#we can all just offer our opinions on the situation

[farshootergotme]

The Bruce-dies-not-Jason AU...

Because I love angst :)

That part about Titans coming around to offer emotional support for Dick...I am now picturing ways for it to go really wrong.

Dick, who at this point is still reeling from the death of Bruce and running himself ragged trying to keep Gotham more or less intact (the Rogues seem to have sensed something is up), breaking down and telling one of the team that he feels so messed up.

He's grieving, but he's also really really angry. Not just at the Joker who deserves all and more of it, but at Bruce for dying and leaving him a mantle too big to step into, and even at Jason for running away and triggering all of this.

He doesn't really blame them, he knows it wasn't Jason's fault, but he's still so angry. He's muffling it all up within, but that's only hurting worse.

Pretty much a natural reaction, given the condition he is in. And understandable that he will be masks-off with the Titans after having to play the emotional support for his family.

Only, unknown to them, Jason is eavesdropping...

Well, as much as it isn't a bad idea to cause some drama, I don't think Dick would really go that way with his feelings? He does hate wearing the cowl and feeling like he's cosplaying the Batman instead of fitting the suit as the new protector of Gotham, but he's not the type to put the blame on others.

If anything, that mostly happens with Bruce. Like when Jason died and he blamed Dick, or when Alfred died and he implied it was Damian's fault.

Dick would most likely blame himself, as he admits having a tendency to do so.

The New Titans #57

The New Titans #55

While the angst sounds good, I can't picture Dick saying something like "I'm angry at Bruce for dying" or "I'm angry Jason fell into the Joker's trap".

You could say he was angry at Bruce when Jason died, but that was mostly because Bruce didn't tell him anything about it, tried to make him feel guilty for not attending the funeral when he hadn't even been notified, and then proceeded to basically tell him it was his fault his little brother was dead. So, yeah, Dick was angry, but that wasn't unprovoked. He actually had come originally to talk with Bruce because he knew he was going through a rough time after Jason's death.

Now, he can be more angry when the people he loves die, and he snaps more often than he normally would with all the stress, guilt and grief added into the mix, but he isn't angry at people, he's just angry. Or I would rather put it as the anger being a mask for the pain he's feeling because he can't always allow himself to be truly vulnerable when there's so much he still needs to do.

When Bruce "died" in the main continuity, there was a lot he had to do. Gotham needed him to be Batman, Jason needed to be stopped, Tim needed him to be the rock of the family, Damian needed him as a mentor and Alfred needed him to keep going, knowing that while one son was gone, there still was another son left. (Yes, Dick is Alfred's second son.)

And despite everything, he never stated being angry at any of them for the situation. Not even Bruce. What he did was lament his death because he wasn't ready for him to go.

Batman #687

I think the only way I could make this scenario work is if it's all a misunderstanding or Jason misheard something Dick said.

But if you like the idea, you do you. We all have our opinions and interpretations.

[maxwellatoms]

In one of your last answers, you said “series reboots are usually pretty gross and sad”, and I was wondering if you could expand on that? Assuming “reboot” covers any kind of continuation of a currently cancelled or finished show (and maybe that’s the wrong assumption!), from the outside looking in it feels like a pretty mixed bag. On one hand, if I love XYZ Show, it’s cool that I get more stories with these characters and another chance to support XYZ Show and its creators. On the other, it definitely feels like a lot of ideas can only get funding if they’re tied to something already, meaning creatives are having to now tie whatever cool idea they have to some reboot/relaunch/retread, which can feel pretty disheartening if you don’t want to do a reboot/relaunch/retread. Is that a similar feeling from your side of the industry?

Thank you so much for all your answers and insight!

Usually reboots and spin-offs are just cash grabs. It happens a lot in animation. In fact, I would argue that the entire industry is just one big cash grab now. In the 80s, everyone complained that cartoons were just half-hour commercials for toys. And they were right. And we're right back there, but now that you can't legally push toys all day, it's just general "IP". Mugs, posters, more spinoffs, whatever.

I was offered three show running gigs over the pandemic. All reboots that I would consider unwise to pursue because they were "of a different time" and didn't (in my opinion) have anything more to say. Two of them were properties created by notorious sex pests, so there's also that. The animation industry loves to prop up its sex pests.

I turned all of them down, partially because I didn't respect the original creators but also because none of them had anything going for them except just being "more of the same".

I don't think any of those projects survived the intervening years, so in retrospect I maybe should've taken the job. I'd probably feel a bit gross, but at least I'd have floors in my house.

The entertainment industry is in a bad spot. The whole thing. I've had I don't know how many pitch meetings in the last few years, and they all start the same way:

"Hey! Before we start, we just want to let you know that we're not actively producing anything right now. We think maybe soon, but we won't be picking anything up today..."

And then later:

"The little we are doing is IP, so if you have a new take on our IP or a new IP you're connected to that you can bring in, that'd be great."

I always wanted to make original stuff. There came a time when I'd had my fill of Billy & Mandy and wanted to do something else new and original. That never manifested, and I was constantly being offered IP to produce. I turned too many of those down, maybe, before deciding that it was probably better that I run the IPs that mean something to me rather than having some hack do it.

But now those jobs have all gone to celebrities and fallen live-action writers, who are also slowly being eaten by the system. WB was hot for Scooby stuff a few years back, so I pitched some ideas. A few of them were turned down for being "off-brand" in a variety of ways. WB has now made (I think) all of those off-brand shows (or something close) with celebrity show runners.

I was going through a whole Midlife Impostor Syndrome thing recently where I was wondering if maybe I don't just suck. Like, it's weird that for a couple of decades I'd have people calling me trying to get me to run shows, and now nobody will call me back about the possibility of a design job.

Talking to some friends and realizing that they were in a similar situation helped me feel like I wasn't alone. That was nice. Talking to some of the most talented colleagues in my industry made me made me realize that those people weren't getting jobs either. That was unnerving. Talking to complete strangers in other parts of the entertainment industry now has me thinking that the whole house of cards is coming down. That's real concerning, yo.

It's hard not to think it's purposeful, when deranged billionaires own the entirety of our media and want to shape a society where they can't be criticized. We're letting wealthy tech bros firebomb the very heart of our culture, and it's weird that no one is talking about it. Because (for now) we still have that capability.

[felassan]

Source: posted to Twitter just now by Jon Renish [link]

Transcript:

"Terminated BioWare Employees Sue for Better Severance On August 23 of this year, Edmonton video game studio BioWare ULC terminated 50 employees without cause. In most recent court cases of termination without cause, Alberta Courts have awarded at least one month of severance pay per year of service, with the full value of all benefits included; the severance that BioWare offered to these employees was significantly less than this amount. Several of those ex-employees attempted to negotiate with BioWare for adequate severance, but BioWare refused to increase its severance amounts. Seven employees, with an average of 14 years at BioWare, have refused to accept BioWare's low offers, and have filed a Statement of Claim with Alberta's Court of King's Bench, requesting fair severance pay and including a request for punitive damages for what they say is unreasonably poor treatment by BioWare. "In light of the numerous recent industry layoffs and the fact that BioWare's NDAs prevent us from showing any of our recent work on Dragon Age: Dreadwolf in our portfolios, we are very concerned about the difficulty many of us will have finding work as the holiday season approaches," said one of the terminated employees, "While we remain supportive of the game we worked so hard on, and of our colleagues continuing that work, we are struggling to understand why BioWare is shortchanging us in this challenging time." R. Alex Kennedy, counsel for the seven employees, says that even in cases where BioWare has contracts that discuss termination, BioWare may have included illegal provisions: "There are many situations where employers include termination provisions that are not enforced by the Courts," he said, "and I think we see that in this case too. BioWare attempted to reduce its obligation to these employees well below what the courts typically award, including by eliminating benefits from its termination pay - that appears to be contrary to the Employment Standards Code." In Kennedy's opinion, these employees deserve generous severance pay: "These people are artists and creators who have worked very hard and for a very long time in a difficult industry, producing big profits for their employer. Their termination without cause en masse like this calls for a response. Employers here can terminate anyone at any time without cause, but with that right comes a responsibility to the people they put in that situation.""

[ms-demeanor]

i’m curious what your opinion is on the finer points of the case mentioned in the JSTOR post you reblogged earlier. the two sources in the post say that JSTOR didn’t press charges against him and had already settled with him by the time he killed himself. from what i read on wikipedia, the concern seems to be that JSTOR complied with a subpoena, which i don’t believe they have a choice to ignore? if anything it seems like the us government had reason to want him dead for wikileaks and public court records reasons, so they took a terms of use violation and blew it up into a dozen federal crimes.

is there more context i should be aware of? i have no particular affection or malice for JSTOR but the sources i found don’t exactly implicate the database or its employees in murder.

That's from page 175 of this document. This line: "The activity noted is outright theft and may merit a call with university counsel, and even the local police, to ensure not only that the activity has stopped but that - e.g. the visiting scholar who left - isn't leaving with a hard drive containing our database" is where I think the culpability starts.

If someone is downloading 1000s of articles (what seems like reasonable threshold for us to take action), what's wrong with us - or the university in collaboration with us - alerting the cyber-crimes division of law enforcement and initiating an investigation, having cop search dorm room and try to retrieve any hard drive that contains our content, etc. Our content is extraordinarily valuable and hard to replicate by the sweat of one's brow, but can be duplicated by savvy hackers and who knows what they want to do with the content?

Page 379: "Does the university contact law enforcement? Would they be willing to do so in this instance?

From page 1296:

I think the important thing to note here is that JSTOR had worked with MIT and had plans in place to prevent future similar downloads, but remained focused on identifying the person responsible for the downloads and ensuring that their data was deleted.

"I might just be irked because I am up dealing with this person on a Sunday night, but I am starting to feel like they need to get a hold of this situation right away or we need to offer to send them some help (read FBI).

And there it is. Page 3093 of the document.

JSTOR can hem and haw about it all they want, but you can't un-call the cops.

MIT was working with JSTOR on preventing future incidents of pirating, but JSTOR repeatedly said that they weren't going to let it go, that it was unacceptable to drop the issue, that they were going to continue to pursue the pirate.

You can scroll through the document and see the JSTOR tech department and abuse team talking about Swartz as a script kiddie, and a hacker. You can see someone talking about how this was real theft - making the comparison to stealing books even while admitting that piracy doesn't close others out of access.

You can see the thread starts with a joke about punching someone in the face for hacking their system, and includes the tech team ominously considering whether they should threaten the MIT librarians with the FBI.

There's something really important to note here which I don't think that people who aren't PRETTY DEEP into hackery shit aren't aware of: US law enforcement is absolutely rabidly feral about prosecuting hackers. People may be more aware of this now because of Chelsea Manning and Edward Snowden (and perhaps a bit on tumblr because of maia arson crimew), but people who work in tech and who are in infosec - like the people joking about calling the FBI in these emails - would be aware of the bonkers disproportionate punishments faced by hackers. And knowing that, they kept pushing and pushing and pushing for identification of the hacker. They kept digging with MIT, they kept saying that simply preventing future incidents wasn't enough.

Early in the exchange someone from JSTOR asked "what's wrong with us - or the university in collaboration with us - alerting the cyber-crimes division of law enforcement and initiating an investigation, having cop search dorm room and try to retrieve any hard drive that contains our content, etc." and the answer is what happened to Aaron Swartz.

It is absolute bullshit for JSTOR to say "we arrived at a solution privately and didn't want to press charges" after law enforcement has gotten involved with a hacking case, especially one where they're talking about "real theft" and are attempting to quantify and emphasize the amount that was "stolen" from them.

The *public* may believe that private individuals or institutions are the ones who "press charges" but that's simply not the case. It's prosecutors who decide whether or not to go ahead with charges; they do it based on what cases they think they can win and what their office's perspective is on the crime. When you hear about people choosing to press charges it simply means that they decided to tell the prosecutor they wanted the case to go forward. It's up to the prosecutor whether or not that happens.

And the tech team at JSTOR had to know that law enforcement wasn't just going to wag a finger at an academic hacker.

There's a parallel here that happens sometimes when people have their identities stolen by their parents. If you mom takes out a credit card in your name, that's identity theft. That's fraud. That's illegal. If you reach the age of 25 and realize that your credit is ruined because your mom has been defaulting on cards in your name, you've got two choices to fix that: one is to accept the debt and pay it off and build up credit, and the other is to report the identity theft - which will end up with your mom in prison for a decade or so. Ruin your own personal finances, or your mom goes to jail for ruining your finances. So if you find out that your mom stole your identity you can't just call the cops to pressure her into transferring the debt to her name or something. That's not an option. The cops are not a threat to wave over people, they are not a way to get people to fall in line or act right. They aren't someone you can send to a college student's dorm room to retrieve a hard drive and have the matter drop.

When you call the cops on someone you are sending the full force of the law after them, and the full force of the law falls really heavily on hackers, and how heavy that blow can be is something that the JSTOR team must have been aware of when they were making snide comments about calling the FBI because they were frustrated with the noncommittal responses they were getting from librarians.

Ultimately it was the carceral state that killed Aaron Swartz, but they would not have been involved if JSTOR didn't think that what he did constituted theft.

Taking an *EVEN LARGER* step back from that, the idea that information can be owned and locked behind a paywall is what killed Aaron Swartz, someone who fought for information to be free.

Like. JSTOR is a licensing company. At the end of the day, cute social media posts and all, they're the same as the RIAA and ASCAB. They exist to extract a fee from people attempting to access information.

Aaron Swartz and all that he stood for are an existential threat to their core function.

Are JSTOR's hands as dirty as the federal prosecutors? Absolutely not. But they operate on a model that puts them in opposition to open information activists and it ended up with a hammer falling on Aaron Swartz that they dropped.

[cameronspecial]

Rafe and reader - enemies to lovers

Protective!rafe with innocent!reader

She asks her best friends brother for help when she’s in trouble!

Safe In The Arms Of The Enemy

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: Fear of Being Followed and Walking Home Drunk Alone

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 1.2K

Masterlist

Y/N and Sarah have been best friends for as long as she can remember. Even though Y/N is three years older, they met when she was nine and Sarah was six. The two of them just clicked and they have been thick as thieves ever since. This led to their families growing close together. The Camerons were always so nice to Y/N; everyone except for Rafe. For some reason, he has always been bothered by Y/N and she reciprocates that feeling because his hate provokes her.

The music in Sarah’s room blares through the speakers while Y/N stands in front of the mirror, singing along to “Stressed Out” by Twenty One Pilots. She is sleeping over at the Camerons' house to keep Sarah company. Ward, Rose and Wheezie are on the mainland for Wheezie’s spelling bee and Rafe is who knows where. The girls had grown peckish, so Sarah offered to get some pizza, leaving behind her best friend at Tannyhill by herself. “Wish we could turn back time. To the good old days. When our mama sang us to sleep, But now we're stressed out.” Her right hand forms an o as she uses it as a microphone. Her focus is on her own reflection, so she doesn’t notice Rafe’s appearance behind her. He leans against the door frame with his arm above his head. “Wow, you would think with how rich your parents are that they would pay for singing lessons for you after hearing you screech like a banshee,” he teases. 

