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anneapocalypse · 1 year

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Right to Their Faces: Sera's Romance Quest

The Sera Series: Exploring Sera's character and background.

This one was originally going to be part of another post I have in the works, "Sera and the Inquisitor," but I realized that I had a lot to say about Sera's romance quest and it really deserved its own post.

Disclaimer: It is absolutely fine if you don't like Sera or don't like Sera's romance, don't connect with her, don't find her relatable, whatever! I'm not here to tell anyone what they can or can't like. I just want to talk about my read and my feelings on this romance quest. If you don't like Sera and are not open to positively discussing Sera, that's just fine; feel free to scroll right on by, no need to inform me in the notes.

Sera's romance quest, "A Woman Who Wants for Nothing," triggers once the Inquisitor has confirmed her romantic interest in Sera and Sera's approval is high enough. The Inquisitor is prompted to find a gift for Sera because—okay look, we really need to spend a minute on how this quest begins, because it's truly delightful.

When the Inquisitor comes to Sera's alcove, Sera runs up behind her, excited, and exclaims all in a rush, "Listen! I got you a hat, but it's ugly, so I drew Coryhe-whatzit's face on it, and stuffed it with apples. Everyone's hitting it with sticks! I really hope you like it!" and then runs away giggling.

I mean, it's pretty clear here that this is all in fun to Sera. She wanted to give her Inky something, but the hat she found was ugly, so she decided to turn it into a joke and hoped Inky would be entertained by it. It's the Inquisitor, charmingly, who decides to take this super seriously, looking after Sera and saying thoughtfully to herself, "We're giving gifts now?"

The Inquisitor then goes to all her other companions looking for help finding a gift for Sera. Practically no one has any good ideas, or any ideas at all really. I want to pause on that aspect for a moment. Why doesn't anyone (including the Inquisitor, who is actively seeing her) know what Sera would like?

I mean first of all, the clue's kind of in the name of the quest. No one can think of a gift for Sera because Sera doesn't particularly want anything. She is not very concerned with owning things. She doesn't covet fancy clothes or shoes or hats or jewelry. The Undercroft keeps the Inquisition supplied with arms and armor, so she doesn't have need of those things as gifts. She likes books, but she has Skyhold's entire library at her disposal. She likes food, a lot, and she likes cakes, and if pressed I'd say that of all the material gifts she could receive, a cake made just for her would probably go over the best, but I don't think it would be better than what we ultimately get in this quest.

Sera does like collecting various objects, and we find her catalog of these in her journal, "Sera's Cabinet of Wonder Whose It Was," but these are all mundane items: a Circle banner, a goblet, a halla statue, a deck of cards, masks stolen from the Winter Palace. Little curiosities, things she finds meaningful or strange or funny. This is a collection curated purely on Sera's whims, and it could be difficult for even someone close to her to guess what kind of object might catch her fancy in that way.

And here we have the ironic meaning of the quest title. Usually, the expression that a person "wants for nothing" means that they already have everything they could possibly want, but for Sera it takes on a different meaning. Sera "wants for nothing" because she not only lacks a life of wealth and comfort but has actively rejected it and all the baggage that came with it. Someone will probably point out here that Sera is interested in making a profit with her Red Jenny shenanigans, and she is, she says so! but what she is not concerned with is accumulating and hoarding wealth or possessions. That is a life she has very consciously rejected.

I also don't think we should ignore the role of class in the way the other Inner Circle members treat Sera, even the "nicest" ones. There's not really any getting around the fact that other characters—including characters we like—look down on Sera because she's low class. Sera is not the only elf in the Inquisition, and there are definitely characters who treat Solas poorly in various ways, but they do not treat Solas the same way they treat Sera. Sera gets the most abject disrespect both for being an elf and for being low-class, and—this part's important—for looking and sounding low-class, and being proud of it.

Cullen may have been born a commoner but he sought a respectable profession, became a templar and ascended through the ranks (however he may feel about that now) and is now the Inquisition's commander. Leliana may have been the daughter of a servant, but she became a bard and has spent her life hobnobbing with nobles and Very Important People, eventually becoming the Left Hand of the Divine. Blackwall may have been born a commoner but he is (so far as everyone knows) a decorated Warden-Constable. Vivienne may have been born to merchant parents and sent to the Circle at a young age, but she's made the most of her position and become First Enchanter of Montsimmard, then Enchanter to the Imperial Court. You see where I'm going with this. Even our common-born companions have for the most part sought to climb the social hierarchy in one way or another. They've "bettered" themselves. They have titles, if not noble ones. They're Somebody. They're Important. And many of the others are just straight up nobility. Even Varric, who carries himself like a common man, is from a well-connected Merchant Guild family as well as being a famous author; he's basically a noble who enjoys slumming it.

Not only is Sera a nobody, she patently rejects the idea of being Somebody. She operates as a Red Jenny under a mythical name who may or may not ever have been a real person. When placed in a situation where she needs to be formally introduced as Somebody, the ball at the Winter Palace, she openly mocks the entire concept and the supposed solemnity of the occasion by submitting a vulgar joke name.

I bring all of this up because this is why I think the other companions are so unhelpful. They can't imagine what Sera could possibly want because they already know she doesn't want what they want, and even the ones who do like her I think struggle to actually relate to her. They see her motives as, at best, confusing. (As does the Inquisitor in a lot of early dialogue, but that's another post for another day!) But in fact, Sera's desires are very simple. (I think Cole is the one with the best shot at actually figuring out what Sera would want, but he gets hung up on the concept of what a gift is before he can get there.)

Vivienne and Solas in particular are not just confused by Sera but actively offended and dismayed by her existence. I think it's pretty easy to see why she gets under Solas's skin so badly (though I could write reams about how interesting their relationship is and how much it reveals about Solas, but not today). Sera represents to him just how far the elves have fallen because of him, and I think he's both deeply frustrated by her and deep down feels responsible for everything that's "wrong" with her. Vivienne and Sera are also fascinating foils to one another, as both came from humble origins and both were afforded some unique opportunities given those origins—but they've taken polar opposite approaches to the problem of social hierarchy and power. And like so many Dragon Age characters who act as foils to each other, the existence of the other needles at them so badly because they challenge the foundation of their beliefs about the world and their sense of self. So it's no surprise that these two are the companions that give active disapproval when the Inquisitor reveals her relationship with Sera.

(It also makes for some absolutely wonderful humorous irony later if the Inquisitor decides to take Vivienne's clearly-sarcastic suggestion seriously, after which you get a bonus cutscene of Sera and Inky in bed together laughing over whatever it is Inky has shaved into her ladybits. Vivienne turns out to be the only one who had a good idea, and she didn't even mean it!)

The actual quantities of disapproval are frankly negligible, and easily made up elsewhere if you, the player, care deeply what Solas and Vivienne think of your character. If I'm being honest, I think they could have gone even harder with the disapproval, especially in a game like Inquisition which doesn't pull its punches with approval the way the previous games do and doesn't allow you to avoid ever taking a negative hit. But the exact number isn't the important thing here. The important thing is that without some tangible and in-your-face social cost to openly loving Sera, this quest would have no teeth.

I trust I don't have to explain that the opinions of characters (for whom said disapproval is entirely in-character) are not necessarily the opinions of the writers. It's also not indicative of the game telling you that you made a "wrong" decision. Nor is it the first time companions have disapproved of the player character's love interest—far from it. Both Origins and DA2 have some truly spicy party banter in that regard, and Inquisition keeps with tradition. Love it or hate it, companions hating each other is a time-honored Dragon Age tradition.

And in this case, the disapproval is the point. The Inquisitor is meant to receive the disapproval and decide that Sera is worth it to her. The point is that the Inquisitor cares so much for Sera that she openly declares her affections without regard for the disapproval of others, and that this kind of love and acceptance is entirely foreign to Sera's experience and the greatest gift she could ever have received. Sera says it outright: "Wait, wait, wait. You went to everyone and said I was your lover? Right to their faces? They must have… Oh, Vivienne must have puckered pinky-tight! Best gift ever."

And if you've read my other Sera Series posts, or simply spent a lot of time talking to Sera, it's no mystery why this means so much to her.

This is what this quest is all about. And to me, it's one of the most moving expressions of love in the whole game and maybe in all of the Dragon Age games. I love it so much. I get emotional re-watching it in YouTube clips. I cannot imagine being happier if the Inquisitor had just, I don't know, baked Sera a cake, or brought her a bouquet of flowers from the meadows filled with bees. This quest gets at the core of who Sera is, her sharpest hurts and deepest desires. It is deeply meaningful and it is perfect for her.

My sole complaint about this quest is that I never got to see the hat full of apples with Corypheus's face drawn on it and everyone hitting it with sticks.

#sera dragon age #dragon age sera #sera series #dragon age meta #dragon age inquisition #dragon age #blunders of thedas #sera x inquisitor #sera x female inquisitor

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faejilly · 10 months

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AO3 MEME

tagged by @elfyourmother & no-pressure tagging @junemermaid @lynne-monstr @glorious-spoon @la-muerta and the usual 'anyone who would like to be tagged'

Rules: Give us the links to your wonderful words with the most hits, most kudos, most comments, most bookmarks, most words, and least words.

Most Hits: I am for you (20,927) my mundane Malec epistolary email fluff-fic WIP. Some day I will finish it tho!

Most Kudos: two are halves of one (1,222) More Malec fluff. A 5+1 canon compliant outsider POVs.

Most Comments: Also I am for you (426 threads, 796 comments)

Most Bookmarks: with an if in its soul (461) This was supposed to be a eulogy. Like. Just the eulogy. Technically kind-of a not!fic! Barely long enough to be worth posting! And then I never got to the eulogy at all and instead wrote over 22k words for a case fic where-in no one actually stayed dead!

Most Words: By myself, Lost For Words, my Horizon fix-it fic for ME2 that uh, also decided to ignore all my original intentions. (Which were completed with the first chapter. And then I kept going.)

Though I am for you will have more when it's done!

Total word count max is a collaborative fic-wip in hibernation (aka an Unfinished Object, or UFO, which seems especially appropriate for Mass Effect) Persephone Rising, (190,409) where @siawrites, @evilsapphyre & I put our three Vanguard Shepards in the same world state because the realization that we hadn't overlapped background/service history was both hilarious & irresistible.

Least Words* So I have a LOT of old meme/ask box fic that is really short (3 sentences! One scene response! That kind of thing) and that I also archived into ficlet-collection-fics as individual CHAPTERS so there is no really feasible way for me to figure this out without way more effort than I'm willing to expend.

That said, the shortest ficlet I posted by itself is Consequences, a DAO epilogue for @owlmoose95 about a Brosca who'd romanced Alistair and then spared Loghain... and been horrified both by Alistair's lack of political sense AND Anora's egregiously human-only perspective, so really wanted them to work together on ruling Ferelden or they'd be as fucked up as Orzammar in a few years, and no one wants that.

She's maybe a little bitter about all the idiots around her for awhile.

It is also only 194 words, which is legit shorter than some of my fanmixes because I've been known to babble. 😅

#memery #on the stuff that isn't writing #ao3

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locallepidoptera · 2 years

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(I was gonna send this as an ask or a series of asks or a submitted post but then I decided it was too much of a hassle and its not like there’s any people who look at this blog frequently so I might as well)

Happy late birthday to Saturation by @greentrickster!! It’s a fic I had been procrastinating for a while but after the third anniversary, I finally mustered up the courage. It’s a fic I love very much because I think it emphasizes all the things I love most about fanfic in general.

