry for being disrespectful. Will you forgive me? How can I come across more respectfully?”

Disrespect never motivates love, and lack of love never motivates respect. 

Have confidence in God’s Word. Quietness shouts to a husband. A gentle spirit will bring out the gentleman in him. Unemotional and positive appeals will have their effect on any good-willed man. 

One way to look at it is that in family matters, you are the hare and he is the turtle. You can tear down the track and leave him in the dust, but that will not make you win the race. Your respect will bring him out of his shell and motivate his movements. His movements will be much slower than you prefer, but it will do you little good to run circles around him, tapping on his shell with your stout stick of judgment. Be patient and make the following your motto: “If I can’t say anything respectful, I won’t say anything at all.”

[flusterfluff]

This is gonna be a long one.

One of the things I’m really insecure about is how I communicate with people. Over text or with my voice, there are some particular quirks that I’m rather acutely aware that I have, and I know that some people won’t like them,  or might just flat out dislike or think less of me because of them.

One that might be more obvious to anyone who has talked to me a lot is the frequency of my messages, and how I’ll occasionally send several back to back. There’s actually a reason for this, believe it or not. It’s not just some annoying quirk that’s there for nothing.

For the longest time, I had problems with people misinterpreting my tone over the internet. I grew up with a developmental disability that made it harder for me to convey certain things, and this has gotten me into trouble. People would think that I was upset with them, or acting smug, or being rude because of perceived tone. This is in real life, as well as online. When I gained access to the internet, and being able to type instead of talk, a lot of the coping mechanisms that I learned to deal with that didn’t transfer well. A lot of my stuff was wordy, my word choice perhaps lent itself to more of a pseudo-intellectual style, just because that’s how I was used to talking.

I learned that a good way to negate this was to shorten my responses to things considerably and compartmentalize my speech and thinking. This also helped fix another problem had with me monologue-ing and textwalling by intentionally making myself easier to interrupt, allowing other people more input, because I was prone to rambling on. This also let me add an additional layer of tone and pacing, and made it so people that thought I was ignoring them while typing a textwall had more reliable and more responsive feedback to the fact that I had actually seen their messages.

I think a lot of these are still valid reasons to continue talking in private as I do. Some people might disagree, and think that how I respond to personal messages is a bit too informal and lax. That’s... honestly fine with me. 

I was going to move on to another thing, but that right there, what I just typed, gives me a good transition point. Ellipses are something I use naturally, and probably a lot more often than people might think I should. However, I’ve found them similarly critical in conveying pacing, which is a large part of tone. A message can be read a lot differently if you don’t take the proper spaces, and I try to make my online speech mirror my real life speech in almost all aspects.

All except one, which manages to creep through occasionally anyway. I swear. A lot. And some people take offense to this. While I could counterargue that they’re just words and to deny me the veritable swiss army knife that is the word “fuck” would be a great disservice to myself, the way I speak, and all the people I speak to, and censorship is bad, society is silly, and blah blah blah, I’m... not going to do that. Not quite, anyway.

People are perfectly permitted to be upset with how much I swear, because society for some reason decided that some words are bad. That’s fine, not gonna try to change that. However, I would like to try to explain why I cuss as often as I do. 

There are three main reasons, at least in real life, that I will swear. One, for emphasis. This one’s a given. This one probably happens online more than in real life, but I will occasionally break out the F-word to accentuate a point, or I might let an S-word slip just as an expletive because I can’t believe the scope of something, or am sufficiently astonished.

Another thing that happens in real life is that I use it for tempo and pacing, controlling the flow of my words to deliver the correct amount of impact. Most common, though is that I use it to buffer sentences or stall while I look for a word. In every day life, I have a lot to remember, and I’m not exactly the fastest to recall a particular word or detail. It’s not always a trailing expletive, or a “****, I can’t remember”, it’s occasionally used more sneakily mid-sentence as an adjective or adverb so that I can further plan out the end of a sentence. This, you won’t see online as much because I have something here that I’ve grown accustomed to that I don’t have in real life.

Online, you can backspace. Online, you can hit shift+enter for a line break and not be rushed or pressured to pump out the next part of an idea that you’re presently working on forming immediately. Sometimes it takes a few seconds or even a few minutes for me to figure out how to articulate a word or thought, and I can’t just take breaks like that in real life. So I use expletives to pad my sentences for thinking time. It’s a thing that’s relatively hard for me to stop at will, but if it gets pointed out, it’s something that will not only stop immediately, but if I’m not allowed to cuss, like if I’m around children in public or something, I’ll often just stop talking entirely and close up. Not because I’m upset with anyone or afraid of interacting, but because I just can’t really communicate as well without that buffer window.

It’s something I’m really insecure about, and I can’t really help it. I don’t know why I’m putting this all here, I guess I just needed to get it off my chest. There’s more to this all, but probably for another time. It feels good to get this all out on a webpage. I don’t really have a closing statement or conclusion to this all so, I guess... Just time to put it out there and be judged for it, I guess.