Her eyes roll in their socket and she turns to face him. She fires back, “Like I care about your opinion. I’ve seen your tastes and I’m glad that I’m not up to your standards.” “Whatever,” he grumbles. “Obviously you are blind because I have amazing tastes.” 

“Nah, I’m not the problem. You are,” she pushes to infuriate him. She steps forward and they are face to face. He crouches down so their eyes meet, “I wish I was the one with the problem because then I wouldn’t have to deal with you. I swear every time I see you at my house, which is all the time, I wonder when you are going to get the fuck out of my life because I hate that you are in it.” 

His words don’t meet his eyes, but she doesn’t notice. Instead, her mind takes the words to heart. A poke attacks her heart and it causes a tsunami of blood to come out. She can’t explain why she takes the word to heart; she returns the sentiment. Nevertheless, maybe she doesn’t feel as strongly as he does because as much as she loathes him, she couldn’t imagine her life without their quipful exchanges. He sees her tight lips and her silent demeanour; guilt flashes through him.

Before he can try to resolve the situation, Sarah passes behind him with a steaming pizza in her hand. “Ugh. Rafe, leave her alone. I would like to eat in peace,” she complains, setting the flat box on her desk. His hand runs over his lips as he thinks. “Fine, I don’t care. Later losers.” 

———

The ending of summer means Rafe and Y/N have to return back to UNC. When she found out he was going to the same university as her (she should’ve seen it coming because Ward is an alumnus), she hesitated to accept her position; however, she figured uni was a big place and the chances of running into him were slim. It has been true for the most part. They’ve only run into each other five times in the two years they have been at university.

She stumbles through the dark street with her head pounding. It wasn’t the best idea to be walking home alone while drunk, except she didn’t want to make her friends go home early. She lied to them and told them another friend was picking her up. Her feet catch on the pavement and a rock skips across the ground. A car passing beside her causes her to jump away from the road. Her inebriated state makes her more paranoid. She lets out a breath when the taillights fade into the distance. Laughter coming from behind her causes her to spin around. She spots men walking in her direction and even though they don’t appear to be looking at her, panic sets through her. She begins to walk faster as her breathing starts to get faster and she decides to run into an alley to hide. Her first thought is to call to help, so she pulls out her phone and dials the first number that comes to mind. “What do you want?” he grunts through the phone. “Rafe, I’m scared. I don’t know what to d-” She hears footsteps coming closer to her and hangs up. A trash can seems like the perfect cover, so she drops behind it against the wall.��

Rafe sits up straight from the couch and stares at the phone. The screen showing that the call has been ended makes him grow anxious. He begins to pace as he tries her phone again. His hand runs through his hair while he replays the fear in her mind. He is sent to voicemail and wants to through his phone against the wall. Another thought comes to mind and he decides against it. 

———

She doesn’t know how long she has been behind the garbage with her head pressed against her legs. She is honestly too scared to move in case those men are still around. It didn’t look like they were following her, but it is better safe than sorry. The alcohol in her system starts to affect her state of consciousness and she struggles to keep her eyes open. A hand on her back causes her to scream and jump back. Her head hits against the brick wall. She grimaces as she brings her hand up to rub the back of her head. “It’s okay, Sweetheart. It’s me, Rafe.” The familiar voice makes her look up to verify his identity. 

She sees his mop of dirty blonde hair and his stunning blue eyes stare back at her. She has never been so happy to see him. Her arms wrap around him to pull him against her, “I was so scared. Are they still out there?” She surveys the street once they separate. His hand cups her cheek to check her for injuries; he isn’t concerned about their surroundings. “Sweetheart, there is no one around. Are you okay? Are you hurt? Did someone do something to you?” He frowns at the last part, following her search with a hard expression to find the person he has to defend her against. She doesn’t find anyone and her shoulder drops in his hold. Her head rests against his chest. Tears begin staining his shirt. His hand laces between the hair at the nape of her neck and he gently scratches her scalp. He knows it soothes her. He kisses her forehead, “I’ve got you. You are safe.” For the first time tonight, Y/N feels safe and she is in the arms of her enemy.

Taglist: @winterrrnight @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @wickedlovely121 @thepatriarchykeychain @drewsmusee @starkowswife @maybankslover @forstarkey @loving-and-dreaming @magicalyoura @rubixgsworld

[lyjen]

Permanent basis

Summary: When a firefighter transfers from the 226 to firehouse 118, Evan immediately doesn’t like the guy. He shares his opinion with his friends, who don’t agree. But when Evan catches him doing something, he loses it.

9-1-1 masterlist

My requests are open! So feel free to send your idea’s 🫶🏽

“Okay 118 let’s gather ‘round and settle in. We have some outstanding tasks from our last shift, and I have an important announcement.” Bobby’s voice sounded over the floor of the firehouse. He was standing in front of the lined-up benches, ready to start the briefing.

Evan was standing behind the last bench, with (y/n) sitting on the red coloured bench in front of him. Hen was sitting next to (y/n), Eddie and Chimney were standing next to Evan himself. He let his right hand fall on (y/n)’s right shoulder, and he plants his lips quick on te back of her head. As he straightens his back again and opens his ears to hear what Bobby has to tell.

Everyone in the firehouse knew Evan and (y/n) were together, all of the members knew they would end up together before Evan and (y/n) did. They were the kind of people that would say: “we’re just friends” And “that is what friends do”. But at least they knew for sure their relationship had the right foundation.

“I’m gonna start with the important announcement.” Bobby started off. “As you know, we’ve had a few floaters for Lucy Donato’s spot at the 118. But we’ve found ourselves a replacement on the permanent basis. Everyone, meet Wes Hargrove.” He continued to speak as he held out a presenting hand towards the newest addition. Wes stood up and took place next to Bobby. “Wes transferred from firehouse 226. So.. let’s not scare him off.” Bobby said as he firmly put his hand on Wes his shoulder, as he proudly presents the newest addition to his crew. “Well I doubt if you can scare me out of one of the best firehouses in the city.” Wes spoke up as he smirked.

It took a few months before Lucy’s spot on the 118 was being filled. There was a firefighter shortage, which is understandable. Because volunteerly running into fires and other dangerous situations wasn’t for everyone.

Evan’s stomach made a turn when Wes stood next to his captain. He couldn’t exactly tell, but something was going on with this guy. He wasn’t sure what it was. But it gave him the feeling that he couldn’t be trusted. Why was he being transferred to 118? What happened at the 226 what made him switch houses?

“Hm. One of the best firehouses in the city and permanent basis? We don’t know anything about this guy.” Evan stated as he leaned over to his side to Eddie. Eddie shook his head with a grin spread on his face. It was typically Evan to react the way he did. “Yeah, well.. you also said you didn’t like Eddie but.. look at you now.” Hen said as she looked to her right, to try and face Evan.

“That was different.” He answered as he folded his arms and leaned forward. A confused look morphed onto Hen’s face. “How was that any different?” She asked Evan. It took him a few seconds to think of an answer to that question.

“Yeah. That’s what I thought.” Hen said when she didn’t receive an answer to her question and turned back around to face the briefing of Bobby. Evan clicked his spine back in place as Hen turned away from him. Evan didn’t need to look at (y/n) to know that she was at this exact moment, was grinning at what just happened.

“Yeah.. okay that was a mistake.” Evan tried to defend himself. “But we all know you and Chim were right about Jonah. So.. what are your thoughts?” He continued as he looked at Chimney and back at Hen. But nobody answered Evan’s question. They were listening to Bobby’s story about the outstanding tasks.

“Okay so that was it. Let’s get to work!” Bobby ended his briefing. All firefighters stood up and spread themselves out into the station.

When (y/n) stands up, she turns around to face Evan. She offers him a small smile, “let’s just not.. judge a book by its cover okay?” (Y/n) spoke softly when she let her hand fall on Evan’s chest and her thumb rubbed softly up and down his shirt. Evan narrowed his eyes. “I’m telling you.. there’s just something about him, that doesn’t add up..” he says as he looked at Wes with a judgmental expression flooded over his face.

(Y/n) knew Evan wasn’t great with changes. Especially with new crew members. He had the same thing when Eddie joined the 118, but also when (y/n) joined the team. It was like Evan was scared to be replaced. As if the people who recently joined, were after his spot at the 118.

When (y/n) joined the 118 about a year ago, Evan wasn’t quite nice to her neither. She understood, a stranger interfering a trusted environment. But all of the attitude seemed to fade when Evan got hurt on scene and she took care of him.

(Y/n)’s hand slides from his chest up to his cheek, as she moved his chin back so he was looking at her instead of Wes. She let her thumb softly rubbing over his cheek. “I just don’t want anyone to get hurt because we let him into our firehouse.” Evan spoke softly as he lets his hand rest on (y/n)’s waist. “Oh Evan..” she sighed, when she cupped his cheeks with both of her hands now and continued to rub her thumb against his cheek.

Evan let his forehead fall against hers, their noses almost touching each other. “I don’t know what it is about him, but I’m gonna find out.” he says as he leaned into the touch and close his eyes for a second. It felt nice, just a moment of no sirens, no adrenaline rushing through their veins, just a moment of silence.

“Really?” Evan said with desperation in his voice as he looked up, pretending to speak to the gods. The alarm sounded through the 118 firehouse, as they called out the ambulance number and casualty. “That’s my queue.” (Y/n) said as she breaks free out of Evan’s grip, and turns around to run towards the ambulance.

____

“Trauma bag” Buck says as he laid his eyes on the clipboard which he was balancing on his left arm, while he checked off another empty space with the pen in his right hand.

Eddie pushes himself off the truck as he walks towards the trauma bag, which was lying on the truck next to the ladder truck. “Yep” he confirms as he grabbed the bag in his right hand and put it in the right compartment. “I’m sorry. What was that?” Buck says as he puts two fingers next to his ear, pretending he didn’t hear Eddie clear enough. Eddie’s face morphed into an unamused expression. “Check.” He corrected himself. “Yeah” Evan nodded in agreement as he checked the box next to the trauma bag on the clipboard.

Evan turned into a whole other person when he was handed a clipboard. Everyone at the 118 thought so, it was not just Eddie. Evan wanted to prove that he could be a leader. Yes he could be reckless and impulsive at times, but that is just who he is.

“AED” he said louder, as he let the pen hoover above the checkmark box. As soon as he heard the word “check” fall off Eddie’s lips, he checked the box. “The..” Evan stopped mid sentence, as he heard the ambulance rig beeping as they drove backwards into the station. He peeked around the truck which was blocking his view of the ambulance. While Eddie leaned his forearms onto the compartment door as he waited for the next thing to put back into the truck. “Okay, saws!”

(Y/n) opened the passenger door where she was sitting as Hen turned the engine of the ambulance off. A sigh rolled off (y/n)’s lips as she shut the door behind her. She put a strand of hair behind her ear when she and Hen both walked towards the rack where they hung their fluorescent jackets.

“How was your call?” Evan asked when she was passing by the truck they were working on. (Y/n) stopped in her tracks, as she spots her boyfriend with clipboard and all in between the trucks walking towards her. (Y/n) made a think-full sound.

As Evan came closer, he lay his clipboard with pen on the other truck. He placed one hand on her cheek as he curled the other on her waist, and planted a kiss against her temple. She sighs. “Could’ve been better” she answered shortly as she creates some distance between Evan and her.

A confused look spread across Evan’s face, normally she wouldn’t pull back that fast. She would just lean into his touch. Something happened on the call.

She shook off her fluorescent jacket, so her uniform was visible now. “Jesus, what happened?” Evan asked when he noticed the enormous stain on her uniform, which looked like mud. Completely understanding now why she pulled back that fast and why she was probably annoyed.

“We got a call that there was some drunk guy faced down on the street. We turned him over to treat him and then.. this happened.” She spoke as she held out her hands to present sent him the huge stain she got on her uniform.

On Evan’s face was an distasteful expression projected. When (y/n) took a look down at the stain on her uniform, she almost threw up herself. “Ugh, I need to shower and change before I’m gonna throw up all over this floor.” she said and turns around to resume her way to hang her jacket.

Evan just laughs at her reaction, as he turns back around to Eddie to go and get the next object. But when Evan turns around, Eddie is gone. “Eddie?” he looks around the station floor, when someone yanks the clipboard out of his hands. “Hen! Seriously!?” Evan yelled after her. “Yep!”

A smile appeared on (Y/n)’s lips as she heard Evan yell at Hen. She had just hung her jacket on the reck underneath her own name, and was continuing her way towards the locker room. She walked into the locker room, closed the door behind her and walked to her locker. (Y/n) yanked open her locker and unbuttoned her shirt as she threw the dirty one into her locker. She was gonna throw that one into the washing-machine as soon as she had a shower.

“Geez what happened to you?” An unfamiliar voice rang through the locker room. She flinched and pushed the towel she had in her hand against her chest as she turned to her left, and sees Wes stopping in his track. He was walking past the line of lockers (y/n) was standing in front of. “Oh.. just a little accident on scene..” (y/n) said, wanting to cut the conversation short.

She wasn’t expecting anyone to be in the locker room. But maybe Wes came from the restrooms. (Y/n) continued grabbing her stuff together, as she sees in the corner of her eye Wes coming closer. “I think we haven’t met yet.” (Y/n) pushed the towel closer to her chest as Wes reaches out his hand. “I’m Wes.” she looked up at him, and back at his hand as she shook it. “(Y/n)” she introduced herself. Wes leaned with the side of his body against the lockers. “Nice to meet you, (y/n).” he said as he smiles at her.

(Y/n) wasn’t interested in a long conversation about his life and hers. All she wanted was a shower and wash the smell off of her body. She turned back to her locker, while one hand remained on the towel she was holding to her chest. “So you’re a paramedic?” Wes spoke up as he saw her grabbing shampoo and a new button up on a hanger out of her locker. She nodded, along with an agreeing sound. She smashes her locker with a bang, trying to give him a hint.

(Y/n) turns to Wes, “Wes.. was it? Right?” she asks. Wes nods, confrirming that it was his name. “Can we talk later? I’m really looking forward to a shower right now, after this call.” she continued. “Yeah sure” he says as he gives (y/n) a gentle smile. “Okay Thanks” she says with a small smile as she passes Wes, who keeps on leaning against the lockers.

Maybe Evan was right, and there was something up with Wes. Or maybe he was just trying to make friends.

_______

“Ah shit, i forgot my phone in the rig.” Wes spoke up when he reached the top of the stairs. Everyone was sitting at the table, waiting for Bobby to fill their plate with some Mac and cheese.

While Wes walked down the stairs again, Bobby started to fill up plates while Hen passed them on to the other firefighters who were sitting at the table. “Where’s (y/n)?” Bobby asked when her seat was empty and she was nowhere to be found on the loft. “Oh yeah, she’s in the shower, she’ll be here soon. She had a little accident on scene.” Evan spoke up as he took a fork full of mac and cheese. “An accident hm? What happened?” Bobby asked on as he took place on his chair. “Some drunk guy puked all over her when we tried to treat him.” Hen answered for Evan, who was chewing like his life depended on it.