(I apologize in advance for the long-winded essay incoming. I also acknowledge that some of it might be a little incomprehensible, I’m not a reviewer in any sense, I’m truly just a minor who wants to talk about a thing they like)

It’s just so mundane and yet so unabashedly sweet, in an almost otherworldly way. There’s pressure in the background but the events that make up individual chapters are just so “every-day.”

Not to get “fake-deep” but a lot of times I feel like mainstream media is just restrained by a need to be “objectively good” in the eyes of every audience. Everything has to jump from comical to exhilarating to serious to comical to somber in order to balance every audience. Everything has to jump from iconic set piece to iconic set piece, from iconic character to iconic character, from one liner to one liner, in order to feel grand and dramatic and “objectively good.” It has always just been a little overwhelming to me.

I don’t want to imply that Saturation doesn’t have comical/exhilarating/serious/somber scenes or that the Ace Attorney cast isn’t iconic, it’s just that it’s so refreshing to have a story that is allowed to go on and on about the simplest things. That sounds a little like an insult but I promise it isn’t. Saturation is the one piece of media that has made me feel like I’m truly in another human’s shoes and I think that the main reason for that is that the main character is allowed to have a complex (sometimes even meandering) train of thought without worrying about what we the audience would think. It doesn’t feel like the main character does what he does and thinks how he thinks because he’s the main character and he’s gotta lead us, y’know? But he also isn’t bland. But it’s not that he’s extremely wacky either. It’s that his world itself is wacky and unnatural (in a good way). There’s always something weird going on not because the main character is the main character but because the world has just so many weird things going on. just all the time. Outlandish things just occur, some of them happening mostly just for the sake of being weird (shout-out to the pirate accountants), and while you obviously aren’t supposed to think of these things as completely normal, you also aren’t necessarily supposed to think of them as big plot twists or eye-catching new developments. They’re not meant to create a new alien environment or a sudden change in tone (with the exception of the conventions which I’d argue are the most mundane parts of the fic (in a good way)) they’re just meant to be worldbuilding for the sake of worldbuilding. They’re just meant to exist independently of the main characters and be treated as just another part of life by the main characters and be subtly appreciated by the main characters. I feel like in saturation the joy doesn’t come from some surprising twists or a constant onslaught of tough situations that the main cast has to maneuver around, it comes from seeing growth and feeling human. and a big part of growing and feeling human is just learning to understand the world around you.

Even if you ignore all that, the smaller (more personal) reason why I think Saturation excels is the way emotions are managed. A lot of people rag on fanfic for bluntly telling instead of cleverly showing. I’ve seen people make jokes about how if characters in fanfic have even the slightest reason to be dismayed, they’ll start sobbing and monologuing about their depression and every action they take will be tagged with “sadly.” For me though it has always been something I’ve liked about the genre. I get that showing often makes for more interesting narratives, but there’s something about characters pinning down the emotions they’re feeling and why they’re feeling them that’s very comforting. It makes them feel more real and it makes them feel more “in control” even if their life is very chaotic. It reminds me that humans really do have a lot in common on the inside. Sometimes, I just wanna read about people feeling emotions without beating around the bush. I just find those types of stories really calming.

Saturation is truly just the most soothing piece of media I’ve consumed in a while. I think its impressive how its able to stay so wholesome without being saccharine and I think the secret is that the fic knows how to stay calm and composed in atmosphere despite everything that’s happening. It’s just a really nice reading experience, especially during blackouts and the like.

TLDR: I like Saturation because its very human and very grounded and very calm but also otherworldly (in a wacky way).

Anyways, this was supposed to be an anniversary gift for Saturation but then it took longer than expected and then school started. I really needed something simple that I could use to play around with Krita, but I didn’t have any good ideas until I realized it literally can’t get any simpler than funky stick figures. It was definitely a fun experience (as someone who does much more traditional art than digital art). The lyrics are from Micchi’s english cover of Jitterbug by Hachiya Nanashi, partially because I think its lyrics really fic Saturation’s plot and partially because its just a good song that I had on the brain. Funnily enough, I only read the chapter where Miles reveals he likes J-pop after I had inserted the lyrics. I ended up getting really lucky in that sense. I think that’s pretty neat lol.

#original content

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jess-p-edits · 2 years

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Hey! Happy (late, I’m so sorry) STS!

The Hour of Magic looks so interesting! Can you talk a little more about the setting, specifically what you meant in the intro when you said “magical apocalypse”?

Ahhhhh thank you for the questions!!! And fhaskdf lmao no worries on being late! You could have sent this to me on Tuesday and I'd be like HELL YEAH HAPPY STS!!!!! <3 <3 <3

So this question has great timing since @writingonesdreams also asked about the magical apocalypse that is the Hour of Magic (both the historical event and the title of the book...I didn't think that through...)!

Here's a bit from the prologue and some added commentary! (I ended up rambling, so everything is nearly summarised after "long story short". ).

From the Prologue:

The Hour of Magic, was chaos. It was phantasmagoria. Every will, every wish, every animosity, and every fondest dream was now in everyone’s, everyone’s grasp. The monsters and abyssal wealds came after. While no one knew it was to last only an hour, nor where it came from, so too did no one know the mark it would leave on The World. For one hour, anything was possible.

There had been the obvious magics, of course. Scholars dedicated to studying the aftermath of the fantastic near-apocalypse found through their comprehensive interviews that the most common form of magic during The Hour involved transmutation, particularly of any objects within reach into gold. The second most popular form of magic was healing. Even the most grievous of injuries and the deadliest of illnesses were undone through sheer will. The third popular was the changing of one’s person, either through augmenting beauty, strength, or both. Fourth, could technically include an attempt to control time, but whether by an unknown rule or too many making the same attempt at once, control of time was a rare limit. The fifth was the raising of the dead, another act of magic that was not quite off-limits but had produced grotesque results unless one had been lucky enough to be raised within mere moments of death. (Continued here...)

So basically 100 years ago, the world was totally mundane, pretty much an analog of the dark ages in our world because it's an overdone familiar base to work off of! Plus I like the aesthetics of knights and castles, and then when specific aspects of that familiar fantasy setting are subverted, it feels more purposeful and stands out more.

During the Hour, magic exploded into the world and almost nothing was off the table! Think like cheat codes suddenly turning on in a video game. After the Hour, there was still magic in the world, but it was waaaay less powerful. The point of reference I'd give people is like, second or third level spells in DnD. Nothing as mind-blowing as it was during the Hour, but with the right thinking you can do some pretty clever things! The traces of magic then go on to shape the world's cultures, technology, etc. and we see how that plays out in the novel and the different settings.

We also learn that some animals were also able to use the magic of the Hour purely through instinct to basically "evolve" at a rapid, rather twisted rate, transforming them into monsters (which then gave me a grounded point of reference to create the different monsters in the story. Basically, take an animal, and figure out how it would make itself better at survival--bigger, more teeth, camouflage, faster, etc.).

The exact nature of the Hour is a background mystery of the world.

The story takes place 100 years later in a world very much still affected by the Hour. Some countries choose to ignore the changes, good and bad, for the sake of holding onto a pre-Hour world, while others have had to adapt out of survival, such as with the creation of the Correlaine Wardens up north. Others still mostly benefitted from the Hour, such as New Nobelia who ushered in an era of crazy technologic progress! Some cultures of the world don't even call the Hour an apocalypse, but a revolution!

So long story short, the Hour is a historical event in the novel that made all magic possible for an hour, then left some magic in the world, and is pretty much the catalyst for everything from the plot, the magic system, the characters, global influences, and it serves as a centerpiece to the themes of the story (the importance of being radically optimistic in a cruel, bizarre world, adapting to change, combating the uncontrollable through collaboration and understanding, etc.)

Again, thank you so much for the ask!!!!!! Sorry for "talking" your ear off!!

#sorry that was probably WAY more than you needed but this was the idea that basically turned this story from a writing exercise #to a whole thing and I love getting the details down!!! :D #wip: hom #sts #storytelling saturday #storytelling sunday no gods no masters #wearfinethingsalltoowell

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bluntfish · 2 years

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So Aurelius, huh. It’s the first time I’ve been overtaken brain rot of this caliber. I may had some brain rot in the past, but not like this where I spend my days figuring out Aurelius content in my writing or drawing to some extent (not to mention making me create this blog to accommodate such extremes). Though my friends told me I shouldn’t justify my brain rot and leave it as it is— I’m sorry, I can’t do that because how it came to me like a storm. It was initially a terrifying experience. I overtly objected how I feel about this character akin to opening your parent’s safe. How would I navigate a landscape I’ve haven’t stepped into for nearly a decade? I’m an older fan (late 20’s here) in the dislyte fanbase, and I really, really, still ask these questions myself when interacting with media like this to my own relationships.

Could it be his design? How he sounds? The personality that he goes out of his way to pick anything that blooms as a reflection of his lack of human interaction? Or is his background that is somewhat relatable to my own? Or even semblances of people I met through my 15+ years that culminated some of the tropes and traits I like in a character that didn’t manifest till now?

Each nugget of information I learn about him extends my thoughts of his hermit lifestyle. How he’ll interact, how he’ll conduct business on the daily. Usually I would ignore and not think of these things but I do. There was another character that got me feeling this way years ago, but not to this extent. It’s kind of crazy when you let things go and it comes flooding in. I get embarrassed thinking about it. This man had an impact on my mind every time when doing my work, even the most mundane things. The mundanity of it that I allow it to happen is mind-boggling. There are days I wish it would end. As much sweetness I get crumbs of his presence known, it also reminds me of something a bit more dismal.

There was a person who I dated few years ago had a similar mentality, a personality alike Aurelius. Then you realize those traits that you grown to like in fiction really don’t translate to a human being. A living human being. I keep reassessing those moments. You can’t go back to those moments. It was painful breaking it off but I learned a lot from those times. I can’t be like them, nor can’t have them be like this. Yet you observe regardless, constantly thinking about the past. Knowing that you did your best, despite the odds of making it work would require constant transparency and I wasn’t given a chance to properly go forward due to their insecurities.

I’ve done some work in my undergrad how fiction and fandom can affect peoples social circles and the perception of it. I’m very aware it is somewhat delusional to take fiction and apply it to real life (and vice versa). Spaces like these are when people go out of the woodwork and express their thoughts, because of the human connection it brings. This is no different, I think. But it varies upon the person. I know I like characters that are realistically believable in their actions, as an extension of their supposed humanity. But that makes it interesting with a smaller fan base like this compared to something with a larger media property right? There’s a lot I can go off of because there’s a lack of information, not with a series that been standing tall for a decade or more.

I am not a person who can see myself manifest into someone else, but I like to theorize. Or to have a deeper understanding how a character ticks. I’m willing to bare off aspects to get a sense of the core even if there’s nothing else comes by. It’s the reason I went out of my way to write my first reader fic about him since it’s something I haven’t done before in a fan space. Nor interacted with “x reader fics” since I don’t really relate much to them. I saw it another way to see a character in a different light. I like seeing different interpretations of the characters I like and that’s fun. Cringe is dead (to me); folks who revel in it (especially with my age range) really don’t have any regrets. And I want to step forward on that.