“You really can’t eat properly Buck?” Hen said as she pointed with her fork towards Evan’s shirt. Evan presses his chin to his chest as he takes a look down at his shirt, “shit. No.. not again.” He mumbles, as he tries to clean his shirt with a napkin. “You’re not getting that stain out with a napkin.” Hen says as she takes another bite from her food. He sighs, as he pushes back his chair and walks towards the stairs.

He walks into the locker room and opens his locker. He could hear the water streaming out of the shower head down to the floor in a distance. Evan unbuttoned his shirt, and threw it into his locker. He grabbed his other shirt from the hanger, he puts his clean one on and buttoned up his shirt again. As he reaches the last two buttons, he hears a door closing. Which was weird, because he could still hear the water running. His eyes narrowed, as his face morphed into a confused look.

Evan closes his locker and continues his way towards the bathroom, he has to go to the toilet anyway.

He opens the door to the bathroom, and walks to the toilets. When he lays his hand on the door handle, he could see a shadow in the corner of his eye. He lets go of the door handle, as he turns around and walks in the direction of the showers. When he rounds the corner, he could see Wes in front one of the showers, with his phone in his hand. Evan was sure he could see the camera app was opened and Wes is coming closer to the cubicle where the water was running. With his girlfriend underneath the shower.

Evan’s speeds up his steps and gives Wes a hard push to the side of the room. Wes his back falls hard against the wall of the room. But as he bounces back, Evan roughly grabs his collar and pushes him harshly into the wall. While his phone falls to the ground. “And what do you think you’re doing?” Evan’s voice sounded through the small room. His voice sounded dark, as if his inner demon could burst out of him in a second.

“Buck? What the hell are you doing?” (Y/n)’s voice asked when she opened the door of her cubicle with nothing but a white towel wrapped around her body. “Hey take it easy man!” Wes says with a trembling voice. “Are you kidding me?” Evan spoke up at Wes as he pushed him harder into the concrete wall. “Evan!” (Y/n) spoke harder, to get her boyfriend’s attention.

“I found this pervert lurking outside of your shower.” Evan spoke now even harder. “With, his phone in his hand.” He continued. Wes nervously laughed, but stopped when Evan pushed him again. “You think it’s normal? To stand outside someone’s shower? Right after I told you I was going to take one?” (Y/n) said as she tightened the towel around her chest. “I-.. i can explain” Wes said. Evan’s face came dangerously close to Wes his face. “Get out.” Evan said and pushed Wes towards the exit of the bathroom.

“Come on man-“ Wes spoke when Evan continued to push him outside the locker room, onto the station floor where the rigs were stalled. “I didn’t do anything wrong” Wes said. Evan’s face turned to thunder.

Didn’t do anything wrong? He was literally taking pictures of (y/n) while she was taking a shower.

Evan balled his fist, and lashed out his arm until his fist met his face. Wes his hand shot towards his hand as he screamed out in pain. “Fuck!” Evan hissed as he shook his hand, he had hit Wes so hard that his knuckles were bleeding and hurting from the impact. “Buck! What the hell are you doing!” Bobby’s voice roared through the firehouse. Evan pushed Wes against the fire truck. “I found this guy making pictures of (y/n) while she was in the shower.” He spoke up as Evan could hear multiple people running down the stairs.

“What?” Bobby said with a confused sound in his voice. “That is not true!” Wes said trying to get Bobby on his side. “You fucking pervert!” Evan yelled as he pushed Wes back against the fire truck again. Chimney and Eddie were trying to push Evan off of the newbie. “Buck let go.” Bobby warned him as he looked him stern in the eye. When Evan quickly connected with Bobby’s eyes, he roughly let go of Wes.

Evan put his hands up as he backed up from the firefighter and roughly shakes off the hands from Chim and Eddie, who were trying to stop him from attacking Wes again. “It’s true.” (Y/n)’s voice sounded from behind Evan. Evan turned around as he sees his girlfriend walking onto the floor. Her hair was completely soaked, she had her uniform on but her shoes were nowhere to be found. She was walking onto the floor with her socks on and a phone in her hand. “He tried to record me when I was in the shower.” (Y/n) said as she bit on her lower lip and waved with the phone of Wes as if it was some sort of price.

Her eyes stayed locked on Wes, when she handed the phone over to Bobby for evidence. (Y/n) folded her arms over each other. “Don’t worry, you won’t see me naked on that video. Evan came in just in time.” She said as Bobby looked at her with a questionable look. Bobby plays the video and you can hear loud and clear what was happening.

“Your shift just ended. Eddie, make sure he doesn’t run off. I’m calling Athena.” Bobby says as he gives (y/n) the phone and walks away, starting a phone call with his wife. While the rest of the group returns to the loft, (y/n) turns towards her boyfriend. “I’m sorry.” She spoke. “Don’t be” Evan answered.

How could she be sorry? Because she was taking a shower? “No.. I’m sorry i didn’t believe you this morning.” She went on. “God I feel so stupid right now.” She says as her eyes looked at her feet because of the embarrassment. “Hey, hey.. you were right, I shouldn’t be judging people because they made me uncomfortable, or I do not trust them.” Evan said as he put his hand on her shoulder.

(Y/n)’s eyes traced over his hand as she noticed something red on his hand. “Did you hit him?” She asked him when her eyes wandered back to his. “Would you be mad if I said yes?” Evan smirked. (Y/n) laughed as she grabbed his hand which had some blooded knuckles. She inspected his hand. “(Y/n).. I’m fine. I swear.” Evan says as he hissed when (y/n) applied pressure to see if he hurt his hand. “Let me at least clean your wounds.” Evan sighed. He knew she wouldn’t take a no for an answer. So he agreed.

They walked towards the stairs which led to the loft and a first aid kit. “Didn’t you forget something before you left the locker room?” Evan laughed while he put his right arm around her shoulders. “Yeah I know. I didn’t have time to put my boots on when I already lost so much time putting on my uniform, while I was still half soaking wet.” She explained. He put his mouth close to her ear. “You know I wouldn’t mind seeing you in that towel again.”

[em-dash-press]

7 Types of Internal Conflict for Your Protagonist

External conflict can always make readers more interested in a story. The fist fights, car chases, and fictional battles might make them hold their breath, but so can internal conflict. Check out the primary types of internal conflict your protagonist can experience to add more depth to your stories.

1. Morality Conflicts

Everyone eventually reaches a point where they question their morals. We have to believe in our morals as individuals to prioritize them. It’s not enough to have your parents or other leaders in your life tell you what’s right and wrong. You won’t hold the same morals until you choose them on your own.

Characters also reach these crucial points. It’s part of their character development like it’s part of our personal development. 

Your protagonist may only grapple with one question of morality in your story or they could encounter many. The morals will most likely align with your theme so they make sense within your plot.

Example: Your protagonist is a scientific researcher and leading a trial that could result in a cure for a new illness. They know they shouldn’t take bribes and wouldn’t compromise their career, but someone who nearly qualifies for their trial offers a life-changing amount of money to get included even though they’ve already been ruled out. The protagonist has to choose—do they stick with what they trust is morally correct or do they take the money and use it to help pay for a family member’s legal battle in criminal court? Do they view it as potentially saving two lives at once? Or do they reject the bribe and face whatever consequences could have possibly been avoided?

2. Self-Identity Conflicts

Your identity is something that morphs with time. People rarely settle on one version of themselves forever. Life makes us reconsider things from different perspectives as we go through periods of challenges and peace. Characters also grapple with their identities when faced with similar situations. It makes them take a stand, hold their ground, or chase new goals, which is much more interesting for readers.

Example: Your protagonist considers themselves an optimist because they’re a firefighter who has saved many lives. When they realize their chief has been starting all the fires their station ever fought, your protagonist begins to view people more pessimistically. It affects how quickly they’re willing to risk their life for others, which results in challenges and a character arc they wouldn’t have experienced without this fundamental change in their identity.

3. Religious Belief Conflicts

It’s much easier to stay firm in your religious beliefs if nothing challenges them. If a challenge or major question arises and your beliefs hold firm, that makes your identity stronger. It doesn’t always happen that way though.

When your protagonist faces this type of internal conflict and realizes their opinions or feelings contradict their religious beliefs, it can take them onto a path that shapes a new identity. These choices are hard but real. Readers who are going through the same experience or experienced the same questions before will get absorbed by your story because it’s relatable.

Example: Your protagonist attends a religious gathering every week. The group fundamentally believes their religion exists to help those in need. Prejudices begin to invade that group, so people start choosing their own well-being instead of helping others. Your protagonist watches their religious family pick sides and has to question if they really believe in helping others or if they choose the familiarity and safety that comes with the approval of their longtime religious family.

4. Societal Role Conflicts

Societies have predetermined roles or expectations for people based on factors like their gender, sex, and economic status (just to name a few). Sometimes these roles feel natural to people and other times they don’t. We all have to decide what feels best for us on an ongoing basis. Your protagonist may need to choose their societal role, reject it, or shape a new one to portray your theme in a relatable way.

Example: Your protagonist goes to a university for the first time. They’ve been encouraged by everyone they know to start forming a large friend group. That’s what people are supposed to do in college, their loved ones said. But your protagonist is an introvert and values only a few friendships at a time. They have to choose if they’ll push themselves to become a social butterfly or if they’re happier as the person they’ve always been.

5. Political Opinion Conflicts

Political opinions can create all types of internal conflict. You may believe in a certain candidate or party during one part of your life and support something completely different in another part. Those values change as we experience new things and meet new people. Characters can face the same internal struggles as they recognize changing values or reject opportunities for change.

Example: Your protagonist may have never formed strong political opinions. They meet a new person who becomes their best friend, but their government starts passing laws that make their best friend’s life much harder because they’re part of a marginalized community your protagonist hasn’t empathized with before. Your protagonist now cares for that community, so they have to decide if they’ll make different political choices that could ostracize them from the community they’ve been part of all their life. 

6. Love Conflicts

There are numerous types of love—self-love, your love for your family, and your love of a potential romantic interest or current partner. These come into conflicts in stories all the time because people experience them every day.

The conflicts result in choices—does your protagonist choose to continue loving a specific person or do they fall out of love? Do they fight for that love or realize it never actually existed? These are just a few ways this inner conflict can play out.

Example: Your protagonist has three siblings. They’d give their life for their siblings because they’ve lived in an emotional and physical home environment that’s been unsafe all of their lives. However, your protagonist is also the oldest child who has to leave home when they’re 18. They have to decide how to best love their siblings—do they leave them at home with a parent who is a threat to their safety so your protagonist can achieve an education or job that pays enough to create a new home for them? Do they get the legal system involved? Do they get their siblings and run away together since your protagonist is now old enough to lease an apartment, pay bills, etc?

7. Personal Journey Conflict

Existential crises make characters come to life by breaking their identity apart. These moments are unfortunately a real part of life, so readers want them in their books to help them cope, understand the changes, and generally feel not alone in their hardships.

This internal conflict happens when we question why we’re in this world or what we’re supposed to do with our lives. Sometimes there’s a clear answer after we start searching for it, but other times there isn’t. How your protagonist’s internal journey to a new purpose unfolds depends on your theme and plot.

Example: Your protagonist spent their life dreaming of becoming a politician. They wanted to help people and change the world, but they lost their first three attempts at running for local office. The third loss devastated them. If voters don’t want them as a leader, what’s their purpose? Who are they if they aren’t a leader who changes the world through effective policies? The answer may come through the plot events that follow. If they don’t get an answer, sometimes it means their purpose already exists in their life and they’re overlooking it.

-----

Reading through the basic types of internal conflict will help you shape your future protagonists. If you align your desired theme with an inner conflict, the external events in your plot will be much easier to choose. Your readers will also connect with your story better because they’ll see real problems reflected in your protagonist’s character arc.

[allpiesforourown]

Maybe this is smth you've already added to your excellent svsss cheat sheet, but does the System ever EXPLICITLY say (or even firmly imply) that SQQ will be killed if he spills the beans? And going further, even if his account WAS "terminated," is it ever explicitly confirmed that he's dead in the modern world/ that his body is dead and going back would kill him? We all know our mans is king of wild assumptions, and I can't remember if/where that was said. Thank you for your service as always.

So the system did say if Shen Yuan violated its rules, he'd be sent back to his original world. It's sound to assume that being returned wouldn't mean he goes back to being alive in his world. Shang Qinghua DID get the offer to return to his world, but that was after he "completed" his role.

We also know that when Shen Yuan came close to returning (before he changed it to the Bingge punishment protocol) it was painful for him.

But really, there's no way to tell for sure if it's a Shang Qinghua type situation or if he'd end up as a ghost back in his world.

As for him revealing his identity... I never thought about it, but now I do think there was never a rule saying he can't say he's a transmigrator. (If I'm wrong about this, feel free to reply with a correction!) Also whenever Tianlang Jun questioned the amount of knowledge Shen Yuan has about the mausoleum, the system didn't say anything, which implies people being suspicious of his identity doesn't matter

This probably means the only reason Shen Yuan never said anything about him being a transmigrator is probably because

1: He thought no one would believe him (it does sound a bit insane)

2, and more likely in my opinion: he just didn't think it mattered. From the beginning he dove headfirst into the role of Shen Qingqiu. Even after the OOC function was unlocked, he didn't stop with the aloof master act. I think he just... wanted to preserve Shen Qingqiu as a person in Binghe's 'story' - he wants Binghe to watch him die, move on, and go get his harem so he can be happy. Revealing his identity would just complicate that... not to mention how much he suppresses things about himself. Talking about things like his old family or life would be like talking about ... FEELINGS and there's no way in hell he'd do that. But again this is just my personal guess

[theaceace]

Another old fic idea that stalled somewhere between my brain and my docs, in which Hob puts centuries of life experience to use by writing an anonymous advice column (it's probably Jo's fault somehow) and recently he's been getting some... Odd submissions

My brother has recently left a very stifling living situation and is drowning himself in work. I know his pride won't let him come to me for help, but I want to let him know I'm still there for him, what do you suggest? - Endless Family Drama

It can be difficult to watch the people we love most refuse to accept our help, especially when we can see that they're hurting. The best advice I can offer you is don't push him too hard – the last thing you want to do is scare him away! Spend time with him doing something you both enjoy or rediscovering common ground, and let him come to you when he's ready. Encourage him to find the person he was before all of this, and start learning how that fits with who he is now; reconnect with old friends or pick up a hobby he hasn't tried for a while. Clearly you love your brother a great deal, and whether he's ready to admit it or not, he's lucky to have you in his corner.

Chin up, and best of luck to you both!

And what do you know, that afternoon Death happens to go find her brother feeding the pigeons.

Matthew (with Rose's help, typing is really hard when you're a bird, turns out) after a conversation with Lucienne and later a complain-and-smoke-sesh with Constantine, writes in (not knowing he's writing to the boss's friend) like

I've just started a new job, and my boss is literally a nightmare when he's in a bad mood, he drags me to hell and back, spends all his time moping and fighting with my other boss, and won't listen to any of my advice, how do I let him know I think he's being unreasonable - struggling to keep my beak shut

Eventually Dream - who is both spending much more time in the waking world and also much more inclined to listen to Matthew's advice recently, for some reason - decides to write in to ask the opinion of a human on how to. Well. How one might go about courting one of their oldest friends having just reconnected after a huge fight and period of separation.

So naturally, Hob's reply is somewhat wistful and based entirely on the way he would love to court/be courted by his old stranger (Dream! Morpheus! He's been given so many names and titles to use now, he's practically spoilt!)

Neither of them figure out what's going on for an embarrassingly long time

(Desire writes to ask how you get your brother to stop ignoring you after you've tricked him into prison ('captivity' is the word used, but Hob can read between the lines) and almost made him kill one of their relatives. Hob starts to question if this side career is a good idea)

Also, the tagline for his column would absolutely be something like I keep making the same mistakes so you don't have to! Somehow this does not clue Dream in in the slightest

[daydreamgoddess14]

Red Card

MASTERLIST

Roy Kent x F!Reader

It's the first time in 135 years that the Premier League has allowed a female referee to official a match... Remaining neutral is absolutely key. Plenty of fluff and smut and flirting 😏

The anticipation was at a whole different level. For the first time in history, a woman would referee a Premier League football game. The FA had played a blinder from a marketing perspective - a local girl from Richmond itself - refereeing a Richmond vs. Man City match - the top two finishing teams of the previous season. Sky Sports, BT Sport, Match of the Day, ESPN… every single football broadcaster or news outlet was on site. It couldn’t get any more high profile. It had been all anyone had talked about for weeks on end. Roy was sick of hearing about it, talking about it, and reading about it.

“New Trent?”

“What do you think about a woma-”

“Reffing the next match? It’s about fucking time. Should have been done years ago. The league might be saying all the right things and making a big deal out of it, but it’s only disguising the fact that they haven’t bothered utilising female referees until now.”

“And what do you think of the referee chosen for the match?”

“Did I offer you a fucking follow up, New Trent? She’s a fantastic ref, and has a great eye. I’ve seen her run some lower league matches and it’s high time she had a role in the Prem.” He looked around for his next victim, “You with the… bald spot?”

“And will you be saying the same thing if she books one of the lads next week or a decision doesn’t go your way?”

“Course I fucking will. I don’t suddenly change my opinion of any of the other refs? We’ve all got jobs to do and roles to play. I don’t think we can ask for anything more than for any of the referees to be fair and equal. I don’t give a shit who we’re on about, that applies to all of them.” He looks around for any other burning questions, “Right, fuck off then you lot. I’m done for the day.” He rose from the desk and left the bustle of the press conference. In the office, Beard and Nate were looking over plans for the next week while the team milled around the gym and treatment rooms.

“Tough presser?” Beard asked.

“No more than fucking usual. All anyone is talking about is the new-”

“Female ref? The news is everywhere. As if the match wasn’t high profile enough as it is.” Nate filled in, a bundle of nervous energy.

“Yeah, well we’ll be fine. Just gotta make sure the boys keep their heads down. The new ref isn’t their problem, they don’t need to even be thinking about that.”

“But they will, because that’s all they’re hearing about. We haven’t had this much press coverage for ages, the match sold out months ago. They may not have to think about her, but the whole situation does impact their whole build up to the game.” Beard declared.

“Right, get ‘em in here.” Roy grimaced. Nate dashed off to assemble the team. “Alright lads?” There were a few murmurs and replies. “I know there’s a lot of noise around this one - some of it is to do with us and the City game, some of it is none of our business. I suggest you steer clear of the news for a few fucking days. There’s no need to watch it at all. No Twatter or whatever you fucking use. Just stay off that shit for the rest of the week, yeah? Any news you need, you hear from us. I want to keep the positivity we’ve got for the new ref, so if you’re asked about it by the paps on the car park, be fucking nice. Otherwise, you don’t watch or listen to all of the fucking fuss about the weekend, alright?”

“Coach.” Isaac nodded in agreement, the other players followed his lead.

~~~~~~~

The noise was deafening, the stadium packed to the rafters. You hovered at the side of the pitch with the other officials, warming up until it was time for the meet and greet of the team managers. The two managers were like fucking titans of football royalty. You were about to meet Pep Guardiola for god sake. And if you even think for one second about meeting Roy Kent, you might just pee your pants. Pep is great, wonderful - the boss! But you grew up not twenty minutes down the road, so Roy is firstly, the literal definition of local hero, and secondly, the big crush of your early 20s. You spent many Euro Championships and World Cups in the pub singing his chant and ogling his legs. Fortunately when the Premier League and media ask about your neutrality, they don’t ask whether you’ve experienced sexual fantasies about any of the players or managers. At least you’d only be admitting that about one person and not, like, a whole team. And you would never admit it publicly. The home crowd roars as the Richmond team is announced, you make your way to the space between the two dugouts ready to greet the players. They all shake your hand as they pass you, with a few nods of encouragement and words of support. The same applies to the Man City team, you’re determined not to be starstruck in front of Pep Guardiola so you shake his hand with a big smile and wish his team luck. You turn to Roy Kent and his large hang engulfs yours. You whack on your big smile and offer the same affirmation as you did to Pep. On the pitch, you speak momentarily with the two captains and blow your whistle for go time. 

The trouble with Premier League football is just that, it's Premier League. Top flight. The best of the best. Keeping pace with these players was a job in itself, being in the action without impacting it or getting in the way was another, and being the all seeing, all knowing one was… yet another. Your mind (and body) are pulled from goalpost to goalpost, and it's really no surprise that the referee is often blamed for poor decisions. It's impossible to see every single thing that happens on the pitch. You're making good decisions so far, nothing out of the ordinary. Shortly before halftime, one of the Richmond defenders nearly dislocates his shoulder, going in hard on Haaland. It feels cruel to punish him, but it's part of the job, so you have to award Man City the free kick. From the other side of the pitch, you can hear Roy Kent over the sound of 60,000 people screaming the same thing. Haaland scores, of course. You hang back while the teams leave the pitch at halftime, but he's waiting for you in the tunnel. 

"The fuck did you give a free kick for?!"

"You shouldn't be collaring me out here, but to answer your question, the tackle was too much."

"Bullshit, it was a fair tackle and McAdoo would have hurt himself more than Haaland."

"Bullshit. Haaland has got about 5 inches and half a stone on McAdoo."

"5 inches is fucking nothing." He smirks.

"Really?” You arch an eyebrow at him, “did you seriously choose today to make a dick joke?" Utter disbelief is written all over your face, you shake your head and leave him cursing himself in the tunnel. Halftime was supposed to be a moment to catch your breath, not waste it on fighting with Roy Kent. You knew better than to get into it with managers. They saw the action from the sidelines and only had so much impact and influence. They took their lack of control out on officials all the time, it was supposed to be your job to stay calm and walk away, not engage. You ignore him on your way back to the pitch, he's just inside the exit of the tunnel and he could be there to apologise but he could very much be there to shout at you some more. The second half is just as eventful, Richmond are pushing hard for at least an equaliser, and Man City are loath to let them get it. When Obisanya has a shot on goal, which goes wide, City are pleading for a goal kick, but it's not. You award the corner, and Rojas sweeps a beautiful pass into Tartt, who sends the ball straight into the corner of the net. City scores again shortly afterwards, and you have to keep your head to make sure no one is deliberately trying to cause injury to anyone else. When Tartt goes down just outside the area, you request VAR footage to aid your decision before calling for a free kick. He scores, but it's an immediate offside and Roy Kent looks like he might explode. When play resumes, Colin Hughes gets a goal straight away. The game ends in a 2-2 draw, but the fans and teams both seem appeased. 

~~~~~

By the time the press conferences are over, Roy's had more than enough. He (respectfully) disagreed with your first free kick decision, but praised your other choices and overall declared you "No better or worse than the other pricks." The stadium is starting to clear, and the Man City bus has just left. Richmond players make plans to get food at Ola’s. When Roy sees two of the officials only just leaving, he sends the others ahead and makes his way down to the away team and visitors facilities.

“I hope you’re here to apologise.” She states dryly as he approaches.

“Yeah,” he looks bashful, “the dick joke was a dick move. Sorry.” She looks so serious, he’s not sure the apology is accepted until he spies a tiny smile pulling at the corner of her mouth.

“Was pretty funny. In alternative circumstances.”

“Noted. Congratulations anyway, noise from the press has all been good so far.”

“Nice to know my performance will be scrutinised forever while every mediocre male referee gets a pass for another week.”

“I’m sure your performance will only improve.” He inwardly groaned. She was going to laugh in his face. A dick joke and then godawful flirting? It was only what he deserved.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence. I’ll pass that direct quote on to The Sun.” 

“They’ll have a fucking field day. Richmond manager does shit job at flirting with the only female ref in the league? They’ll probably go and interview the poor woman I called my girlfriend when we were in year 6.”

“Flirting?” 

“No,” he scoffed, “no, course not. I didn’t mean that. Just a joke.” You cocked your head at him,

“Should we start again? Hi, you must be Roy Kent, I’m the first female referee in a Premier League game in 31 years. Well, actually it’s more like 135 years but the FA are trying to make themselves look marginally better.”

“Nice to meet you. Great job on the match, I respectfully, completely, disagree with that fucking free kick in the first half but other than that… no complaints.” He steps closer, you’re showered and changed but he can still smell the fresh grass mingling with the citrus and spice of the products you use. The combination is incredible - like summer and sunshine.

“I wouldn’t give a shit if you did have any complaints. Looking after your feelings isn’t in my job description.” You take in his height, broad shoulders and dark eyes and the long dormant crush rises to the surface immediately. You hadn’t taken much notice since you stopped having posters on your walls all those years ago, you’d only caught a few of his appearances as a pundit. He’s gorgeous, despite his surly appearance there’s an unmistakable twinkle of mischief in his eyes. Like he’s having fun with whatever this tension is that bubbles between you. And when he does smile at your commitment to fairness, it takes your breath away.

“Good to know the FA can rely on you staying neutral then.” He says quietly. Anticipation crackles in the air and fizzes in your stomach. You match his playfulness in your response, and step into his personal space,

“I don’t think there’s anything here that could sway me to any team in particular.” You smile, “not yet, anyway.” He waits until you’ve definitely left the room before he lets go of the breath he’s been holding. 

~~~~~

You’re dragged out by your friends to celebrate that night, even though your legs ache like you’ve done a 10km run. It wasn’t so much the running, you specifically trained for that, it’s the constant change in direction and the intensity of having your attention focused on so many things at once. If the FA thought they could throw you under a bus by giving you such a high profile game, you’re pleased you proved them wrong. The bar is crowded and noisy and you’ve already spotted a couple of the Richmond players - it was bound to happen in a relatively small town if they couldn’t be bothered to go right into the city. You’re at the bar ordering when you feel a hand on your hip and someone standing very closely behind you, a hand raises above you holding a credit card, and gestures to the barman. You’re about to lose your shit when you hear his voice rumble behind you,

“I’ve got these, mate.” He steps to your side when the person next to you moves, but his hand lingers, “I hope buying you a drink doesn’t make you question your bias?”

“Not at all, I’m afraid you’d have to work much harder than that.” He looks even better than he did a few hours ago, desire coils inside you and you instinctively draw your thighs together. It doesn’t help when he noticeably looks at your mouth, red lipstick is your ‘go to’ for a night out.

“I’ll bear that in mind.” Your drink is put on the bar next to you and you lick your lips before taking a sip. Neither of you has broken eye contact. You hear your name from a few feet away at the edge of the dance floor.

“Excuse me,” you raise your glass to him, “thank you for the drink.” 

“Bruv, is that the ref from today?” Isaac steps up beside him.

“Yeah, yeah that’s her.”

“She’s fit. You gonna ask her out?”

“Dunno Isaac, bit fucking old for that shit now.”

“Nah man, I just seen the way she looked at you-” he shakes Roy’s shoulder, “ooooh! Get it boy!” Roy rolls his eyes and smirks, watching you get dragged to the dance floor. He knows he must be old because he’s only been standing pitchside for the match and wouldn’t be caught dancing. You’ve run your legs off and then still managed to get them into that sequined mini skirt and up dancing. You can feel his eyes on you but you’d rather keep your back to him and try and carry on as casually as you can, if you turn around you know you won’t be able to stop staring. At least with your back to him, you can ignore him. Plus you know your arse looks great in this skirt, it was literally the sole reason for buying it in the first place. With all the running and training you do, you’re conscious of your strong thighs and hips but sometimes, just sometimes, they make you feel powerful. Eventually, you have to duck out of the dancing - mimicking a timeout to your friends. Roy is exactly where you left him at the bar and the alcohol makes you bold. You squeeze back in next to him and take a sip of his drink, yours is long finished. 

“Help yourself.” He smirks, his hand moving to your hip again, hidden by the darkness of the bar. You put a hand on his thigh and lean in slightly, taking some of the pressure off your feet. You’re close enough that he can see your breath hitch as his thumb finds a patch of exposed skin at the waistband of your skirt. 

“Do you want to get out of here?” You ask quickly, pushing your nerves down. He nods and finishes most of his drink, offering the last of it to you. Outside, word has gotten out that half a football team is at the bar and everyone is out for a glimpse of Jamie Tartt. You push past the photographers with Roy’s hand at the small of your back and into a nearby taxi.

~~~~~

“Please tell me there aren’t any fucking rules about this,” Roy mumbles somewhere in the valley between your breasts.

“I have no fucking clue, and I don’t really care right now.” You gasp, breathless as he leaves a mark on your soft skin.

“No? No danger of a red card?” You laugh and it’s musical and magical and neither of you have had this much fun in ages.

“No red cards for Roy Kent. Probably makes a fucking change.”

“Oi, cheeky. I never got that many.” He’s moved down again, unzipped your skirt and thrown it behind him somewhere.

“Fucking liar. They literally use you as an example of trouble players. Oh, fuck-” he bites your thigh.

“A good example or bad example?” His tongue sweeps over your clit and you nearly rocket off the bed until he hooks his arms over your thighs and pulls you back down to him.

“Oh god, bad example,” You feel him hum against you as he works you to your peak,

“Shame, I’m a changed man.” 

“Uhuh, ok,” you whisper, unable to think or speak any more coherently.

“How's your neutrality holding up?” Your hands tangle in his hair,

“Fuckkk, sooo good.”