I guess what I’m saying is that I do like Aurelius. He’s neat and there’s no harm for me or anyone indulging this for now. There’s a lot of things that I find in common or in common ground with his character background and design because of my actual lived experiences. And I see him as somewhat of a weird conduit of figuring my life out while appreciating the content I’ve seen. It’s great work. I don’t think I’ll have something intense like this in a long while. This dude is living in my head rent free and I’m ok with it.

#bluntfish posting #I'm not gonna put this in any other tags since it's somewhat embarassing to even think or rather saying these things outloud but MAN #....I think too much #very much a personal reflection post and the rationale why I cranked or ponder about Aurelius a LOT #i.e. this man was made for me and hits a weird niche that I can’t ignore djfkadfajfkadjfak

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deepspacedukat · 2 years

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This Is Just To Say...

I found an old Word Doc from one of my college Creative Writing classes, and it brought up an old rant/thought process in my brain that I never really got to voice. (I tended to be rather quiet in my classes.) So I’m gonna do it here. If you like literary debates/thoughts/rants, feel free to click the “keep reading” and add your two cents, or if you’re not so inclined, ignore this and have a lovely day. No matter what, stay civil, please. And stay hydrated, fed, rested, and take your meds where applicable! ✨

A little background:

The course was just your basic, average Creative Writing class. The prof was nice, about mid-thirties, in the midst of getting a book published, and he was a PhD student. He was not an arrogant man. He was knowledgeable, and when his book came out, I read it happily. It was objectively very good and made me stop to think about things more deeply. I give you this bit of background so that you can understand that he, as a person, was not what I had a problem with.

What I did take issue with was something that he’d been taught and that he tried to teach us: That the highest form of creativity in writing - the only form worthy of attention - was that of the most mundane things being transformed into the art of literary fiction.

Please don’t misunderstand, I’m not saying that turning situations and experiences into art isn’t valid. Point in case, “Interpreter of Maladies” by Jhumpa Lahiri (there are tons more examples, but I’m currently drawing a blank because low caffeine). I am, however, saying that this is not the only form of writing that is worthy of attention. My professor had been taught that fiction that has some basis in unreality - the things that can never be (vampires, supernatural entities, unicorns, etc.) - wasn’t as elevated or as high-brow as “literary fiction.” Because he was going through the effort of attempting to complete his PhD program, he had to accept this as a universal truth in order to force his own efforts in the direction that his own professors would expect.

When the students in my class challenged this statement, I will always remember the way he paused and blinked behind his glasses. It was obvious that he wanted to argue the point, but something won out in him that allowed him to ask us why we believed what we did. (He was infuriatingly reasonable, despite the absolutely elitist position that he’d been taught to accept - which is perhaps the reason I always liked him. He was always willing to listen to positions other than his own before responding.)

After several minutes of statements back and forth, he explained to us that in the higher-level Creative Writing courses that he’d gone through and was going through at that time, it was commonly accepted that fiction in the realm of sci-fi, fantasy, magic, etc. was less elevated - less sophisticated - than that of “literary” fiction. He claimed the elements contained in those books were excuses for poor writing.

I recall raising my hand and asking “What about Tolkien? He’s considered a literary genius, but he wrote about magic rings and elves.”

He looked at me as if I’d sprouted two heads. After a rather lengthy pause, he said that Tolkien was an exception. It was a followup question from another student about why Tolkien would be exempt from these almighty rules that convinced our prof to consider allowing us to study/write fantasy short-stories.

Throughout the semester we’d elaborate and expand on this debate between “literary” fiction and “common” novels, as the supposed literary powers that be determined that they should be called. And I still have a lot to say on the subject to this day.

The thought that literary fiction is more “elevated” and “sophisticated” than that of other forms of fiction begs the question of why it is considered to be so, and who makes that oh-so-crucial judgment. The answer to both questions, of course, is the socially elite - the Harvard/Yale/Ivy League academics who are so engrossed in their own superiority that they consider more accessible fiction to be less important or impactful simply because it is more easily approached by those whom the elite consider the “Common Folk.”

The authors who attempt the monumental task of writing such “elevated” fiction tend to put out long-winded essays with no more meaning beyond a few sentences. They can go on for pages at length about why they opened a door - the meaning behind it, their motivations, and the possible impacts. There’s a certain introspectiveness in that level of detail and examination that is hard to obtain and even more difficult to get a reader invested in. I acknowledge that the struggle to do so is ultimately an integral part of that particular art form. At no point, however, do I deny its validity or the author’s skill in doing so. Rather the opposite - people who can do this have excellent command over language and diction and should be commended for their persistence and skill.

As it is unfair to accuse a literary fiction author of waffling on in dryness without content or point, it is equally unjust to accuse a fantasy writer of utilizing the tools at their disposal to gloss over a lack of skill and effort in their craft. The magnitude of asking a reader to suspend their disbelief long enough to allow themselves to be drawn into a completely fictional world that could never possibly exist is enormous. The fantasy author creates beings/places/items that have no more or less meaning than they themselves assign, and they ask their readers to accept their meanings and metaphors, creatures and characters in a leap of faith - an act of trust that the author is a master of their world and knows exactly what they’re doing. Such an exercise, surely, cannot be ignored. For authors of the elevated fiction that started this whole rant, they work within set parameters in a world where meanings have already been assigned - which I grant is incredibly difficult for someone who wants to stand out. But this struggle is one that has been accepted by the author.

The struggle to articulate these things - these everyday things made extraordinary - is why they do what they do, just as creating whole new worlds to convey messages in a new and exciting way is why fantasy authors do what they do. Surely there shouldn’t be this divide, this conflict between the two viewpoints? I’m aware this argument is old - many times my own age - and that people have been coming down on one side or the other since the advent of fiction. My own position that both forms are equal, passionate as it may be, is not new. It’s highly unlikely that I’ve even presented it in a new or original fashion. But I still think it’s important to put forth the idea that all creativity is valid, every once in a while, lest it be forgotten in the jungle of academia.

So:

This is just to say, that by the end of our semester in that Creative Writing class, we - the less-educated, common group of students - had convinced our professor that maybe “common,” fantasy-type fiction wasn’t so low-brow after all.

Beyond conveying my thoughts and personal opinion on this phenomenon of contention between the genres, I really had no end goal. If perhaps one person who believes that fantasy is “low-brow” gives it a second, objective chance, no matter what their findings, I’ll be content.

Anyway, I’ll shut up now. *tosses this into the void of tumblr dot com*

#deepspacedukat rambles #mini essay incoming #I'm not sorry #I'm a quiet person but I do have strong opinions on certain subjects #like this one #anyway hmu if you have literary opinions #I don't discuss them a lot but I enjoy them

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tsukimisou88 · 3 months

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Open Studio 2401のお知らせ

ツキミソウ・オープンスタジオのお知らせです。

2024年1月27日(土)　13:00 -17:00　スタジオ・ツキミソウ

Angus Steele-Gaffney & Amber Downie-Back ( from Canada) Sound & Movement Artists

Myrthena ( from Philippines )　Painter, Character Designer

Camille Ashkenazi ( from USA) sculpture, hand stitch, balloon from USA

rumu ( 京都 )　"Intro to Astrology", 占星術のWorkshopを行います。

・Angus Steele-Gaffney & Amber Downie-Back

An interdisciplinary artist duo based in the city of Victoria. Our work explores the sensory ecology of spaces, places, and memories. Ours is a gathering practice, selecting ambient sounds, mundane movements, and everyday objects. Composing with found materials, we examine foreground and background sensations and sensory landmarks. How do the human, natural, and man-made react to form a place? What do we keep and discard, listen to or ignore? How do we sense and embody our surroundings when we are at rest, active, anxious, or contemplative?

・Mythena

Mythena came to Japan with a challenge in mind. She wants to recreate the life of Kyoto through her drawings. She is currently on the process of documenting the personalities of people she encounters in the city, as to her, life is just like a Disney movie where everyone is a unique character. The people on the bus, the students walking home, the tourists with their cameras-- these are all things she hopes to document through her illustrations.

・Camille Ashkenazi

I make sculptures out of mylar that are hand-stitched and turned into balloons.

・rumu

Born in the year of the fire ox, rumu resides in Kyoto 🇯🇵 studying the ancient and recent human past thru a careful documentation of the ephemeral remains found in the dreamworld. Taking inspiration from historical physicians and astrologers, rumu's current practice resides in Tibetan Medicine (Sowa Rigpa) and Japanese Sukuyōdō Astrology, using traditional methodology for self study on interdependence to create language and musical scores out of dream matter. With lucid dreaming as a medium, rumu explores the otherwise hidden aspects of internal-external elemental influences and their celestial connection as a way to inspire pleasant dreams.

#おしらせ #open studio #workshop #ambient music #astrology #オープンスタジオ #international #exchange #potluck dish #artist in residence #studio tsukimisou #metropolitan fukujusou #kyoto

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robthewriter · 2 years

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What Ever Happened to Robin Tompkins?

Just for context my friends, this is a repost from my writing blog, where I have not posted a thing since December last year...

What Ever Happened to Robin Tompkins?

Those happy few that actually read this blog might be wondering where I have been since December last year? Have I, you may have wondered, joined the circus? Were my fingers so numb from incessant practising with those juggling balls, that I was unable to type? Did I run away to sea? Have I been working as a stoker on a tramp steamer in the South Seas? Have my fingers become so thick, calloused and begrimed with coal dust, that I can no longer operate the keys?

No…

I was just having an existential crisis or something… I lost my mojo. It had not slipped behind the cushions, it wasn’t in my other jacket, it was not anywhere to be found. Like some dodgy app, my ‘Writer Brain,’ shut down. It was not there. Tumbleweed blew across the space where it had been and we don’t even have tumbleweed in Britain, so that was doubly strange.

I have not been writing and it seemed somehow fraudulent to continue with a writing blog when I was not, you know, actually writing anything.

This has only ever happened to me once before and that is another story for another time. With that exception, my Writer Brain has been my constant companion since, well, always… My hidden superpower, or the Gollum to my Smeagol, depending on how I’m feeling about it at the time. This made me extremely unhappy.

So, where did it go and why?

Like everyone, the pandemic threw a wrecking ball through my life. I don’t have some dramatic, or tragic tale to tell at this point. I am not even going to go into detail, because although my life seemed to have suddenly become a trainwreck to me, compared to so many others, including good friends, I was, objectively speaking, quite lucky, my crisis quite mundane.

With modern thinking on mental health, I know I shouldn’t be feeling that way. I am aware that, ‘there is always somebody worse off than you,’ is not helpful and actually it never was. No one is shelling the supermarket where I shop. There aren’t floods or wild fires all around me. I have a roof over my head, family to talk to and food in the cupboard. My problems though are still my problems, they are real to me and I still have to solve them. Comparing them to other larger problems, does not invalidate them, or solve them. I know that, I do but still, being of a certain age and from a proper working-class background, ‘There is always somebody worse off than you,’ carries a lot of weight.

The destruction of old certainties, the collapse of long held plans and a sudden and enforced complete change of lifestyle all caught up with me, all of a sudden, wham! Without knowing it, I had been ignoring all of the above, pretending that my life had not irreversibly changed.

My writing, although it may not immediately seem obvious, was intimately caught up in all of this.

I think, on reflection, that there was always some part of me, not the rational bit, some inner child or some such, that expected my writing to come along and save me if I ever got into a serious corner. If I just had more time, more time to write and promote my books, then I would be more successful. I would make money from them… I would be a full-time author.