“I’ll have to fucking try harder then,” he chuckles. You’re about to beg for mercy when he pushes two fingers into you and curls them to just the right angle that has you seeing stars. When he comes back up to kiss you, you rock your hips against his and he helps roll you both over, sitting up so he can still kiss you. His kisses are rough and needy, making you grind down against him. When you nip his neck, he pulls gently at your loose hair, whimpering and god, you’d do anything, anything to have him make that sound again. It only makes you rock harder against him, desperate to feel him inside you. When he finally pushes into you, your body clenches. You rise and fall onto him over and over, grateful for those powerful thighs he can’t keep his hands off. When he brings a hand between you both and circles your clit, you drop your head into the crook of his neck and bite down to stifle your moan. You feel his hips stutter under you as you both come, making you drop your own rhythm. You collapse in a tangle of limbs and sheets against him. 

“If you ask me again if you’ve swayed me yet, I’ll bite you.”

“You’ve already fucking done that,” he laughs. “Still need to try harder?” 

“Hmm, there’s no harm in trying again. You might win me over.”

“And over and over?” He kisses you again, so slowly it’s intoxicating. 

When you wake in the morning, it’s to the sound of his phone ringing. He tears himself away from where he’s curled behind you, the length of his legs against yours, his chest against your back and his arms around you.

“Yeah,” his voice is low and rough with sleep and it’s enough to have you roll over and press your body back into his. You can’t hear the other person, but he hangs up quickly and opens a link they’ve sent. It’s a picture on Twitter of the two of you leaving the bar together with his hand on your lower back with the headline “RED CARD FOR KENT?”

“Told you you were fucking trouble.” You laugh.

FIN

[lady-merian]

@emeraldchase okay, here goes!

I’ve seen a lot of jokes about how the best the Ring can do to tempt Sam is a garden. I’ve laughed at them too, but there’s an element to some of the jokes that dismisses the importance of the scene in my opinion. 

The Ring offers power according not only to a person’s desires, but to their abilities. We can infer from what the Ring offers Sam that Sam would desire to do good with it, (arguably, overthrowing Barad-dur and turning the wasteland of Mordor into a garden is a good desire,) but that doesn’t mean it’s not a dangerous power fantasy in its own way. The desire to remake the world in one’s own image and enforce it by any means necessary is something not even our dear Sam is immune to. He’s not imagining a world where nothing threatens peace, he’s imagining being the threat that enforces the peace. If it takes a flaming sword to bring his order into the world then it takes a flaming sword. The Ring tries to convince him it would give him the power to do so. 

The Ring is, of course, a liar, and it’s a credit to Sam that he realized that after rejecting what the Ring was offering him, but it’s also a credit to Sam that he rejected it in the first place. This is his equivalent to Galadriel’s test. Unlike Galadriel, however, he’s in possession of the Ring at the time the temptation comes upon him and I think that’s saying something. 

Curiously, his reward when he returns to the Shire gives him the wholesome version of these desires, not to mention many more blessings besides.

The one small garden of a free gardener was all his need and due, not a garden swollen to a realm; his own hands to use, not the hands of others to command.

Though Sam as the mayor isn’t a position of great power equal to the great kingdoms of Middle-earth by any stretch, it’s a responsibility. (What that looks like is better seen in the unpublished epilogue to the story, in my opinion.) A responsibility he’s proven himself capable of handling. Likewise with a garden swollen to a realm. The part of the Shire that most benefited from his use of Galadriel’s gift was Hobbiton, it’s true, but he did travel the four farthings of the Shire to mend what harms he could. 

I’m not suggesting that Sam could have become this tyrannical ruler, because Sam hasn’t trained his will to the domination of others and also does not have the innate power that Gandalf and Galadriel both have. (Not to mention Sam is correct that Sauron would have seen him if he’d put the Ring on in Mordor: Frodo put on the Ring at Mount Doom and Sauron was instantly aware.) There are few enough who would survive a direct contest with Sauron in a situation like that, so I’m not putting Sam down either by saying that Sam putting on the Ring would have doomed Middle-earth. 

What I’m saying is that just because the vision was of a garden doesn’t mean it wouldn’t have been detrimental to Sam’s character if he’d accepted the vision. Gandalf was wary of even handling it. Sam meanwhile goes to the ends of the earth as far as his people are concerned, right alongside the Ringbearer, and remains mainly concerned for the welfare of Frodo. The thought of what he might do with the Ring hasn’t crossed his mind until that moment. When measured up against his devotion to his master and also his plain hobbit-sense, the Ring can’t compete.

[osiris-iii-bc]

About problematic ships

I know this post and it’s consequences will probably end up pissing me off, but I’d really like to have a serious conversation about “problematic ships.” Like, an adult conversation. 

I know we can do it.

Precondition

For me, most of this opinion doesn’t involve the Copiiia/Copiia/Cop1a ships because I think the incest factor isn’t the main thing with that ship. The Papa x Papa ship involves Copia on 99.99% of the time for the simple reason that he was introduced as not being part of the bloodline, and six (6) years passed before he was officially and undoubtedly confirmed as part of it (I have my opinions about this change, too). It seems totally reasonable to me that some people just chose to stick to that first statement and create the pairings they liked with him through all this time.

I have never personally seen a Terzo x Secondo fic, or a Primo x Secondo and so on. Most Copiiia/Cpiia/Cop1a authors are simply not interested in creating an incest story.

That said, since people associated Copia x other Papas with pure incest from the beginning, I think we can at least gain something interesting from all this discourse.

/Precondition

Many “nasty” stories (books, fanfics, movies, songs… whatever) provide an opportunity to discuss “taboo” issues. Some can serve as case studies for reflecting on human behavior in specific contexts. I know fanfictions are mostly meant to entertain, to fantasize, even to get horny or just to imagine ourselves in a romance with our favorite characters, but this would be underestimating the work of fanfic writers. Some fanfictions are deep, offering interesting analyses and portraits of human behavior, and some may choose unusual topics to explore very dark and complex (also frivolous, why not) aspects of human nature.

If an author decides to choose a “problematic” topic to express their creativity, it is none of your business.

Even if a relationship is considered morally unacceptable, authors still have the right to write about it, and interested readers have the right to read it. Otherwise, no author should be allowed to write about murder, which I think is the most morally unacceptable act one can commit.

A relationship can be nasty even if it is between two complete strangers. It can be abusive. It can be violent. It can involve rape (a topic I personally despise with every fiber of my being, but STILL, I read about it and sometimes even write about it). It can be dysfunctional, toxic, unbalanced, boring… people still have the right to explore it in whatever way they like. By the way, somehow if a fictional relationship is so bad but it’s between two regular people it is still accepted, but it becomes absolutely unacceptable if it involves two siblings.

I’d like to bring up some examples of famous incestuous or problematic stories:

The Dreamers, by Bernardo Bertolucci: Not sure how many of you know about this movie. I watched it when I was a little girl and never for a moment was I grossed out by the story. I was rather fascinated by the relationship between the twins and how it becomes a refuge and a way to escape reality. You can interpret that relationship in so many ways. It was strange, even poetic, but it was interesting to explore. The movie is still one of my favorites.

Lolita: Nabokov himself asked not to romanticize the story (which was inspired by a real event, btw). That book doesn’t make him a pedophile or a nasty person; it was just his imagination, a sad dynamic he felt was worth exploring and telling.

Dogtooth, by Yorgos Lanthimos: This is another example of a very particular situation where explicit incestuous situations occur (more than one, to be fair). It is one of the most interesting movies I have ever seen from a “what humans do when put into a very singular situation” perspective.

Nymphomaniac, by Lars von Trier: nothing less than an equally upsetting and poignant creation. Many people here would go absolutely crazy at the scene where the protagonist reacts to her father’s death, I’m sure of it. I’m still trying to interpret it.

No, I won’t include A song if Ice and Fire/Game of Thrones, enough people have done that already.

Try discussing those works by saying, “That movie was bad because they are siblings and they can’t do those things!” Ok, legitimate, but try to imagine how you sound from the outside if that is really the ONLY critique you can make.

Witch-hunting creators who are brave enough to explore the nastiest parts of human nature doesn’t make you a good person. It makes you a person who wants the world to conform to your image, making you unable to face and analyze what you find unacceptable.

When confronting a topic you don’t like, you have two choices: enrich your knowledge or allow your boundaries to limit your artistic consumption, but never, ever bully someone else because they are simply interested in that subject.

[bebx]

random don’ts in fanfic writing!

a disclaimer that these are just some suggestions from a fellow fic writer & you don’t have to agree with everything I list here. the intention of this isn’t to shame anyone but to only offer advices I personally take.

I hope you’ll find at least one of these useful.

don’t go “the taller man looks at her with a smile on his face” or “the blonde girl laughs, feeling his eyes on her” on characters whose names are already known by the readers. I admit that this is something I used to do for so long because I thought it was cool, until I learned it’s just unrealistic, because normally, if you know someone; say, if they’re your friend, you don’t call them “the taller man” or “the blonde girl” or “the older man”, you call them by their names. so unless your readers aren’t supposed to know the names of these characters yet, just say “Justin looks at her with a smile on his face” or “Sarah laughs, feeling his eyes on her” — it feels more natural this way.

don’t give readers your personal feelings. “the walls are closing in, and he still has trouble standing up on unsteady legs. panic’s making it hard to breathe as he realizes he’s going to die. what will poor Daniel do now?” — “poor” in this case is the author’s opinion, how they feel about their character. it’s unnecessary to add in your work because, with all due respect, it can make the whole thing sound like a children’s book where readers are not capable of knowing how they’re supposed to feel in this scene and so they need the author to tell them how to feel. unless you’re writing something specifically for kids, don’t do this. don’t insult your readers’ intelligence by constantly guiding them how they should feel about this particular character in this particular situation. your readers are not kids. they are perfectly capable of knowing how they feel. they will feel sorry for the character on their own. they will read your work and think “oh no, poor guy. how will he get out of this now?” on their own. you, as the author, don’t have to tell them to be sorry for the character.

don’t outright underestimate your own work. being humble is a good thing, but sometimes you just have to be proud. don’t directly say “this sucks” or “I don’t really like how this turned out” in the author’s note, it can actually drive readers away from your fic. it drove me away from a fic so many times. and it’s a shame, because I really believe your readers — I really believe I — would’ve loved your fic if they’d — if I had — given it a chance. but the disclaimer that outright says “this isn’t good” from the author themself is unfortunately more than enough a reason as to why readers decide not to read it altogether. so… don’t say that. you can be unsatisfied with your work, but your readers don’t have to know that. hell, they might even love it. so, yeah, be proud.

don’t replace eyes with orbs. I… admit that I frequently did this during my Wattpad phase, and it’s actively haunting my nightmares to this day. I guarantee you that you can just say eyes. “she looks right into his eyes” yes, you can say this, and it will always sound more professional in terms of writing than “she looks right into his beautiful blue orbs” which, if I’m being brutally honest, “orbs” used to describe eyes just makes it all sounds like a school essay where we purposefully use fancy words so that our teachers know we have those words memorized in our vocabulary. but yeah… it’s painfully cringe to call eyes orbs and it almost always makes me want to just stop reading your work, and I mean this with utter respect. don’t make the same mistake I made when I was an emo teenager. if you really must have to use other word that isn’t “eyes” just call them face balls or something (I’m joking, please don’t actually call them face balls). but seriously, literally anything that isn’t orbs. just… call them eyes. it’s already perfect.

don’t replace world with planet, if your work doesn’t include theme about space/sci-fi or if you’re not describing an actual planet (as in climate change towards the planet or a lost planet that’s never been found, for instance). — world and planet give readers two very different feelings. if you’re describing an antagonist, who is not a literal alien from another planet, whose plan is to corrupt or take over the world, just say world. “he knows he will watch the world burn in the end” sounds more aesthetically appealing and more professionally interesting than “he will destroy this beautiful planet” because, honestly, the latter sounds like I’m reading a fic about climate change, which yeah… unless you’re writing a fic about climate change, just avoid using the word planet in context like this and you’re good.

don’t avoid the use of Capital Letters at the beginning of a sentence and when you’re mentioning a specific name while writing a fic. you’re probably thinking I’m being the biggest hypocrite right now, because I’ve literally been deliberately using all lowercase phrases this entire post. I mean that’s because this is just a Tumblr post, not an actual AO3 fic. listen, I know writing fic is a hoppy, not a job. but if you really want to have your readers feel like they’re reading an actual novel while reading your work, I promise you the use of Capital Letters is your best friend, don’t neglect them.

*smut below the cut*

don’t replace cock with penis. I won’t go too deep here (no pun intended HELP💀) but cock sounds sexy, exciting and fun. while penis sounds like you’re describing a human anatomy during a lecture. smut is supposed to make readers feel aroused. it’s not supposed to make them feel like they’re reading a text book or are studying for an exam.

don’t replace cunt with pussy. in my very humble opinion, while talking about smut, cunt sounds explicit, raw, erotically mysterious and is overall a turn on while… I don’t know, reading the word pussy just doesn’t make me go AAAAAAHHHH the way reading the word cunt does (just my guess but maybe it’s because the word “pussy” is overused; we call everything a pussy nowadays that it just lost its meaning). also, from 99% of the smut I’ve read, it’s more professionally written if the author uses cunt instead of pussy.

***also, for the same reason why we don’t replace cock with penis in a smut fic, please don’t use the word vagina unless you’re preparing your readers for their anatomy class.

[pascaloverx]

NO LIGHT

SUMMARY: Your life is simple. You are a pastry chef who has just opened a bakery near your home. A new life, being a new person. But when James Barnes shows up at your bakery injured, asking you to offer him shelter, your life takes a sudden turn.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: The characters in this fanfiction are not my creation and all belong to the Marvel universe. This story will feature scenes of violence, brief intense intimate moments, and inappropriate language. To the readers, I wish you a good read and ask that you engage with the fanfiction if you like it. Do not interact with this fanfiction if you are underage. Enjoy reading.

ONE THREE

TWO

You step away from Barnes instantly as you see the red-haired woman enter. She smirks as if she's amused by the scene. Barnes looks at her and then at you, as if analyzing the situation. "I can explain…" are the words that come out of Barnes' mouth as he looks at you, almost seeming apprehensive.

"I didn't know I was interrupting a moment of love, forgive me. You told me I should meet you here, I came as quickly as I could, moya lyubov. You just forgot to tell me you were accompanied." The most beautiful woman you've ever seen says, subtly indicating she has a relationship with Barnes. You feel slightly uncomfortable, raising an eyebrow as you look at the two of them. She stands behind him and wraps her arm around his neck as if she's leaning on him. He looks tense.

"Romanoff, meet the bakery owner, Miss Y/L/N. We'll need to take care of her security." Barnes says as he removes Romanoff's arm from around his neck and looks at you, standing in front of them. Your chest tightens as you realize that now you’re not safe alone and basically need two bodyguards.

"Nice to meet the woman who helped our Barnes here. James must have informed you that we can't reveal what we are. But it's cute that you were willing to help a stranger for nothing in return, risking your own safety." She says as if she's thankful but sounding sarcastic. It might have been foolish to help Barnes without knowing him well, but who wouldn't help him? An extremely handsome, I mean kind, man with extremely captivating, I mean sincere and blue, eyes.

"I would have helped any of my customers who seemed to be in a difficult situation. His life was at risk. What would you have done, Miss Romanoff?" You say subtly, being sharp. It's better to pretend you don't have a crush on Barnes since he obviously must have something with Romanoff.

"You're so sweet for being so selfless, I would have taken care of my own problems and not meddled in others' affairs. You're braver than you seem, I hope we get along well." She says, smiling kindly at you. You decide to extend your hand to her, and you shake hands as if agreeing on something. Barnes watches you while leaning against the wall near the exit.

"Natasha, take a look at the entrance of the establishment. Then we'll escort Miss Y/L/N to her apartment, placing a camera at her apartment entrance will be useful, and see if there's anyone suspicious watching her." Barnes says with a scowl, looking at Romanoff. She nods in agreement with what he says and starts examining your bakery and everything around it, leaving you and Barnes alone. You look at him with a certain anger.

"Have you thought about asking Miss Y/L/N if she agrees to be watched? If she wants her life turned upside down because of you? Or does she have no say in this?" You express your frustration. Not wanting to be cliché, but if they're going to mess up your life, you could at least be informed about it.

"Miss, I wish I were in a situation where your opinion mattered. But between conducting a satisfaction survey with you and protecting you, I'd rather protect you. You'll have to trust me and my decisions." Barnes says seriously, but you let out a laugh. Of course, he would say that. To hell with what you think, he's protecting you. Protecting you from an enemy that isn't yours, from a danger you don't know.

"Then let me turn you in. If my safety is so important, go to those who want you and surrender. That way, I won't be in danger anymore. Oh, you're not going to do that. Because it would ruin your life, ruin your plan, if there is a plan. So before coming with that action movie hero talk, remember that you are the reason I'm at any risk." You say as you move closer to him, pointing your finger right in the middle of his chest. Your tone is defensive, as if you want to attack him before he can come up with an excuse to treat you like a fool.

"You're right, I admit I'm trying to make decisions for you. But understand, my intention is to keep you safe. Precisely because I am the reason you are in this situation. So I'm sorry, but there will be times when your will has to be disregarded for the greater good." Barnes holds your hand, the one you were using to point at him. You sigh as you feel his touch. It's as if he's trying to calm you down.

"Are you trying to make me lose concentration with your touch and your pretty blue eyes? It's not going to work. I need you to inform me of the decisions made and what will be necessary to keep me alive. Do we have an agreement?" You try to keep a neutral expression, but the truth is you are melting inside. You feel his gentle touch on you and a tenderness fills your heart.

"Lovebirds, I've already installed a camera in front of the bakery, discreetly. Can we go to the residence of your beautiful damsel in distress, or do you prefer to continue the preliminaries here?" Natasha says, entering the bakery again, smiling in your direction. You both turn to look at her, and meanwhile, you feel Barnes pull back and take his hand off you.

"I can take you there later. I'm a busy woman, as you can see, my establishment doesn't run itself." You say, stepping away from Barnes and going to put some other bread dough in the oven. You avoid looking at Barnes, as he doesn't seem to want to understand you. Natasha seems to sense the tension in the air and laughs mischievously.

"You two are fighting, aren't you? How cute. I can come back later." Natasha says, teasing you, and for some reason, it irritates you. How could you be fighting with someone you barely know?

"Certainly not; Mr. Barnes was just about to leave anyway. I was just informing him that I will not be an idiot who you watch and command. If you want my cooperation, inform me of the details and consult me on every decision. Otherwise, both of you can go to hell." You say in a serious tone, as if challenging both of them. Natasha looks at you with admiration, as if she's proud of you for speaking up like that. When your eyes turn to Barnes, he looks incredulous. Perhaps your stubbornness irritates him.

"Let's go, Romanoff. Miss Y/L/N seems sure she can handle things without our supervision. And despite us leaving, I can assure you that I will come back here and, even if I have to carry you, we will go to your apartment to take care of your security there. Have a good day." Barnes stares at you for a few seconds while informing you that he will proceed with or without your consent. Natasha and he then leave, leaving you there, thinking about what is happening.

The rest of the day passes in a blur for you, amidst the worry of what it will be like to see Barnes and Romanoff again later. Or what your life will be like from now on. You would be lying if you said that not knowing what Barnes does for a living to be pursued by people who can be so dangerous isn't eating you up inside. Just as you would be deceiving yourself if you didn't admit that during the hours away from him, you've been thinking that fleeing the country wouldn't be a bad idea. But part of you wants to trust him, even without any rational reason for it. And so, you serve your customers somewhat absent-mindedly, but at the end of the day, everything goes well. You close your establishment, full of paranoia about whether you're being watched or not. The walk to your apartment is lonely, which you deduce is the result of your stubbornness. Barnes gave up on you; not even giving you the chance to be carried by him. You're a bit disheartened by this. So when you step out of the elevator to go to your apartment, you're startled to see Barnes in front of your door.

"How did you get here?" you ask while holding a grocery bag with some ingredients you bought. You might not have a secret job, but entering the market suddenly made you sure you weren't being followed. Since you were there, you did some shopping. And apparently Barnes did too. Because he's holding a bottle of wine in his hand.

"The same way I know your name, your age, and probably your favorite color. I brought your favorite wine, by the way. I know we didn't really fight, but I think I should apologize. I can be a bit authoritarian." Barnes approaches, showing the wine in his hand. A Merlot wine. He really did research on you. You look at him, smiling slightly.

"Great, I can't know almost anything about you, and you probably even know the color of the underwear I'm wearing today. Seems so fair." you say, a bit irritated, as you approach the door to open it. Barnes chuckles.

"Before you start a protest, how about we drink this wine here and I tell you things I can share with you. And for your information, it's red, your favorite color." Barnes says suavely, and when you realize he's talking about the color of your underwear, you feel immensely embarrassed. But you open the door wider, silently letting him into your apartment. And as you close the door, you feel ready to get to know Barnes better.

[cameronspecial]

how about we go a lil angsty? the reader hadn’t yet told him about her being pregnant bcs she remembers Drew once said he doesnt know if he wants to be a dad and so she tried to bring the topic up with hypothetical questions and his answers not exactly the thing she wanted to hear so she went all silent and pulled herself away and stuff.

I dont wanna give it away, so please you decide the ending..either they communicate and Dad!Rafe rise or…

I Want This

Pairing: Dad!Drew Starkey x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of Abortions and Miscommunication

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 1.2K

Masterlist

Well… She doesn’t know what she expected the results to be, but this is definitely an answer. Y/N doesn’t even think she can focus on the opinion she has of this situation because all she can think about is Drew’s.

———

“Awww, Babe, look at this pic of Lils that Mac sent me,” he gushed, holding his phone up to his fiancée. She looked up from her laptop, “So cute. Ugh, I miss them so much. I mean look at those little baby rolls. I just want to cuddle the cutie.” He smiled and brought her head under the crook of his neck. “I know. We have to visit them soon. I’m so glad I have a niece. It means I can be the fun uncle forever and never have to be a dad,” he mindlessly thought out loud, going back to scrolling on his phone. This caused her to freeze; they never talked about having kids, but he was so good with them that she assumed he would want them. She should’ve asked him about it because she wanted them. She didn’t though. Kids were important to her and so was Drew. She wasn’t ready to cause a rift in their relationship because of something small. 

———

Staring at the positive pregnancy test, she has to figure out a way to gauge how he would feel about it before actually telling him the truth. Once she knows how he feels, it will help her decide how she wants to feel about it seeing that if they are on the opposite page, then she would have to make a difficult decision. She shoves the positive tests into the box and hides them in her makeup drawer. He never goes looking there. She exits the bathroom, lets out a deep breath, and heads to the kitchen to start getting lunch ready. Drew is coming home from filming in Morocco later today. The music blasting through the speakers makes her unaware of the new presence in the house. He smiles at the dancing silhouette cutting potatoes. His hand drops over her eyes and she sets the knife down with a grin. Her arms wrap around her neck to bring him down towards her. This allows her to pepper his face with kisses. “Hey, you weren’t supposed to be back until tonight,” she notices, turning the music off. His hand rests on her hip, “I was, but I was offered an early flight and I couldn’t say no to seeing my girl early. I missed you and I love you.” She sinks into his hold. “I missed and love you too.”

The couple spend the next half an hour cooking together before settling themselves at the dining room table. Since they talked to each other throughout cooking, silence falls over them. A chime comes from his phone and he checks it to see a text from his sister. “Mac is planning on coming down with Lils and my mom soon. They can stay in the guest room, right?” Drew confirms, reading over the text again. She nods, “Yeah, I’ll get it ready over the weekend and buy one of those travelling crib things for Lils. It is going to be fun to have a baby around the house. The guest room would make a nice baby room in the future. It has nice big windows and the closet is the perfect size.” The chuckle that comes out of his mouth drops her stomach into a furnace. 

“What’s so funny?” she questions. He shrugs, “Not the babysitting part. They could both use a break and I will never say no to spending time with my niece. It’s just the thought of having to turn the guest room into a baby room is funny.” 

“Oh, why?”

“I don’t know. It’s a guest room. I mean where would our family stay when they come over?” 

“Yeah, where would they stay?”

She should probably ask if he meant he can’t imagine the room as a baby room right now or if it was a forever thought; however, she is scared of the answer she is going to get so she shuts down the conversation. They sit in a new tension-filled silence that he pretends he can’t feel. 

———

After lunch, Y/N retreats to the backyard to swing in the hammock. This tells him that she needs some space and he knows she is upset when she is still outside at eleven p.m. The friction of the patio door sliding against each other makes her turn to him. She doesn’t acknowledge his presence, waiting for him to say something. He places the plate of pasta he made for dinner onto the side table beside the hammock. “I found the pregnancy tests,” he states, bringing one of the patio chairs close to her. She freezes and sits up. Her legs swing over the fabric to face him, “How?” “Maddie helped me pick out clay pot Moroccan lipstick for you and I wanted to surprise you with it. I was going to hide it in your drawer…” he explains, eyes falling to his fingers and trailing off at the end. Her head moves up and down. Her thoughts are moving around her head a thousand miles a second. He is going to break up with her. He is going to make her have an abortion. Or worse. He is going to make her choose between the baby or him on the spot. 

He grows nervous when she doesn’t say anything and his suspicions are confirmed. He understands why she is unsure about talking to him about this. The way he has spoken about having a baby in the past could’ve given her the wrong idea. He hesitantly reaches to place a hand on hers and does it when she doesn’t shy away. “I want you to know that the decision about what we do with the baby is up to you and I will be at your side during the whole process,” he assures. Her confusion causes tears to crop up in her eyes, “You don’t want the baby though. I know that, so if you are going to break up with me because I do, then just do it. But making me have to choose is kinda cruel.” His heart squeezes, hating that his words aren’t coming out as he means them to be. His head shakes like crazy and he sits beside her. He brings her head against his chest, “Babe, I don’t want to break up with you. I want to have this baby with you too.”

“You want the baby? Then how come you don’t think the guest room would be a good baby room?”

“Because my office would be a better one. The windows aren’t too big so it won’t wake the baby up in the morning and the closet there is even bigger, so when they get older they can have as many clothes as their heart desires.”

“Okay, you are right… What about when you said you want to be an uncle forever and never be a dad?”

“Honestly, I never really thought I would want to be a dad. I was content with being an uncle, but, Babe, when I found that pregnancy test, all I could think about was how happy I was to be bringing a child into the world with the most amazing woman in the world and I couldn’t wait to raise them with you.”

She leans back and rests a warm palm on his cheeks, trying to hold back her tears. “So you want to have this baby?” she verifies. He kisses the tears away, “I want this, Babe. I promise. We are going to do this. Together.”

Taglist: @winterrrnight @loves0phelia @thelomlisrafecameron @wickedlovely121 @thepatriarchykeychain @drewsmusee @starkowswife @maybankslover @forstarkey @loving-and-dreaming @magicalyoura

[m1ckeyb3rry]

── THE GLASS PRINCESS // TEN

Series Synopsis: You wake up in a strange room with no memories, broken glass at your bedside, and a prince named Zuko as your only chance at figuring out who you really are.

Chapter Synopsis: You and Lee spend some time in Ba Sing Se, where you meet a familiar girl. Afterwards, you tell Lee the story of Quynh and how she came to be.

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Zuko x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 7.2k

Content Warnings: complicated relationships (strangers to friends to lovers to enemies to strangers to lovers to enemies to lovers), amnesia, alternate universe, lots of secrets and lying and mystery

A/N: PLEASE DO NOT SLANDER ME FOR THE FATHER GLOWWORM REPRESENTATION I HAVE NOT READ THE KYOSHI NOVELS ‼️ idek what he’s up to in canon but his powers fit the situation so he got to feature in the fic…pretty sure he’s way more heinous in the atla-verse but oh well!!! glass princess father glowworm is just chill like that ig 😰

“Lee,” you said from where you sat on the kitchen counter, watching him scrub dishes. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and he wore his signature scowl on his face, though every time you spoke, it abated in favor of something resembling a smile.

“Y/N,” he said. “Are we introducing one another or something?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you said. “Now that we are friends, I want to ask you a question.”

“We’re not friends,” he said, as was customary, taking a rag and using it to dry the mug he had just washed. “But go ahead.”

In the days since you had happened upon the refugee gate, you had not seen the Blue Spirit at all. Every night, you waited for him, and every night you returned to the palace disappointed. Eventually, you understood what he was saying by not arriving, and so you turned to the only other source of companionship you had been offered: Lee and Mushi from the tea shop.

Mushi had been delighted, but Lee had been more than a little annoyed at the prospect of having to spend everyday with you. This time, though, you did not relent. You followed him around the tea shop as he worked, chattering to him incessantly, and finally he grew resigned enough to your presence that he stopped complaining about it and began speaking with you somewhat normally.

For the most part, the two of you talked about books and tea and other, safer subjects. You were still trying to understand what you had seen the other day, and you had no idea what Lee’s opinions were on the matter, so until now, you had not even considered broaching any of the more sensitive topics.

“How did you end up in Ba Sing Se? I don’t mean why you came. I mean, how did you get in here?” you said.

The question was still unclear, but Lee did not ask for further explanation. He finished drying the mug and put it with the rest before taking a plate and running it under the water.

“We took a ferry,” he said. “We had to buy tickets and show our passports, of course, but it went relatively seamlessly otherwise. By the way, if you’re just going to sit there, you might as well be useful and sweep or something.”

“What about the entrance fee?” you said, sliding off the counter and taking the broom he handed you, leaning on the handle and batting your eyelashes at him without even trying to sweep. This earned you a scoff as he once again shifted from washing to drying, though his trademark red flush crept up his neck at the same time, which meant he wasn’t really upset.

“It wasn’t a thing when we came,” he said. “Or, at least, it wasn’t that high. I’m pretty sure that it was included in the price of our tickets. They were so expensive that it would only make sense. Possibly not, though. Last I checked, they just raise the prices because they can nowadays.”