Well, suddenly I had the time, I really did and I worked hard, really hard, on the writing and the promoting and on some other creative notions that I had and, and, and… Nothing. I sold no more books than before, I was not any better known, nothing I had slogged away so grimly at had made any difference at all, except that it had sucked the joy out of writing for me.

My Writer Brain shut down in protest.

I suddenly had a real understanding of those comics where the hero loses their powers and they feel helpless, they wonder who they are without them, if they have any value? I had always considered my writing to be a hidden superpower. That is even how I defined it on my Goodreads initial interview. My alter ego is ‘Writer bloke.’ Only now I couldn’t write. I am at peace when I write, I go somewhere else when I write. When things get tough, the tough get writing. Only, I couldn’t. I was busy having a crisis and one of my chief coping mechanisms, one of my finest self-help tools, was gone.

I wrote a whole chapter of my current book last week.

What’s that you say? So, what? One chapter? Only another sixty thousand or so words to go, eh? Well, I was genuinely beginning to wonder if I would ever write again and that is one more chapter than I had written in months.

My problems are not over, the shape of my new life isn’t completely clear to me yet it’s a work in progress. The thing is that I have now remembered that life is always a work in progress, something I lost sight of.

I have also remembered why I write. Because I can and because I want to. Because it is a part of my identity. Because I have things I want to say. Because I love to tell tales, to entertain, to move people when I can. To give people somewhere to go when they read the stories, in the same way I do when I write them. Somewhere not here, somewhere apart from worry and trouble.

That’s why I write, not to make money.

That’s just as well, because I am an indie author. By and large we don’t make money. We have complete freedom to write what we want, when we want and how we want. How the book looks, how it is promoted, everything single thing about it is under our complete control. This is actually pretty wonderful; I had forgotten that too.

So, I don’t sell many copies and I don’t make much money… well, nothing’s perfect. The thing is, I would rather accept that and welcome back my old friend, ‘Writer Brain,’ than fight it and lose everything.

I wrote a whole chapter of my current book last week. You know what that means? It means I’m back…

#writing #creative writing #writing community #writers #writers on tumblr #fiction #books #bookworm #love books #fantasy books #booksbooksbooks #Robin Tompkins #Rob the writer #mental health #pandemic #a work in progress #life

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ezarelz · 2 years

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Nevra being absorbed by the computer (1/2)

Lance, Mathieu, Huang Chu and us are talking about the computer's background (a beach) among other topics...

(Nevra suddenly came up behind us, with a grave expression.)

N: "I'm pretty sure Gardienne had been clear..."

N: "We can hear you from the other side of the building."

HC: "You certainly can. But there are definitely no other vampire in the area..." Speak louder, baby girl, make sure everyone hears you!

N: "I'm serious Huang Chu. We did not come here as tourists." What happened to Hélène? What happened to... our covers?

N: "You attract attention way too much, and your attitude betrays your cover." Sir you just called her by her whole-ass name, but okay.

N: You're not supposed to be fascinated by mundane objects."

Sir, words on the streets, you looked mad awestruck outside.

N: "Additionally, we cannot afford to waste time."

N: "If we want to leave before nighttime, we need to hurry up.)

(Nevra's gaze seems to be dragged onto the screen.)

(I cannot help but to be amused by the irony of the situation.)

Which? Him talking about keeping our covers when he ignores code names, him having been visibly awestruck outside in front of onlookers, or his gaze being fixed on the screen? The latter? Okay got you.

Part 2/2

#eldarya nevra #eldarya episode 11 #ane nevra #ane episode 11 #eldarya spoilers #spoiler #beemoov #nevra #eldarya #eldarya new era #new era #spoilers #eldarya spoiler #nevra episode 11

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laurensprentiss · 2 years

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Games We Play [Hotch x Reader]

Chapter 7:

Summary: Reader deserves a break, she works with a bunch of weird assholes. Her family is dysfunctional and Theo is an angel. Hotch is an inappropriate, possessive horndog but surprisingly good with kids, the leak is revealed and two enemies join forces to bring this alliance down.

Warnings: NSFW, 18+! No explicit smut, but mentions of past sexual experiences, sexting, general rudeness. Sexual tension that you can cut w a knife. Hotch is OBSESSED.

A/N: SO sorry for taking so long w this chapter oh my goodness, I hope there’s still people reading this lol. Anyway, I advanced wrote a few chapters so we should be good for the time being! Thank you for sticking around

———

“Gather your things, please. You’re out.”

The young man stares at Morgan, his eyes going wide as he’s handed a cardboard box for his things and a clipboard with an NDA on top. “I’m sure there’s something we can work out here. It was a stupid mistake, it won’t happen again. I swear.”

Morgan crosses over the room, closing the door so stragglers can’t hear them. “A mistake, Michael, is carelessly letting something slip in a bar to your buddies, not systematically leaking information about your boss to NBC, CNN and Fox.”

“I didn’t-“

Morgan’s voice projects with anger. “Don’t. Even think about lying to me. I spent weeks running time sheets, meeting times, combing through minutes and personnel backgrounds to figure out who the leak was. I ran your finances, Mike. I know you were selling to the highest bidder.”

Mike opens his mouth to object out of pure instinct but he quickly realises there’s nothing more he can say to dig himself out of this.

Morgan nods. “That’s what I thought. Do you realise the damage you’ve done? The risk you’ve put this campaign at, leaking rumours about drug and alcohol abuse?” Mike hangs his head. “I’m still going to extend you the grace of leaving quietly. Gather your things, sign the paperwork and get out of here. Hotch is in New York for a few days and I want you gone before he gets back - he won’t be so gracious.”

Mike tries to hold his own, to leave with his head held high, but he stands no ground against Morgan. Eventually, he hangs his head in shame and makes his way out into the bullpen where Emily stands ready to escort him out.

———

When you go back to work following the leaked articles of your first ‘date’ with he-who-shall-not-be-mentioned, you don’t expect there to be such a big change in the environment. You’re not used to being the subject of gossip, favouring to keep a low profile instead but you hadn’t considered the implications of your ‘relationship’ with Hotch on your work. You’re usually left alone at work for the most part, save for Kate, Gideon and occasionally, Lucas, the civil federal prosecutor who fancies himself your ‘work husband’, though you cringe every time he uses that word.

Today however, you walk in and you feel about thirty pairs of eyes on you, almost as though you’ve just burst into the middle of a conversation that wasn’t meant for you. The eyes aren’t accusatory though, they appear nice enough but years of growing up in the legal-political landscape of DC means you can easily see past the agreeable demeanours. The smiles are too bright, indelicate. Fake.

You hurry past the cubicles and head to your office as fast as you can, ignoring the stares and salacious whispers. You’re met by Gideon in your office who’s perusing your bookshelf with a pair of glasses perched precariously on his nose. He turns around at the sound of your office door closing and tilts his chin nonchalantly, a newspaper in his hand.

“Gideon? Everything okay?” You ask, unloading your things onto the desk and sighing. “What? Do you have more mundane documents for me to go over?”

“Actually, no. I’m afraid this might have been a wasted trip for you today.”

“Oh?”

You frown when the paper in his hands lands with a smack on the desk where you’re on the front page, holding hands with Hotch on your ‘date’. “Look. It may be best for you to just… take some time off for yourself.”

Is he kidding? Frustration swells in your chest. “I don’t need time off-“

“Look. You’re becoming a distraction for the people in this office and while I don’t know what that’s like-”

“No, Gideon. You don’t know what that’s like.” It comes out more bitter than you mean it, but you’ve said it now, there’s no going back. “You don’t know what it’s like to be demoted and looked at like trash. You don’t know what it’s like to have the men in this office think it’s okay to offer sexual favours in return for cases.”

“They did what?”

“You know, Gideon? I at least thought you were a little different. But blaming me for the reactions of other people is below you. Why? Because I’m an easy target?” You shake your head, gathering your things back up. Ordinarily you’d stay, stick it out and keep working, fuck what anyone else says, but therapy has taught you that if you’re not getting something from a situation, the best thing is just to leave.

You choose yourself today.

You turn back at the door before you leave, looking him in the eye. “I don’t deserve this. I’m damn good at what I do and you’ve benched me because of one small mistake I made four years ago. But I’ll tell you this now, I’m not going anywhere. I got this job on my own merit and I’m not going to let you or anyone else in this goddamn office bully me out of it.”

You take the elevators at the end of the corridor, avoiding leaving through the bullpen and facing thirty sets of pitiful eyes. When you get to your car with shaky legs, you drop your things in your passenger seat and let out a shaky breath. You’re a walking contradiction - your job requires you to argue all the livelong day in court for other people - but when it comes to personal confrontation, anger takes the form of overwhelmed tears and shaky voices.

Fuck. You’re halfway calm and collected when a call from your mother brings your blood pressure immediately back up. You let it ring.

Because you choose you today.

Except you can’t. Because she calls you again. Immediately.

“Hello?” You sigh.

“Hello, dear. Do I need to make an appointment to speak with you now?” She’s the definition of a stepford smiler, cutting words disguised by a sweet tone.

“I was at work, sorry.”

“Was’ at work? It’s only twelve. Did something happen?” You can hear her snipping in the background and with it approaching early afternoon, and her being a creature of habit, you can assume she's pruning her roses and petunias.

“No, everything’s fine.” You reply, your grip tightening on the wheel. “What’s up?”

“What’s up?” She repeats your informal words with disapproval and scoffs mockingly. “I’m calling to ask if Nadia should set an extra place setting for dinner tonight, you still didn’t tell me if that boyfriend of yours would be attending.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

You’d decided against even asking Hotch, figuring it was futile to get him to behave, and having him encroach on your childhood home this early is not something you’re able to stomach.

“No, mom. He’s not coming, he’s in...Chicago for work. He sends his apologies.”

She pauses and you can vividly picture her unamused expression. “Well, sweetheart, if this is any indication of his behaviour, and this early on in the relationship, it may be wise for you to seriously reconsider if he is the man for you.”

“Mhm. I have to go, I’m getting a call from work.” You lie.

The only thing getting you through tonight is the fact that your sister would be there with her son, Theo. Every week for the past three years, it’s been you and your parents having tense Friday night dinners alone, and every time, you come home wanting to strangle someone or just scream into a pillow.

You’re going to need a hail Mary.

———

Hotch has a motion alarm activated for your apartment. Some might call it obsessive, overkill. He calls it cautious. Investing in his investment. So when he gets a motion sensor alarm at 1pm, in the middle of a business lunch, he has to excuse himself quickly, much to the chagrin of JJ.

You should be at work, so why is your motion sensor going off?

On the phone he has reserved for keeping tabs on you, he watches you bring in your work things, looking deflated. Your shoulders are sunken, you look tired and your face is completely devoid of emotion. Which ordinarily, he wouldn’t care about but it’s still odd, and it’s only compounded further when you answer a knock at your door. He frowns, zooming into the face at your door, it isn’t one he recognises but he immediately knows he doesn’t like it.

He activates the mic.

“Hey, Lucas. What are you doing here?” You ask.

Lucas? Who the hell is Lucas?

He pulls out his other phone, reserved just for you and dials your number. Which you reject promptly, and continue talking to this Lucas guy like it’s nothing.

Definitely doesn’t like him.

“Sorry.” You excuse yourself. “What’s up?”