“I can’t understand it,” you said. “Why is there such a desperate need for people to come here? Surely you must know. Can you tell me?”

Belatedly, you realized this might give away your identity in some way, because who else would have such little sense for what was happening in the world but the princess who had been locked away for so long? But if Lee was suspicious, he did not show it, only exhaling heavily and shaking his head.

“There’s quite a lot, and none of it is safe to discuss here,” he said. “Sorry, but I don’t want something happening to my uncle or I.”

“It’s okay,” you said. “I don’t blame you. If I had known it was like that, I wouldn’t have asked.”

He shrugged his broad shoulders. “It’s a strange place we live in.”

“That’s for certain!” you said, pointing the broom at him for emphasis. “Do you know the situation at that one gate?”

“The second southeast gate? Yeah, it’s in a bad shape, but almost all of them are like that,” he said. “It’s common knowledge, but that doesn’t mean anyone’s about to do anything about it.”

All of them were like that. That meant that every day, the entire perimeter of Ba Sing Se was flooded by people trying to get in, people like the ones the you and Blue Spirit had seen. It was human suffering on a scale you could not comprehend, and the broom clattered to the ground as you attempted to envision it. How many hundreds of them were there? What were they seeking refuge from? What reality was worse than the one they were running towards?

“Every gate,” you said. “But Ba Sing Se has so many…”

“Some of them are wealthier entrances,” Lee said, using a towel to wipe his hands off and unrolling his sleeves. Picking up the broom, he began to sweep. “It’s not that bad at those ones. Apparently, things at the second southeast gate are improving now, too.”

“Are they?” you said. It was only a modicum of reassurance, but even the knowledge that one less person might be hurt was enough to cheer you. “Why is that?”

“Apparently, some rich woman came with someone dressed as the Blue Spirit and donated half of her life savings so that no one had to pay the entrance fee there,” he said. “Things haven’t devolved into sheer chaos only because what she did is still a relatively unknown thing, so it’s mostly only had positive consequences so far.”

“Half of her life savings?” you said, thinking back to the amount you had given, which had really been nothing but pocket change. “Um, wow. That was — very generous of her to do. She must be a charitable person.”

“Must be,” Lee said flatly. “And I guess there really is a Blue Spirit in Ba Sing Se. Sorry for doubting it. Even though he’s obviously not the same person as the one from the play, namely because that Blue Spirit would’ve done something instead of just standing around when there’s people in need.”

“He was doing what he could!” you said. Lee raised his eyebrows at you, and this time, it was your turn to cough to disguise your emotions. “That is to say, I’m sure there was more going on than either of us are aware of.”

“Right,” he said. You glared at him.

“Really! The Blue Spirit is a good person!” you said, feeling honor-bound to defend him. Even if you hadn’t seen him in so long, he was still the man who had saved you. You still harbored some feelings you could not quite name for him. “Maybe it only looked like he wasn’t doing anything, but he was. I know he was.”

“Whatever you say. Super-fan,” he said, muttering the last under his breath.

“You’re the one who likes the play so much,” you reminded him. “If anyone’s a super-fan, it’s you.”

Lee was saved from responding by Mushi’s entrance. His uncle was the kind of person that was impossible to be angry around, and he had an uncanny knack for knowing exactly when you and his nephew were arguing. His presence quelled you both, and it was probably the only reason the two of you had not, in the earlier days, read one another to filth.

“Good, you got all of those cups washed!” Mushi said. “I was worried you’d be too distracted, but I’m glad to see that that didn’t happen.”

“What would I be distracted by?” Lee said, putting the broom away. You had picked up very quickly on the fact that Lee had no interest in helping out around the Pao Family Tea House, and that tea was not really something that excited him, but it was the only way that he and his uncle could make money, so he did what he could, albeit without a smile on his face or any passion to his motions.

“If I had a lovely lady to talk with all day, I’d hardly get anything done!” Mushi said.

“Uncle!” Lee hissed.

“It’s okay, Mushi. You can think of me as more of a taskmaster than anything; I make sure Lee gets everything done in a timely fashion,” you said when it became evident that Lee was far too embarrassed to say anything more.

“And she doesn’t even offer to help while she’s at it,” Lee added. “So, ha.”

“It feels like you were trying to get the last word in there, but I don’t think you were successful in that endeavor,” you said. “Just so you know.”

“Shut up,” he said.

“Lee, please be kind to your friend,” Mushi said.

“Yeah, Lee,” you crowed. “Be nice to your friend!”

“Y/N,” Lee said, pointing a threatening finger at you, though it was hard to genuinely be afraid of him when he was so relatively harmless in everything he did. “You’re not even my friend, so you don’t get to pull that card!”

“I’m the only person you talk to, besides your uncle, so doesn’t that make us friends automatically?” you said.

“No, it just means I don’t have any friends at all!” he said haughtily, leaning the broom against the wall and dusting his hands off against his apron.

“Once again, I don’t think that that’s quite the closing statement you were aiming for,” you said. ���It has more of an embarrassing effect to it than a victorious one.”

“Now, now, both of you should stop quarreling,” Mushi said. “Lee, your shift is almost over. How about you and Y/N take some time to explore the city together? It’ll only improve your spirits!”

“Believe it or not, I’d actually rather work,” Lee said, though he did untie his apron and hang it up.

“Just be back in time for your evening shift!” Mushi said.

“I’ll make sure he is,” you promised, following after Lee as he all but raced out of the tea shop, waving at Mushi, who waved cheerfully back. “Hey, Lee, wait up!”

Luckily, Lee did slow down a bit, allowing you to catch up with him, the two of you walking side by side down the street in the afternoon sun. It was a different context than you were usually in; he had been forced to take the evening shift more often than not nowadays, so he was normally still working by the time you left for the fountain. Today was the first time you had come early enough to be there for his break, and without the tea shop in the background to smooth your interactions over, there was an awkwardness that filled the air.

Who were you and he outside of the Pao Family Tea House? Who was Lee when he was not working as a server? Who were you when you were not protected by the secrecy of being just another patron of the shop?

“It’s you!” a soft, feminine voice said. Suddenly, you were being accosted by a pair of arms thrown around your shoulders, holding you in the sincerest embrace you had felt in many years.

“Me?” you said, wriggling free from the hug to peer at the girl. She beamed up at you, holding onto your hands, and though you couldn’t quite place it, you knew that you did recognize her from somewhere.

“Yes, you,” she said. “Everyone’s been saying you’re a spirit, since you don’t match the description of anyone living in the Upper Ring, but I’vealways believed in you. I’ve always known that you were a real person.”

Your eyes widened as you realized where you knew her from: she was the girl who had been helping the man with the burnt leg at the second southeast gate. She must’ve seen you when you had given the captain the money, and somehow, despite the days that had elapsed since then, she had recognized you.

You glanced at Lee, but he did not seem surprised nor intrigued by the conversation. He was diligently reading a street sign, which really could not have been all too fascinating, but he was an odd boy with odd habits, and it afforded you some semblance of privacy to converse with the girl, so you did not say anything to him about it.

“You’re the reason my father is still alive, lady,” the girl said, squeezing your hands tightly. “We thought we might have to cut his — cut his leg off or something, but because of you, we were able to get to a doctor in time.”

“That kind of doctor must be expensive,” you said. She nodded.

“Oh, yes, he was one of the Upper Ring ones,” she said. “But he saved my father’s leg, so what does it matter? I’ll figure it out.”

“You will?” you said. “What about your mother? Or your elder siblings, if you have any?”

The girl glanced around nervously before beckoning you closer. You offered her your ear, wondering what kind of terrible secrecy she was sworn to that she had to be so careful.

“I know we’re not supposed to talk about it, so please don’t repeat this to anyone, but the truth is that my mother and my little brother were killed by Firebenders. They set our house on fire while they were taking over our village. It’s how my father got his leg burnt,” she said, her small voice choked. “He went back in to save them, but he couldn’t. The only reason I’m alright is that our cat had run away and I had gone to find her.”

She was barely more than a child, and yet she had had the responsibilities of a woman thrust upon her. How could a little girl be expected to take upon the sole burden of providing for herself, for paying back the doctor that her father had needed? It wasn’t fair. None of it was fair, but if not her, then who else could even do it? By that definition, she was alone now.

You thought that maybe you and she were not entirely dissimilar. In the end, you, too, were alone. Even if you could not relate to anything else, you had that much in common with her.

“Here,” you said, taking her hand, pressing a handful of coins into it. “I’m not sure if this will be enough, but it will be better than nothing. At least, it should tide you over until your father is feeling better and he, too, can find work.”

Her eyes shone, and she dipped into a bow. Cursing under your breath, you caught her by the shoulders, looking around to make sure that nobody had seen. The last thing you needed was to be caught and dragged back to the palace by the Dai Li or some other such authority.

“Lady, I only came to thank you, but you’ve done me such a favor that I don’t know how I can ever repay you for it,” she said. You smiled at her.

“You needn’t repay me. In truth, I should’ve been doing these things long ago; it’s only thanks to, ah, extenuating circumstances that I haven’t been. I hope you stay well, dear girl, and that your father may recover swiftly. I’m sorry that you have had to suffer so greatly already,” you said, ruffling her hair.

“I hope I get to see you again, lady,” she said before gasping. “Not because you’ve given me money every time! It’s because you’re really kind. I want to thank you properly one day.”

“If it is our destiny, then I’m sure we will meet once more,” you said. “And you needn’t thank me. It is only my duty.”

“Destiny?” she said. “But how can I ensure that that destiny comes about?”

“Hm,” you said, tapping your chin in thought. “When you are older, please work very hard. Work so hard that even the royal family cannot ignore your efforts, and then go to the palace and ask for Quynh. Even if I am not allowed to meet you, I will find a way. If you can do that, then I will do my part so that our fates can collide another time.”

“Quynh!” she said, sucking in a breath. “Oh, I didn’t know…! I’ve treated you so flippantly!”

“It’s not a problem,” you said. “Now run along. And — and I know it won’t do anything, but I’m very sorry about what happened to your family. I wish there was something I could’ve done to stop it.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” she said. “It was — you know. Them. You’re the one who’s helped me. I’m really grateful to you, so don’t apologize.”

“Maybe that’s how it is,” you said. “Anyways, welcome to Ba Sing Se. The city is improved by your presence.”

“Thank you!” she said, bowing again before you could stop her and then scampering away. You watched her go until she disappeared into the crowd, and then you turned to Lee, who was still steadfastly reading the same sign.

“There must be something fascinating written on that sign, for you to be so intently reading it,” you said, jabbing his arm with your pointer finger as you read over the sign yourself. “Mm, very interesting indeed. Left to the Firelight Fountain. Right to the Pao Family Tea House. Straight to the First Southeast Gate. That’s the kind of content you just can’t pull yourself away from.”

“I was trying to be respectful and not listen in on your conversation!” Lee said.

“Oh, thanks,” you said. “That was surprisingly good of you to do.”

“What was it about, anyways?” he said. “Why’d she recognize you?”

“It doesn’t matter,” you said. He pursed his lips before turning away, continuing to walk down the street, towards the Firelight Fountain where you spent your evenings waiting for the Blue Spirit.

“Who is Quynh?” he said after a second. You frowned at him.

“How do you not know who Quynh is? She’s the patron spirit of the Earth Kingdom!” you said. “Or at least of Ba Sing Se.”

“Sorry I never had much time to study theology of all things while I was out…there!” he said, vaguely gesturing around.

“Out there,” you said. “Where, like the Fire Nation or something? I thought knowledge of her must be common throughout the Earth Kingdom.”

“No!” he said quickly. “Just — we traveled a lot, you know, and mostly in rural areas, so we, um, never heard the stories.”

You supposed it made sense. What guarantee was there that the legend of Quynh had reached every single corner of the Earth Kingdom? It made sense that someone like Lee, who must’ve spent his formative years in some place closer to the border than Ba Sing Se, wasn’t quite educated on the tale of the great mother bear.

“What business did you have traveling, anyways?” you said.

“It was for, er, work,” he said. “We were in, uh, a circus! Yeah, a circus.”

“A circus,” you said. “I’m sure you attracted all sorts of patrons with your charming and outgoing personality.”

“I wasn’t a performer! My uncle was. I just maintained his equipment,” he said.

“That’s a little more believable,” you said. “What did he do in the circus?”

“He was,” Lee began, his eyebrows low over his eyes in thought, “an acrobat! Mhm. He was an acrobat.”

“It’s not as believable anymore,” you informed him. You couldn’t imagine Mushi doing flips and cartwheels anymore than you could imagine Lee juggling. When he had said that his uncle had been a performer, you had been expecting him to be the ringmaster, perhaps, or even an animal trainer, but not an acrobat.

“Why? Uncle Mushi is plenty flexible!” he said. You made a face.

“I shall take your word for it,” you said. “But I’m sure he’s pleased to be retired by now.”

“Very pleased,” Lee said. “In fact, he’s so pleased to have put that part of his life behind him that he becomes really upset when people bring it up again. So I’d recommend you don’t.”

Upsetting Mushi was the last thing you wanted to do, given how well he always treated you when you visited the Pao Family Tea House, so you nodded at Lee and mimed sealing your lips together.

“I won’t mention it,” you said.

“Thank you,” he said. “But back to the original topic. Who is Quynh?”

“Ah, right,” you said. “Although she’s known as the guardian spirit of Ba Sing Se, and of the Earth Kingdom in general, it’s a little more complex than that. You see, she’s not meant to guard the entire kingdom; her loyalty is to the royal family and them alone.”

“Then how’d it get confused?” he said.

“Once upon a time, when she was the most active, the interests of the royal family and the interests of the kingdom were not so separate,” you said. “Maybe it’s not the case in the recent era, but no one’s even seen Quynh in so long that by now, her name has been solidified in history as the great mother of the Earth Kingdom.”

“Is that all there is to the story?” he said as you reached the Firelight Fountain. Of course, in the daytime, there were no lanterns lit, but in lieu of the eponymous firelight, there was a family of turtleducks floating in the placid waters.

Digging in his pockets, Lee produced a bunch of grapes. Breaking off a few, he dropped them in your palm before taking a couple of his own and tossing them into the fountain for the turtleducks to peck at. You followed his example, secretly pleased that he had known that bread was bad for the turtleducks’ stomachs and had been appropriately prepared with a better alternative.

“No, naturally it’s a long tale,” you said. “Do you really want to hear it?”

“Sure,” he said. “It beats working the afternoon shift.”

“I suppose that’s fair,” you said. “Alright, then. It’s an old story, for Quynh is an old beast, but it’s widely considered to be timeless, so I hope that you do not find it to be at all dated, despite its age.”

Contrary to popular belief, Quynh was not born a spirit. In fact, she was a mortal animal, a bear — a true one, of the same form as King Kuei’s Bosco. Even she was a child once, a mere cub, small enough that a person could heft her in their arms.

In that time, bears were considered to be a great threat to the world. They were thought of as vicious, cruel creatures, with swords for teeth and knives for claws. Larger than any man could ever hope to be, they were frequently hunted, both for sport and for safety, and so it came to be that by the time Quynh was all of two moons old, her and her mother were the only known bears left in the world.

Her mother, who was scarred and gray at the muzzle, knew that it was only a matter of time before she and Quynh, too, followed in the paths of their brethren. She was a canny bear, and so she took Quynh to a river and sank her teeth into the scruff of her daughter’s neck, dipping her into mud to disguise her scent and then dragging the whining cub into a cave that promised to have what she needed.

It was some time before she reached it, but eventually, she made it to the center of the cave, where its inhabitant resided. It was one of the massive, blind badgermoles, though something set this one apart from the others: she was in mourning, hunched over the frail body of her young, which had drawn only a few breaths before passing. 

Quynh’s mother nudged the badgermole before dropping Quynh at her feet. The badgermole, deprived of her sense of smell because of the mud slathered over Quynh’s body, accepted her as her own — or perhaps she did not want to question the stroke of good fortune, that she had just lost her child and then so soon had been given another to care for, even one as tiny as Quynh.

Her mother nuzzled her one last time before leaving the cave. It is unclear what happened to her after that; until recently, it was agreed that she must have been killed like the others, but since the discovery of Bosco, her fate was no longer quite as certain. Perhaps she and a few others managed to survive for all of that time, leading to the birth of the king’s companion…or perhaps Bosco was unrelated to Quynh and the descendant of another strain entirely.

The badgermoles raised Quynh as if she were one of them. She learnt to Earthbend from them, though it was not in the same way; she was not blind, and so did not have the same reliance on the element, and because of her comparatively smaller stature, she never gained the strength needed to command the earth in the way of her family. Still, she did what she could, and though she remembered her mother fondly, she thought of her only on the coldest of nights. The badgermoles were the ones who reared her, and though she could never forget that she was not one of them, that she was a bear, she was never ostracized for it. They loved her, the badgermoles, and as she had spent much of her life with them, she loved them back.

It was when she was four years of age that someone else came to the cave of the badgermoles, though this visitor was neither bear nor badgermole. He was a boy, one with a kind smile and soft hands. His name was Shan, and according to him, he had come to learn from the badgermoles. Earthbending was their art, and if he ever wanted to master it in a meaningful way, then he would have to become their disciple.

Quynh did not trust Shan for many moons after his arrival. She remembered what his kind had done to her own, and though the badgermoles harbored no such misgivings, she would always snarl at him when he visited, gnashing her teeth until he backed away with his hands in the air.

Stubbornness, though, was a family trait. Just like the rest of his line, Shan was not willing to give up. He knew not why Quynh despised him, only that she did, and it was something he could not live with. Every day he tried, and every day, in small increments, she forgave him. The sins of his forefathers were not his own, after all, yet he still endeavored to make up for them. He would bring food for Quynh, tell her stories about the sun and promise to take her there one day — after all, she was a bear, not a badgermole, and bears were not meant to live in the darkness.

That was why, when Shan could no longer learn anything from the badgermoles, he did not leave immediately. Instead, he hesitantly reached out and placed his hand in between Quynh’s eyes, splaying his fingers over her broad forehead and asking her a question: will you come with me?

She hesitated for only a moment, but when she glanced back, the badgermoles had already left, for they, too, knew the truth of her being. They had raised her, and they had loved her, and it was because of those years of affection that they were doing her this last favor and letting her go, letting her rejoin the world that she was born to live in.

It was only once they both stood in the sun that Shan revealed something new to her: the continent which they lived on was in a state of perpetual war. It was composed of many small provinces which were constantly battling one another for as many reasons as there were creatures under the sun. For food. For land. For resources. For perceived insults. For women. For riches. It went on and on, and it was to one such war that Shan had lost his parents. 

This was why he needed Quynh’s help. He wanted to unite the provinces, to turn them into one kingdom, so that the wars might cease for some time, but he could not do it alone. He needed her strength, alongside the strength he had received from the badgermoles. She thought that she might feel angry, but in truth, there was a kind of joy she felt at being needed. So she, in her own way, agreed to his request. She agreed to help him turn the disjointed provinces into one united Earth Kingdom — just as long as she could stay by his side when doing so.

Quynh had come to love Shan. It was like that. Sometimes it was as if she had been born to meet him, to be his companion; if she were a human, then she might’ve called him her greatest friend, but since she was not, since she was but an animal, the only word she had for it was brother. Shan was her brother, though much more delicate than she and without nearly as much fur, so she guarded him with all the ferocity of an elder sibling.

Their combined mastery of Earthbending was too much for the warlords and their paltry armies. It was not long before their dream was realized and they had a proper kingdom. The warlords hailed Shan as their ruler and crowned him the Earth King, but then they ran into a new problem: what was a king without a palace?

Thus began their most ambitious undertaking, even more ambitious than the unification of the Earth Kingdom. They were to build a city, one that an ordinary man could not even conceptualize, one that even the greatest army could not take. It would be named Ba Sing Se: the impenetrable capital of the greatest kingdom the world had ever seen.

Scores upon scores of men were enrolled in academies to learn Earthbending, so that the city could be built in a timely fashion. Things went excellently for a time, and Quynh thought that she might finally be happy. She had her beloved Shan at her side, and now that the wars were over, she could spend most of her days sleeping, allowing the sun to warm her dark fur as she dozed in the gardens behind Shan’s childhood home. 

But things were not meant to be like that. A kingdom in its infancy would always strain against its new rulers; that was the way of things, a way which Quynh had not yet learnt. It was because of this that, during one of his tours of the site where the palace would soon be constructed, an assassin tried to kill Shan.

Quynh was the first to sense his arrival, but he was too fast for her to do anything. She could only roar out a warning to her brother as she ran towards him, her ears flat against her head, her swords for teeth and knives for claws extended, even though it was futile. She would not reach him in time. The man rushing at her Shan would stab the dagger into his back, and she could do nothing about it but push herself faster, faster, in the hopes that she could make it, in the hopes that maybe, just maybe, she could at least take the dagger in his stead.

It was not the dagger which killed her. It was her own brother’s student who cried out in alarm and sent a stalagmite shooting up from the ground and into her heart. It was that old fear which all men possessed, the insidious one which said that bears were vicious, cruel creatures, which spelled out her end, as it had spelled out the end of every other bear before her.

Shan had heeded Quynh’s warning and made quick work of the assassin, who was nothing in the face of a master Earthbender such as himself, so he had not understood at first why his faithful companion had stopped roaring. It was only when he turned and saw her bleeding and heard his pupil rambling on about how she had almost killed him that he understood what had happened.

He cast the boy aside, banished him from the Earth Kingdom and told him to never return, and then he fell to his knees in front of Quynh’s lifeless body. For, as she had loved him, he had loved her, too. The skittish bear who had detested him thoroughly…in the process of winning her over, an indescribable fondness had blossomed in him. Quynh was the only reason he had a kingdom. Quynh was the only reason he had anything. Why, then, was Quynh gone? How was he supposed to rule without her at his side? His Quynh. His bear. His greatest friend.

For three days and three nights, he prayed. He prayed to every spirit he could think of: Tui, La, Agni, the Mother of Faces, and even the more unsavory ones, such as Koh the Face-Stealer. He prayed only for one thing: Quynh’s return. He would give up everything, he repeated, as long as she came back to him. That was his promise. That was his vow.

Only one spirit heard him. He was a being who claimed to be a father, though he held such a disdain for everything that it was uncertain whose father he was meant to be, exactly. Shan would never have dared to converse with such a spirit unless he was truly desperate, but he was truly desperate, and it was for this reason that he opened himself to conversation with one of the most malevolent beings in both the spiritual and physical planes: Father Glowworm.

Father Glowworm was the conniving sort, but he was, in his own way, fair. It was not pity that drove his actions, of course, but a hunger, a lust. He told Shan that he could not bring Quynh back, that it was against the laws of the universe to breathe life unto death, but that there was something else he could do — for a price.

Shan agreed. It didn’t matter the price. He had lost his entire family already; he could not lose Quynh, too. Father Glowworm warned him that he would not like it, but Shan swore that there was nothing more important to him than Quynh.

But the price itself was Quynh, Father Glowworm said. He would subsume her body. Shan would have to watch him tear her apart and eat her, and if he could manage that, if he could manage to watch as Father Glowworm ate the body of his greatest friend, then Father Glowworm would give her spirit some of his powers, the ones which allowed him to tunnel between the physical and spiritual worlds. 

There was still another catch. According to Father Glowworm, what he was about to do was the highest form of offense. By offering Quynh’s body to Father Glowworm, Shan was desecrating it thoroughly, and by agreeing to watch, he was essentially forsaking her, declaring that she meant nothing, was nothing to him but rot and garbage. Her spirit would not know the meaning of the ritual, only that it was being done, and so, even if he went through with it, there was a high likelihood that she would not manifest ever again. She would never dare show herself to the man who had allowed her to be devoured by such an evil being, who had stood by and taken in the gory scene without so much as flinching.

She would have to love him so much that she returned in spite of that, Father Glowworm said. Those were the conditions. That was the only way it could be.

Even though it was wrong, even though she would most likely hate him for the rest of time, even though he knew he was ruining everything for the mere chance that he might see her again, Shan agreed to it. Because there was that chance. Because if Quynh loved him as much as he loved her, then she would come back. Because if it had been the opposite way, he would’ve come back. For Quynh, no matter what she did to him, he would’ve come back.

Father Glowworm did nothing to spare Shan’s feelings. His eye remained focused on the man as he did exactly as he had promised, gorging himself on Quynh’s body piece by bloody piece, until there was nothing left of her but a pile of gleaming bones. Those bones, too, were not safe, as he absorbed them, humming as the power and life which had once been Quynh’s filled him instead.

The entire time, Shan stared straight ahead, his gaze never wavering from Father Glowworm’s singular eye. And finally, when the spirit was finished, he began to laugh.

Foolish man, he told him. Everything you have done has been for naught. Do you think that any creature is loyal enough to return after you allowed its body to be destroyed like that? I thank you for the meal, but this is where we must part.

Shan clenched his fists and kept staring into that eye, asking him only one thing. Did you give Quynh the powers you promised? Is she a spirit now?

Of course, Father Glowworm said. Consider it a gratuity for how delicious she was.

Though it seemed hopeless, Shan did not fret the way Father Glowworm was urging him to. As soon as he had the confirmation that Quynh really was a spirit, he allowed himself to relax, nodding at the pulsating mass that was Father Glowworm’s body.

Father Glowworm was naturally confused. In this kind of situation, Shan should’ve been screaming, should’ve been cursing him for the unfair deal — the deal which was by design uneven. He had made it so many times, and it had never mattered. The end result was always the same. The dead ones never came back. They wandered the spirit world in a haze of confusion and anger, hating a person whose only crime had been loving them too much — not that they knew that, of course. Watching their grief and ingesting their mourning was how he amused himself in his eternal existence, but Shan provided no such amusement. It was only a moment later, as the ground began to shake and an enormous form made of shadows emerged from a doorway in the air, that Father Glowworm understood why.

Quynh loved Shan. And so, Quynh came back.

“That’s the tale of her origin, anyways,” you said.

“I didn’t know that Father Glowworm made deals with people,” Lee said. “In all my studies — limited studies, of course, given that I was doing, uh, circus-y things most of the time — he was just a bloodthirsty killer.”

“Even spirits get bored,” you said. “He was also that, but from time to time, he would do this type of thing for no other reason than because he could. Because he wanted to. Are you following?”

“I think so,” Lee said. “Is this a true story?”

“If you believe in Quynh, it is,” you said. You had heard the tale from Quynh herself, so of course you knew that it was real, but it remained that not everyone was aware that Quynh was more than a legendary concept. And surely you could not give away that you had met Quynh personally — many times in fact — so the non-answer was the best way you could hint to Lee just how verifiable the so-called myth was.

“I see,” he said. “It’s really fantastical.”

“Perhaps,” you said.

“But maybe not entirely so,” he said. “Is it known what powers Father Glowworm gave her?”

“It is,” you said. “Though if you didn’t believe that story, you’ll scoff at what they are. They’re very power-of-love based.”

“Sappy,” he said.

“Most assuredly,” you said.

“Just tell me. You’ve gotten me interested now,” he said.

“The palace is built around Quynh’s Den,” you said. “It’s where Quynh resides, so that she may look after the royal family — the descendants of Shan, who she considers to be like her own children — and it’s a place outside of time or space, in a way. It’s said that her den is made in the same place that her body died and her spirit was reborn. In fact, all of Ba Sing Se was built around that central location, with her Den serving as a support to the entire city.

“Because of this, and because of Father Glowworm’s tunneling powers which he gifted to her, she’s also known as the Keeper of Doors. It’s said that every door in Ba Sing Se is a place sacred to Quynh, and that’s why you’ll sometimes see people praying while standing in doorways. From Quynh’s Den, she can open doors to anywhere in the city, though she has trouble with extreme precision or accuracy. Some say that her doors lead you to where you need to go, not where you want to.”

“I don’t see what’s romantic about that,” Lee said. “It’s typical spirit world stuff.”

“Let me finish!” you said, accidentally throwing a grape too hard into the water. It hit the surface with a splash, dousing the nearby turtleduck, who honked at you in irritation. You mouthed an apology at it.

“Look what you’ve done,” Lee observed. “You’ve gone and made the turtleducks upset. Great going, Y/N.”

“Hush!” you said. “Anyways, the romantic part is the best part of the story, I’d say, but it’s the least accepted. You see, Quynh obviously loved Shan.”

“Obviously,” Lee said.

“She loved him so much that it manifested in her powers, too. There’s only one door that she never closes and which always has the same destination, no matter where it’s opened from: Quynh’s Door, which leads to the inside of the palace itself,” you said.

“Isn’t that dangerous?” Lee said.

“It would be,” you said. “Think of how many invasions would be successful if the aggressors could find Quynh’s Door! But it’s not one of her normal doors, which can be seen by anybody. Sometimes, it can’t be seen by anyone at all. It’s a door that only appears to those who Quynh deems worthy.”

“And how is one deemed worthy?” Lee said, clearly enthralled as he leaned in towards you slightly, all pretenses of feeding the turtleducks abandoned. You grinned at him.

“It’s the same way Quynh came back as a spirit,” you said. “You have to be loved by Shan, or, in modernity, someone of his line.”

“You don’t say…” Lee trailed off.

“Do you see what I mean? It’s almost out of the realm of probability that it’s the case, that she really loved Shan that much, but it’s the truth,” you said. “The only way that a person can find Quynh’s Door and enter the palace without restriction is if they are loved by someone in the royal family.”

taglist (comment/send an ask/dm to be added): @rinisfruity14 @c4ttheart @blacky-rose @shizko @marsbars09 @happyplaidpersonfestival @catborglar @camilleverreault @nerdybouquetofkittens-blog @lovialy @heart4hees @stefnarda