“I wanted to bring you this.” He hands you a coffee, which you take cautiously, frowning. “And this.” He hands you a set of documents. “From the Kinnerman case. Maybe you could give me your thoughts? I heard what happened at the office with Gideon and just wanted you to know that some of us still appreciate you.”

Is this guy for fucking real?

You on the other hand, know he means well but the overt ass kissing and pity case makes you shift uncomfortably. “Thanks. I’ll take a look over the weekend and let you know?”

At least you’re not eating it up.

“Sure.” An awkward silence falls over the two of you and Hotch can’t take watching Lucas kick his feet uncomfortably. “So what do you have planned-“

Your phone rings again. Thank God. “Sorry, I have to take this. Excuse me.”

“Yeah.” But he stays at the door.

You roll your eyes after seeing Hotch’s name flash across the screen, but turn it into a wide smile for Lucas’ benefit. “Hi, Hon! How’s work?” You answer brightly, spying him shifting out of the corner of your eye. He stands a little straighter when he hears the ‘hon’ from your mouth and scratches the back of his neck sheepishly.

“Hon?” Hotch says. “You feeling okay? You’re not greeting me with your usual-”

“-Oh, that’s so sweet!” You reply, saccharine and cutting him off. “I miss you too.” You look apologetically towards Lucas and cover the receiver with your hand. “I’m sorry, I’ll see you Monday?”

He nods when you all but push him out of your doorway at which point, Hotch smiles vindicatedly because he can see Lucas looking around your hallway, mildly disoriented after you unexpectedly exiled him.

You relax as soon as he’s gone. “What do you want?” You bite.

“Ahh, there she is. I was beginning to get worried, thought maybe you took up day drinking.”

“Bite me. Is there a point to this phone call? Or can I get back to work?”

“You’re not at work.”

You freeze. “What?”

He groans inwardly, realising what he’d just let slip. “I… uh… I mean you’re never really at work. What you do can’t really be called work, can it?”

“God, don’t you have anything better to do than to call me and shit-talk my job? Don’t bother me again unless you’re dying or something, I have better things to do than to mindlessly argue with you.”

“You sound tense.”

“Yeah, no shit. I have to go.”

He flinches almost at the abrupt hang up and watches you carefully as you throw your phone on the couch and head to the kitchen for a drink. He does feel a little pride though when you throw Lucas’s coffee straight into the trash.

Hotch doesn’t know you well - or at all, really - but he can tell something is wrong. This isn’t your usual quippy tone.

It’s different.

“Are you finished playing games on your phone or can we get back to this business lunch?” JJ says behind him and he almost jumps out of his skin, sliding the CCTV phone into his pocket.

“Sure, yeah. I was just-”

“-I know what you were doing.” She tells him, pointedly looking at his phone and dragging him away. “If you were calling to dog her about something, now is not the time.”

“What’s going on?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t know. What is it?”

The one fatal flaw in your plan to avoid Hotch coming to dinner with your parents? Telling JJ Hotch was an asshole who rejected your parent’s invitation. “She asked you to come to dinner tonight and you just said no, which is a dick move considering her parents are going to want to grill her about you. And trust me, you haven’t met her mother.” She mutters the last part between her teeth but his eyebrows still pull together.

He wonders now what else you could have fabricated about him but it doesn’t fill him with dread - more of an excited thrill.

He says nothing in his own defence, but chuckles a little at your badly-executed impression of a chess master. People talk, the truth comes out. He supposes it explains one half of your bad mood, but it’s still not a reason for you to be home in the middle of the day.

Before they head back to their table, Hotch spots Anderson and beckons him forward with two fingers, whispering something in his ear - upon which, the young man nods and pulls out his phone to make arrangements.

———

You’d found your sister, Thali’s car parked in the driveway when you arrived at your parents’ estate, easy enough to spot as the only out-of-place, beaten up hatchback in the fleet of sleek sedans and SUVs your parents frequent. She told you she’d been parked for twenty minutes waiting for you to arrive, too nervous to go in by herself.

When your mother had opened the door, regrettably enough, it was as to be expected. She’d made a remark off the bat about how the both of you were late, complained that Thali looked too thin and had tried to reach for Theo with a complaint that she never got to see her only grandson, who’d only responded by shying away from her when she went to hold him.

Good boy.

She tuts. “What’s the matter, Teddy? Come to grandma.”

Thali stiffens at the unwelcome nickname for Theo. “He doesn’t do very well with unfamiliar people, Mom.” She mutters, stepping inside the house.

It’s starting already.

“And who’s fault is that? I wouldn’t be quite so unfamiliar to him if you’d bothered to bring him around every now and again, would I?” She smiles as she says it but her words are biting. Sometimes you think she just can’t resist poking the bear.

Thali opens her mouth to respond but you interrupt before the night ends as soon as it’s begun. “Smells great, mom! What is it?”

“Your father’s favourite. Luisa’s preparing filets.” She rolls her eyes mockingly. “Speaking of which, I must go and check on the potatoes, she cannot be trusted with them. Go on into the drawing room, your father’s in there. Dinner in 5.” She shoos you off as you’re discarding your coats and you quietly slide a $50 into Thali’s pocket.

She’d betted that your mother would have some sort of qualm with the cook, Luisa tonight, and she was proven right a mere thirty seconds into the night. You both greet your father with a kiss on his cheek and he shakes Theo’s little hand in jest before he gets a phone call and retreats into his home office with talks about a merger and representatives coming in from Prague.

Figures.

It’s not that they’re bad parents, you were well taken care of and dare you say emotionally looked after for the most part, but they are after all, creatures of habit. Your mother is controlling, meddling and far too curt and your father’s a busy, oftentime absent man. There’s no doubt that they love you, it just gets lost in translation.

And with you moving away for college and law school, actually deciding to work, and Thalia getting pregnant during her studies, things had become more strained than ever. You don’t doubt that the fake relationship, soon-to-be fake engagement, soon-to-be fake marriage will make things worse.

Your stomach twists at the thought but you busy yourself with tickling Theo’s neck and repeating his unique little speech patterns. The doorbell rings then, and you frown, giving your sister a confused look because you have no other family to attend Friday night dinners, leaving you with no idea as to who it could be.

“I’ll get it, grab him?” You pass off Theo to your sister and go to get the door, but when you open it, your heart drops into your stomach and your mouth falls open. Illuminated by the warm lighting of the driveway, Hotch stands tall, wrapped in a black winter coat, armed with a bouquet of flowers and a bottle of bourbon in his hands.

You have to blink a few times to make sure it’s really him, but he narrows his eyes at you. “Are you going to invite me inside or let me freeze?”

“Let you freeze.” You hiss, turning around to make sure there’s nobody behind you. “What the hell are you doing here?

“JJ. Thanks for passing on the invitation by the way. And villainising me.”

“Didn’t have to try very hard. How did you even find my parent’s address?!”

“Garcia.”

“I’m going to kill them both. I thought you were away somewhere for work, what on Earth did you come here for?”

“Well, I figured I should meet your parents if we want to sell this whole arrangement, and I thought better to do it now than when you have a ring on your finger. It invites questions.”

“I don’t want you here!”

“I also wanted to learn about what’s responsible for all of this.” He gestures sweepingly over you and the doorway of your parent’s home.

“All of this?” You ask incredulously.

“Yeah.” He smiles. “High achiever, Ivy League, old money pedigree. Annoying, miserable.”

“I’m not miserable. I just don’t smile around you.”

“Dinner’s ready…” Your mother trails off, looking past you to the tall man in front of you. “And who is this, dear?”

Shit.

You turn around slowly and the son of a bitch takes advantage of you being off guard and steps right in, sliding an arm around your waist. “Mom, this is Aaron. My boyfriend.” You grit out.

“Aaron Hotchner, ma’am. It’s lovely to meet you. I’ve heard wonderful things about you.” You try to jerk yourself away from him subtly but he pulls you closer.

“I doubt that. I know my daughter.”

He steps forward slightly. “I, uh- I brought these for you and Mr-“

“-How lovely.” She cuts him off with an even tone, taking the flowers and bourbon and shaking his hand. Her voice remains flat and she looks at him critically from head to toe. “We weren’t expecting you. Change of plans?”

“Yes ma’am. I was in New York for work commitments but as soon as I heard you invited me to dinner, I just had to fly in, I’ve been looking forward to meeting you all.” He kisses your temple and it burns like a scalding iron because all you want to do is push him away. “Anything for you, honey.”

“I was told it was Chicago.” She tells him, looking at you. “Communication issues, or do you just not know your partner, dear?”

Shit.

“Oh, I-“

She cuts you off. “Well, either way, do come in, I’ll ask Luisa to prepare another steak. You do eat steak, don’t you?”

“Yes ma’am. Thank you.” He’s the picture of poise and charm and you think he may even stand a chance at warming your mother up to him. Maybe. But she hasn’t forgotten the senate judiciary committee mishap and you doubt she will for a long time to come.

She simply nods and retreats into the kitchen. You slap him away but he’s far too strong, his grip snug and tight around your waist. His hand dips a little lower on your back, dangerously close to the curve of your ass.

“Get off me!” You hiss, pushing him away. “Don’t you dare embarrass me tonight, keep your snide little comments to yourself. You hear me?”

“I'm not the one with a habit of embarrassing myself during important moments.” He chides, shrugging off his coat. He takes in your appearance, hair pulled up and away from your face, a few stray strands framing your face and a modest white dress. His eyes turn dark and he steps in closer, his smell radiating off him with warmth. “You look good.” He whispers, brushing a hair off your face.

You slap his hand away. “Shut up. Don’t try anything tonight.”

“Oh yeah? Or what?” He smirks.

You bicker the entire way into the drawing room, throwing angry quips and biting words to one another. The sexual push and pull is still incredibly evident between you and judging by his words during your contract exchange, he seems to be sure that the night you shared four years ago is to be continued.

And you know men like him. Men that won’t stop to get whatever it is they want, and the prospect of that thing being you, to be used and discarded, especially after the way you tricked him and left him tied up four years ago send a shiver up your spine.

There’s no doubt in your mind that he’ll try and trip you up tonight, especially if he can do it at your parent’s home, on your home turf. And with no way to proactively stop him, you’ll have to remain on high alert.

———

The only thing that cuts the tense silence for the first ten minutes of dinner, is the clink of knives and forks and awkward stares. Thali and Theo left the dining room a few minutes ago after Theo got overwhelmed and began to cry about wanting to go home.

In the meantime, your mother fixes your attention on you and Hotch. “So, tell me. How did the two of you start up? As I remember, there was a fair bit of animosity between the two of you.”

A trail of nervous heat travels up your spine. “Oh um-“

“That’s right. The chairwoman Lahey debacle.” Your father chimes in, fixing Hotch with an intimidating glare. He’s a man of few words but you’ve seen him stare down people in and outside of the courtroom, but Hotch doesn’t shift across from you. He remains cool and collected.

“Yes, Sir. That was admittedly unfortunate, but we realised that despite us being on opposing sides, we liked each other’s company. We met again around six months ago and in testing that theory, here we are.”

“I see.” Your mother says. “Although I find it difficult to believe that my daughter would want to date somebody whose reputation precedes them quite as much as yours.”

“I’m right here, Mom.” You mutter.

“Am I wrong? You’ve painted quite the picture for yourself, you seem unlikely to be happy with just one woman.”

“I understand your concerns, but I assure you, it’s media fluff. I’m more than happy with your daughter, and I plan on making sure she stays in my life for a long time to come.” He watches you from beneath his brows, smirking crookedly.

You scoff inwardly. Motherfucker.

You take a sip of your wine, when your phone chimes and you choke, pounding on your chest to expel the liquid from your windpipe. Hotch smirks into his glass.

‘They don’t know the real truth. That you sat your pretty pussy on my face and sucked my cock on your knees. I’m getting hard just thinking about your warm, wet mouth on my cock again.’

Thali has the worst fucking timing because she chooses that exact moment to return with Theo on her arm who’s sporting a pair of noise cancelling headphones. She spots the text on your phone.

“Jesus, girl.” She mutters with sly eyes and a smirk.

Your mother watches the exchange suspiciously but when she spots Theo’s new outfit addition, she rolls her eyes. “Now, is that really necessary?” She asks, putting her knife and fork down.

“Yes.” Thali bites.

“Why? Because of his condition?” She takes a swig of wine and you wince, casting a look at Hotch who appears unaffected by the dysfunction but his foot steadily travels up your calf. You jerk away from him.

There’s too much happening.

“Jesus, Mom. It’s not a curse word, you know? You can say it. He has Autism.” Thali hisses. Theo looks between his mom and you, then your mother and Hotch, confused a little.

Your phone chimes again.

‘I wanna bury my face between your tits again, and taste that cunt. I wanna feel you come undone on my fingers first.’

Thali is thankfully distracted by your mother but you still squeeze your thighs together.

“Stop, you know that’s not what I meant. Besides, it’s indelicate to speak of such things so openly.” Your mother says dismissively.

“Mom, come on.” You chime in.

“What? It’s easy for you to say, Honey, Theo is perfectly comfortable with you and your home. I doubt he needs those headphones when he’s with you.”

‘I remember the way you look when you come, I can think of something better you can do with an open mouth.’

Is he fucking kidding? Sexting you in the middle of family dinner while your sister and mother are arguing?

Thali sighs, angrily cutting her steak. “Yeah, because she sees him more than twice a year, Mom.”

Your mother opens her mouth, refusing to back down but Hotch interrupts. You’re taken aback by his ability to multitask and never in your life have you been more thankful for his presence than right now.

Because Thali is more like your mom than she cares to admit. Stubborn with a short fuse but still sweet enough that the words don’t bite too much, a conversation with the two of them is like a snowball rolling down a hill, it only gets bigger and more dangerous until it does some serious damage.

“Well, I think they look cool, buddy.” He says, taking the confused look right off Theo’s face. He leans across the table with a warm smile and fist bumps him, and strangely enough, Theo returns it with a smile.

Traitor.

Your phone chimes again.

‘I wanna fuck you. Now.’

“Who is that?!” Your mother asks, throwing her napkin on the table.

Your cheeks heat and you stumble over your words, glaring at Hotch who watches you as if to agree with your mother.

“Oh, I’m… it’s work. Sorry.” You slide the ringer to put it on silent and place it face down on the table, looking at Thali from the corner of your eye.

———

With the big argument out of the way, the rest of dinner goes by pretty well - by your family’s standards anyway. Theo takes well to Hotch, which you hate, as does your mother, because he spends the evening playing with Hotch in the garden after dinner.

When it comes time to go, you bid your parents goodbye with a kiss on each of their cheeks and Hotch shakes both of their hands, exchanging niceties and thanking them for welcoming him into their home.

He helps Thali secure Theo into his seat and you hug them both goodbye. “Nice to meet you, Hotch.” Thali says, wrapping him in a hug. You frown agitatedly, knowing he’s won over your sister, and that she and her son are traitorous little lemmings, but you can’t very well admit that.

So you sigh and plaster a smile on your face when Thali gestures at you, joining her thumb and index finger in an ‘O’. ‘Nice job’ she mouths when his back is to her.

You both make your way back to your respective cars in silence but you’re the first to break it. “You’re an asshole.”

“Excuse me?”

“Sexting,” you hiss, “during dinner? You’ve hit a new low.”

“I was only telling the truth.” He replies, grabbing your arm and dragging you to his Range Rover.

“What the hell are you doing? My car is right over there.”

“You really think I’m going to let you go home in your own car? What did I tell you at dinner the other night? You’re to ride with me or someone I know.”

You try to wiggle out of his grasp but he’s walking with purpose down the long driveway and opening the car door for you. “You’re a misogynistic prick! I’m not riding with you.”

“Get in the car.”

You cross your arms and tip your chin defiantly. “No.”

“Get. In. The car.”

“No, asshole.”

“Fine.” Your vision flips sideways as you’re lifted by your knees, placed forcefully inside the car and strapped in. He locks the door as he makes his way around to the driver’s side and gets in next to you.

You huff and stare out of the window as he pulls out of his spot and down the remainder of the grand driveway, past the neat hedges and mosaiced walled fountain. “I don’t know what your problem is. Sexting me at dinner, with my parents a few feet away? You’re disgusting.”

“Yeah but it worked though, right? Thalia saw the text, at least she thinks we’re a real couple.”

“That’s the only thing you could think of to sell this?! You’re just a sick individual who gets off on making me uncomfortable.”

“Did it work?” He asks, placing a warm hand on your thigh. It travels higher slowly, flexing and squeezing the flesh of your thigh, until his pinky is almost between your legs. You slap his hand away.

“Shut up.”

“At least Theo liked me.”

“Yeah, don’t get too happy. It was a fluke.”

“That wasn’t a fluke. He likes me. They say kids and animals are the most perceptive creatures, they can pick up on vibes.”

“Yeah well his kid radar must be broken, because you have the worst ‘vibes,” You use your hands to make air quotations, “of anyone I’ve ever met. Also, I’m sorry, are you a 15-year-old skateboarder? ‘Vibes’? Jesus.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“What?” You snap.

“Are you wet?”

“What?!” Your head snaps around to look at him and he has the faintest smirk on his first before he retrains it into a frown. “What the fuck kind of question is that?”

“You think I don’t know how wet you can get? Or what kind of panties you like to wear? White lace, right? I remember them well.”

You shake your head.

“Answer me.”

You are wet. But you’ll never admit it. “Drier than the Sahara and it’s all thanks to you.”

“I doubt that’s true, I can see you squirming.”

“I swear to God, I will open this door while the car is still in motion and jump out. Also, how am I supposed to get my car back?”

“One of your parents’ drivers can bring it back.”

“Oh, you just have an answer for everything, huh?”

“That’s my job, honey.”

You roll your eyes and focus your eyes on the city lights, rolling down the window to cool your burning face and neck. You’ll never admit it to him, but you can feel yourself slowly losing this tug of war.

———

When you get to your apartment with Hotch, who - despite your protests had walked with you anyway - you find Lucas standing outside your apartment. When Hotch recognises him as the same man who he saw on your cams today, he places an arm around your shoulder and tucks you into his body posessively.

You roll your eyes but you’re half-glad Hotch is here. Lucas gives you the creeps. He’s a self proclaimed nice guy, who you suspect isn’t half as nice as he thinks he is when he doesn’t get what he wants.

“Lucas?” He turns around and smiles when he sees you, his expression quickly falling when his eyes dart to Hotch, who is admittedly - tall, broad and intimidating. “What are you doing here?” You ask.

“Hey!” He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “I’m sorry to bother you this late.”

“It’s 11pm.” Hotch booms.

Lucas stutters, looking at Hotch, an embarrassed flush on his face. “I wanted to ask if you’d had a chance to look over the documents I dropped off with you earlier today? I know it was only like noon but I could really use your advice.”

Hotch already knows this, but he looks at you inquisitively anyway, rubbing your arm. You smile tightly, shaking your head as you put your key in your door. “Um… you know what? I haven’t. I’m sorry. I just had dinner with my parents and it’s a Friday night, you know? I told you I’d get back to you on Monday.” You both step inside, leaving Lucas outside.

“Right but-“

Hotch steps in front of you, reaching for the door. “Goodnight. Luke, was it?” He asks.

“Lucas.” He blinks irritably at Hotch’s presence looking over his shoulder to talk to you. “Hey, listen-”

“You’re going to go home now, little man, because I need some time alone with my girlfriend.” Hotch stares him down with an even tone to his voice, and then slams the door in his face. And, for the second time that night, you’re thankful he’s here despite his numerous, numerous other flaws.

“Who’s that?” He asks once Lucas is gone.

“Friend from work.”

“Little eager isn’t he?” You shrug your shoulders and grumble as he continues, “What does he mean he dropped documents off at noon? You weren’t at work?”

You sigh. “Not that it’s any of your business, I was, but I came home.”

“Why?”

“What part of ‘it’s none of your business’ do you not understand? Leave.” You tilt your chin towards the door, growing increasingly annoyed because you’re being reminded of work and Gideon and all the bullshit that comes with it.

“Fine. I have to leave to go back to New York in three hours anyway, but be careful with him. I don’t like him.”

“Oh yeah? Why? Because he seems interested in me?” You roll your eyes. “It’s none of your business who I talk to - because this,” You gesture between the two of you, “Is not real.”

He stares at you, a muscle in his jaw twitching and his fists balling. He takes one step towards you and you take one back. Then another - him forward, you back, and another until he’s stalking towards you slowly, backing you up into the wall, the front of his body pressing against you, warm and solid. You breathe heavily through your nose, turning away from him but he grips your chin and turns it back towards him.

You’re nose to nose now and his other hand grips your waist under your winter coat. “What did I say to you?”

“You say a lot of things, am I supp-“

“On our date. What did I say to you?” His eyes are dark and his breath is warm over your face. He uses a finger to brush a stray hair away like he did earlier, except this time, your heart is pounding. “Did I or did I not tell you that I would be the last man to ever slide inside this pussy?” His voice is low and dangerous and he licks his lips, eyes glossed over and focused on yours. “So I think you’ll find it is very much my business who you talk to. Because you,” He noses up the side of your neck, hot breath scorching your skin. “Belong to me.”

You shudder at his touch, gritting your teeth and fighting the urge to give in. He pulls away harshly, leaving you cold where he was pressed up against you just moments ago and turns to leave, opening the door.

“Keep your distance. It’s what’s best for him.” And he closes the door behind him, not meeting your eyes as he leaves.

Best for him. Was that a threat?

You remain rooted in the spot where he leaves you for a few lingering moments, your fingers tracing where his nose had nuzzled your neck. You sigh shakily, pouring yourself a glass of water and splashing your face with cold water too, but unbeknownst to you, Hotch sees the effect he has on you.

He watches you on the CCTV feed and smiles before he leaves your apartment building, his own slacks tight. He pulls out his other phone to call Garcia.

“Hey Garcia. I need everything you have on a guy called Lucas? All I know is that he works at the US attorney’s office. I don’t have a surname but I have a picture. I want his background, financials, friends, family history. Everything you can get me.”

———

On the other side of DC, Mike walks into an office building where he’s been summoned by some congressman’s chief secretary, neither of whom’s names he can remember. He’s admittedly a little drunk after being fired by Derek this morning and drowning his sorrows, the alcohol still coursing through his blood.

He looks a little worse for wear as he arrives, gives his name to the lady at the front desk, who’s voice matches the one on the phone call he’d received earlier. She looks at him, his bloodshot eyes and crooked tie disapprovingly, and tells him to take a seat.

A few moments later, he’s walking down the hallway and into a spacious office where a man sits behind a grand oak desk.

“Michael Coulbeck?” The man asks, outstretching a hand.

“Please, call me Mike.” He says, shaking his hand and taking a seat opposite him.

“Mike. It’s nice to meet you, I’m Congressman Chris Livingston.”

Mike frowns. “My apologies but I’m not quite sure why you asked me here tonight. It’s a little unusual to meet this late.”

Christopher gets up from behind his desk and rolls up his sleeves, reaching for two glasses and popping the top of the whiskey decanter next to his desk. He pours two fingers each and hands a tumbler to Mike.

“Well, Mike. This proposal is a little unusual.” He chuckles, leaning on the desk next to him. “I understand you were fired by Derek Morgan today and, well… I would like to offer you a position in my office.”

“Why’s that?”

“You worked for Senator Hotchner, yes?”

Mike clears his throat. “Yes.”

“Then, I believe that gives us something in common. A common enemy. So my question for you is if you accept my offer.”

It dawns on Mike slowly that he’s being presented with a perfect opportunity, and a chance to not return home to the middle of nowhere, USA, with his tail between his legs. He’s witnessing the cutthroat politics of DC that his mother had warned him about before he left and, doing the math in his head, he raises his tumbler.

“I accept your offer, Congressman.”

Christopher smiles, looking at the picture of you and Hotch on your ‘date’ that’s plastered on the newspaper, downing the liquid in his tumbler to chase away the bitter taste in his mouth.

“Great. Then let’s get to work.”

———

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class1akids · 3 years

Note

Hey there! You’ve maybe answered this before, (if so, feel free to ignore this!) but as a relatively new follower, I’m curious, what first made you start to like Shouto? At what point in the series did you decide he was best boy? (I mean, obviously it’s an objective truth that he is best boy, but like, people realize that at different junctures in the story… or they will eventually. It’s inevitable.)

The truth is I came into this fandom because of Shouto already. In my previous fandom, AtlA, there were a lot of comparisons of Zuko and Shouto, so I felt compelled to check it out. In a way, I was predisposed to liking him. And it was actually a really pleasant surprise that he felt really like his own character rather than a repeat Zuko.

So I guess I was intrigued by his story from the very beginning and was curious how it will unfold. Obviously, the Sport Festival was a great ride as a Shouto simp, and I really really loved that instead of winning, the conclusion of that arc for Shouto was to visit his mom and how the story showed his guilt, nervousness, determination to save her.

It was just such a cool contrast that all the badass fighting we had been led to believe was so important was really just background noise, and the real battle was something so mundane, yet so difficult as to face a real-life trauma in the shape of a toxic family history and a mentally ill mother.

I love that Shouto's arc basically elevates healing from a trauma as something heroic.

#c1a asks #todoroki shouto

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suneatersupportsquad · 3 years

Text

red handed; colby brock

request: im not sure if you do requests or even any imagines for colby brock anymore but i was wondering if you cold make a exception, so basically the plot is that the reader met colby through kat and since then they hit it off, now their in a secretive relationship the only person who knows is kat but she only knows the reader has a crush on colby. one day everyones hanging out in the same room room and colby is sexting the reader, sams curious to whos hes texting and they find out their dating.

dedication: @whydontweanons��

genre: fluff, subtle smut?

pairing: colby brock x gn!reader

characters: colby brock, sam golbach, katrina stuart, corey scherer, jake webber, kevin langue, brennen taylor, devyn lundy, tara yummy

word count: 1.8k

warnings: alcohol, what would probably be underage drinking, NSFW (barely), sexting (duh), mentions of COVID-19, quarantine

a/n: of course i’ll still write for sam and colby!! it’s just that, since i’m not as active of a follower of them as i used to be, my goal is to write for fandoms that i’m more invested in at the moment. but, honestly, i don’t think i could ever really stop writing for them. i love those boys so much. also this plot made me laugh so hard when i saw it in the best way possible. getting this request honestly made my day, so thank you for that!! anyways, i’m a little rusty, but here we go.

important links: masterlist

find more fics at my new blog @trapboysbunny

You and Colby had known each other for a long time - pretty much since he’d moved to LA with Sam - and you had been involved romantically just as long. You had met him and Sam through Kat on a boring Saturday night when all their friends flaked on coming to a little kickback they were hosting. Trying to be a good friend and cheer the boys up, Katrina had invited you to hopefully kickstart some emotional momentum. Your eyes met Colby’s for the first time and you clicked. Something in your gut had told you that the two of you would end up being close, and it was right. You had hit it off immediately, not taking very long to start laughing at one another’s corny jokes and telling stories over Smirnoff Ice while some random late night show played in the background. From that night on, it was history.

Since then, you two had been practically attached at the hip. If you weren’t sitting on the same room or facetiming, you were definitely texting one another. It became a running joke in your friend group that you two had evolved into a pair of siamese twins, or that being without you gave Colby separation anxiety. The two of you found it even more amusing when you actually began dating, not long after that fateful first night. It amazed the both of you that you were able to hide your relationship so well. No one had a clue. The two of you laughed about it quite often, actually, over late night phone calls and tipsy afternoons spent only with each other. No one knew, and nobody needed to know.

Colby, due to the internet and his fanbase being the way it is, preferred to keep his personal (and especially romantic) relationships more on the private side. His intent wasn’t necessarily to hide his feelings and relationship with you from his friends, but that particular topic of conversation never really came up in your friend group. Everyone had just kind of figured that everyone single would simply date someone when they were ready and tell everybody about it when they felt the time was appropriate. It wasn’t that Colby didn’t want to tell them, he just didn’t see the point in going out of his way to tell all of his friends hey after God knows how long I finally have a partner. He just didn’t want to make a big deal out of your relationship. Knowing his friends, they would definitely make it into some type of big thing, not to mention that Jake would dub the occasion as “cause for celebration” (which was really just an excuse to drink more). So Colby preferred to keep things on the quieter side for you two; neither of you wanted to make your relationship into an object for speculation.

Kat was the only person out of all of your friends to have any knowledge of your feelings for Colby. And thank God for her; if you didn’t have her to gush about Colby to, you probably would have either exploded or died. Or both. And she was there for every single second of it. She loved hearing about your movie nights, your urban exploring adventures, the sweet yet mundane things he would do to make you happy, literally anything. She ate that shit up like a man starved, and you did the same for her and Sam (regardless of the fact that their relationship was public already). You hadn’t told her explicitly about the nature of your relationship with Colby, really just gushed about your ever-growing love for the boy. Unbeknownst to you, she firmly believed that you only had feelings for Colby, clueless to the fact that the two of you had actually been dating for quite a while now. With her “go get ‘em, tiger” comments, along with similar remarks, you assumed that she had some sort of idea about your relationship with Cole, hence why you had never explicitly told her about your secret boyfriend. Kat, being the good friend that she was, never spilled your “secret” feelings to anyone else. Not even her boyfriend.

Eventually, quarantine started up amidst the international COVID-19 pandemic and you had begun practically living with the trap boys. A day without you in the house was enough to prompt concern for the boys, minus Colby who always knew the real reason why you weren’t coming over. This soon became the new normal, you taking a “day off” every few weeks to get tested just in case. At this point, it was almost comical that no one had figured out you two were dating yet.

One particular weekend afternoon, everyone in your friend group was hanging out at the house. You and Colby were sitting on opposite sides of the room, you next to Kat and Colby seated beside Sam. It was particularly warm today seeing as this Saturday landed smack in the middle of the infamous August heat wave, so you had thrown on a tank top and some shorts, nothing to flashy. Colby had dressed similarly, wearing only a muscle tee and a pair of trunks.

You were sat beside Kat, the both of you trying to listen to the story Devyn was telling. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t ignore the way your boyfriend was staring at you from across the room. You looked away from Dev for just a second to shoot him a glare when you realize exactly why he’s looking at you. The speed at which the blood rushes to your face is dizzying, and you drop your head to stare at your lap. Motherfucker- You sigh as you pull your phone out of your pocket. “Quit it with the blowjob eyes asshole,” you type before pressing the blue send button.

You feel his gaze break as his phone vibrates. Trying to ignore him, you refuse to meet his gaze again, putting all of your effort into focusing on Devyn’s story. Seconds later your phone vibrates in your pocket. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” the screen reads, and you shake your head.

“Uh huh sure ok.” You pressed send again.

Another few seconds passed and your phone vibrated again. “That shirt looks really good on you.”

You blushed as you read the message, flustered by the comment. Brows knitting together in confusion, you looked up to find him staring back at you with a dopey grin. You hunched over your phone and sent a message back. “You really think so?”

“Yeah, of course,” Colby replied, a gray typing bubble sitting under the message. “But you know how it would look cuter?”

You cocked your head to the side and typed out your response. “How?”

“On my bedroom floor.” You almost snorted at that, clamping a hand over your mouth to prevent any noise from escaping. Typical. Thankfully no one had been paying enough attention to you to notice that you were distracted.

Colby, on the other hand, wasn’t so lucky. “Give me this, dude,” Sam said, snatching the phone out of Colby’s hand and effectively bringing the conversation on their side of the room to a halt. “You haven’t been listening for like the past 20 minutes, dude. Now let’s see what’s got you so distracted.”

“You don’t need to look at that, Sam, it’s not that important-” The tall brunette sounded slightly panicky as he reached and grappled with Sam for his phone. Sam played around for a little bit before finally reading the screen, eyes widening in amusement.

Upon finishing his reading, Sam lowered the phone and Colby relaxed, already knowing that he was caught. “So who’s ‘angelcakes,’ huh Colbert?” Sam prodded teasingly.

Colby blushed ever so slightly, rubbing the back of his neck. “They’re just a friend-”

“Which friend, huh?” Sam continued his teasing, growing louder and louder with every response until all eyes were on the two boys.

Colby shrugged, trying to be nonchalant but looking more stressed than ever in actuality. “Just a friend.”

“What do you say we call this friend, huh boys?” Sam suggested.

Kevin nodded, agreeing. “I think we definitely should.” Brennen also nodded when Sam looked to him for approval, essentially finalizing the decision.

“Okay then, let’s do this thing!” Sam yelled, earning cheers from all the other curious folks in the room. The blonde boy pressed call and Colby simply held his face in his hands.

You jumped when your phone rang, honestly having forgotten that oh shit, I’m angelcakes. Everyone turned to look at you curiously, Colby even peeking through his fingers. You didn’t even pick up the device, already knowing whose name would be lighting up the screen. “You gonna pick that up or something?” Corey asked awkwardly.

You shook your head, leaving your phone face down in its spot beside your thigh. “No, it’s probably not important anyways.”

A beat of heavy silence passed before Tara spoke. “Gee, they sure aren’t giving up. Maybe you should answer it.”

“Nah, I’m sure it’s just-”

“Yeah, you should answer the phone, Y/N,” Jake agreed, the pieces seeming to click in his head.

You sighed, burning bright red to the tips of your ears. “Okay okay, fine.” You stood and clicked the answer button. “Hello?”

And there it was, your voice echoing from Colby’s phone. The room erupted in cheers of disbelief, the boys pouncing on Colby and the girls slapping you in playful excitement. “I knew there was something going on between you two!! There’s no way there couldn’t have been -- I can’t believe you didn’t tell me!” Kat squealed, smushing you in a hug.

The rest of the girls echoed the sentiment, a chorus of ‘same’s and ‘I can’t believe you’s. It took a while for everyone to calm down but, once everyone settled, you and Cole managed to get some alone time. The two of you escaped out back, the less than mediocre breeze cooling the sweat that slicked your skin. You held each other, almost as though you were about to start slow dancing. “Damn, caught red handed, huh?”

You laughed breathily, leaning your forehead against his shoulder. “It was only a matter of time, ya know?”

“I know,” he agreed, cheek pressing against your hair. “I’m glad we don’t have to be weird around them anymore.”

“Me too,” you hummed.

Colby pulled away a little bit, just enough for him to look you in the eyes, your arms still around his neck. “Hey.”

You giggled, confused. “Hey.”

“I love you.”

You smiled your confirmation, eyes twinkling under the cheap backyard lights. “I love you.”

#colby brock #colby brock fanfiction #colby brock one shot #colby brock fanfic #colby brock imagine #fanfiction #the trap house #bug.oneshots

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alwaysmychoices · 3 years

Text

Ski Resort

Synopsis: After declaring her intention to leave medicine forever, Charlie must join the Diagnostics Team for one more case before Ethan will let her retire. But once they’re trapped in the ski resort, Charlie gets tangled in the mystery, and she begins to wonder if she should really leave medicine or if it’s time to come back.

Chapter 26 of the “with and without” series

Previous Series: “a weekend with dr. ramsey”

Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x MC (Charlotte “Charlie” Greene)

Words: 5.5k (sorry, I tried so hard to cut it down)

Rating: Teen

Also available on AO3 & Wattpad (link in Masterlist)

The drive to the ski resort was uncomfortably quiet. Ethan and Charlie didn't speak a word, not even when Baz tried to play car games or entertain the captive group with stories.

No, Ethan and Charlie weren't going to speak – or rather, Ethan wasn't going to speak until Charlie did, and Charlie wasn't going to say a thing.

The fight in Ethan's office had cooled to begrudging acceptance. Despite her objections, Charlie put on her coat, read the patient information, and piled in the car with the rest of the diagnostics team just as Ethan insisted. But her cooperation extended only that far.

Ethan was sure that she was furious in the back seat – so sure that he kept looking back to her in the rearview to see if her expression had soured any further.

But Ethan wasn't right about everything.

Charlie wasn't angry – or if she was, it was secondarily not primarily.

She was anxious.

Anxious to be back at work and interacting with critical patients when her confidence in herself and her skills had never been lower. Anxious to stand on the precipice of her entire future – for if she failed today, she wouldn't be a doctor, and if she didn't, she'd have to face fears buried deep in her soul.

It wasn't that she held her tongue because she would have hurled insults otherwise. She held her tongue because she simply couldn't bear to say anything at all.

June and Baz sensed the discomfort, though they were kind enough to not comment on it. Baz tried his best to lessen the uneasiness with music and diverting conversion, none of which stuck. June was more intrigued, maybe even suspicious.

They'd both been surprised when Charlie joined the expedition after her long absence, but Baz was much more willing to accept the sudden return and be thankful for it. June couldn't shake her curiosity.

After all, why had Charlie suddenly returned from leave for this one case? Why was the relationship between Charlie and Ethan, which had once been friendly, now so tense?

Being scrutinized only made Charlie feel worse.

It was a relief for all parties when they arrived at the ski resort.

Any other day, Charlie would have stopped and marveled at the sight.

Perfect, white snow coated the landscape and the resort. Smoke billowed from the central fireplace, promising warmth and comfort inside. Snow-capped trees climbed Mount Dagger and dotted the landscape. Even with layers and layers of footprints marring the snow and a large resort looming in the background, this place felt serene and untouched somehow.

It was so different from the heat and sunshine Charlie had grown up with.

Part of her wished she could have leaned into Ethan and marveled at the place, letting him tease her for her unfamiliarity and inexperience with snow. She realized that winter had only been pain and survival for them. She had the urge to change that somehow – to throw a snowball or challenge him to make snow angels.

But instead, Charlie just trudged along, keeping the urges to herself and remaining silent.

The owner, Rodney, was a friend of Ethan's. He greeted them all warmly and thanked them for their time. On the way to the patient's room, he offered charming anecdotes about Ethan's childhood and their friendship. Charlie wished she could have engaged more, but it was all becoming too real. In mere moments, she would be a working doctor again – a dream that had become a nightmare.

Paula and her son, Timothy, waited in their hotel room.

In the end, they weren't nearly as frightening as Charlie had imagined them. The entire drive, she morphed her patient experience into that of death and destruction, and she'd forgotten how mundane interactions could really be. Even Paula's defiance and complaints felt tame in the face of all Charlie had been through.

During the initial interview, Charlie didn't resume the active role she'd once had on the team. Instead, it was Ethan who drove the questioning, with June acting as his secondary. The team had found their new rhythm in her absence, and they seemed to know that Charlie was purposefully not stepping into her old shoes.

Ethan was disappointed.

To an outsider, she would have looked like a student rather than a member of the team. She stood in the back of the group, her mouth closed and ideas kept to herself. It could have read as disinterest, though Ethan highly doubted Charlie could confront a mystery and not be enthralled. No, it must have been something else. Anger maybe. Perhaps she wasn't ready, just as she'd warned him in the hospital.

During the interview, Ethan managed to look back at Charlie and examine her without anyone noticing.

And what he found prompted a sigh of relief.

She wasn't disinterested.

Charlie's eyes were bright and alive with curiosity. She was listening attentively, her expression changing slightly with each new piece of information. She must be cataloging it, saving it, and allowing it to simmer until it attached to a theory. Even if she wasn't speaking, she was here. She was part of the team, part of the future solution. He could see it in her now– the passion and empathy he'd recognized in her so early in her intern year.

He found himself hoping it would be enough to make her stay.

Enough to make her realize she wanted to stay.

It distracted him from the interview.

Not that he was missing much anyway. Paula, the patient, was particularly uncooperative. It took considerable prodding – and her son’s insistence – to get Paula to say anything at all.

But Ethan’s attention quickly returned when Paula's behavior suddenly shifted.

June and Baz talking to each other, quietly exposing the confusion amongst the team about Paula's bizarre symptoms. Nothing about the conversation was particularly unusual, but to a distrustful woman like Paula, it was enough to prove incompetence on the team's part.

With an eerie light in her eyes, Paula interrupted to say, "It sounds like you have no idea what you're talking about."

She said it with such airy mirth that the comment was unsettling.

Then, to the horror of everyone in the room, the formerly austere Paula's face split into a wild, frenzied laugh. Her posture had changed – so had her facial expressions. Ethan took a step closer and realized that the disturbing glimmer in her eyes was the dark of her pupil as it dilated.

The team looked at each other in horror and shock.

"Paula, are you feeling alright?" Charlie asked. These were the first unprompted words she'd spoken since the introductions.

"I feel great! Why the hell wouldn't I? I'm stuck on a mountain with a load of incompetent doctors!" Paula's voice dissolved into laughter. It was too loud. Too open. Too long.

The diagnostics team looked to each other, and in a silent consensus, they followed Ethan's lead to the hallway. Once the door closed behind them, they abandoned their polite, neutral expressions to show their true concern.

"It looks like a manic episode. If her brain trauma is extensive enough to cause that…." Ethan trailed off, only for Charlie to finish.

"We need to get her to a hospital as soon as possible. Can we call for a helicopter?"

“Doubtful,” Baz frowned, “During the interview, the storm was upgraded to a blizzard. We wouldn’t have time for a helicopter, and the roads are already being shut down.”

“But we just got here!” Charlie fought it, not that she was sure why she did. The entire drive up, the snow had gotten progressively worse. Even from inside Paula’s room, she could tell the weather was turning.

“Then we’re stuck here,” June announced, ignoring Charlie’s outburst, “We’ll have to monitor Paula all night in case her condition worsens.”

Charlie frowned.

This was not how she wanted her first case back to go.

The patient showed unusual symptoms and potential mania, all while they were trapped in a ski resort by a blizzard? This had death and destruction written all over it.

Had Ethan taken the time to consider it, he would have reached the same dim conclusion.

But fortunately for him, he was more distracted by managing the crisis. With little time before the snow made movement impossible to leave the lodge, Ethan decided to find the source of Paula’s rash on the mountain. Charlie objected on safety grounds, but Ethan went out anyway. In his absence, the team conducted a few tests and settled the room arrangements with Rodney. Ethan returned safely, just a bit cold and damp from the snow, and with the cause of the rash. It was poison sumac, he announced. Unrelated to the other symptoms, unfortunately, but at least they could rule other things out.

Only moments later, the blizzard captured the resort captured the resort and trapped the occupants inside.

To his surprise, Charlie wasn’t impressed by his discovery or his quick return. She was annoyed he’d gone out in the first place. And he suspected she was irritated to be here at all.

He wondered if he was pushing her too far, if his plan to show her the best parts of their job had been flawed. If he had been flawed.

If he was doing more harm than good.

Then June pulled out the hotel keys to present them to everyone.

There were four.

The extra room key stung.

It shouldn’t have.

Of course, they couldn’t stay in the same room on a work trip. He shouldn’t have expected anything different.

But something about it made him feel… distant from her.

Like he’d created a wall between them in this whole endeavor, a wall made physical by the separate rooms. Though he’d done it thousands of nights before, Ethan suddenly couldn’t imagine sleeping without her, her body warm beside him and her fragrant curls straying to his side of the bed. He wanted her to forgive him, though he wasn’t sure what for.

In an ideal world, they would have talked about it.

He would have checked on her.

But instead, in a whirlwind of arrangements and discussions, Ethan began his shift, and Charlie followed Baz and June to find their rooms.

Charlie hadn’t planned on staying, so she had nothing to unpack except for a phone charger from her purse and a laptop borrowed from Edenbrook. She didn’t relish the idea of sleeping in her bulky jeans or shivering in the cold night, but there was nothing she could do about that in a blizzard.

It was a relief to warm herself in a hot shower, but after, the room felt too lonely. Unsure what to do with herself, she searched for Baz and June. She found them both at the bar, which fortunately hadn’t been affected by the outside storm.

They sat by the fire with medical journals and drinks – and smores, in Baz’s case. When Charlie entered, they gave her their full attention.

They were genuinely happy to see her return.

They still believed in her, it seemed.

Not that she should be surprised, she reminded herself.

But she was a little.

She’d forgotten how it felt to be the prodigy, not the shattered impersonation of one.

Baz couldn’t contain his excitement and even went as far as to buy her bourbon in celebration, “I’m so happy you’re back! We’ve missed you, Charlie. It hasn’t been the same without you.”

“He tells the truth,” June confirmed, looking a little amused with her colleague’s enthusiasm.

Charlie didn’t know what to say, so she blushed and let Baz fill in the silence – not that he noticed. He had lots to say.

“To our star resident! You’ve been through hell and back, and we’re so proud of how far you’ve come. For you to have survived that and stand here ready to be a doctor again is brave, Charlie,” Baz emphasized in his toast, oblivious to the fact he was only making Charlie more nervous.

Charlie weakly raised her glass, tapping it against June’s and Baz’s.

June’s eyes settled on Charlie’s unsteady smile.

Which only made Charlie more unsteady.

“I can’t believe you’re really back and that Ethan didn’t even give us a warning! For weeks, he said you needed more time, and then, he surprised us. You two were probably in on it together,” Baz laughed good-naturedly, “So, are you back permanently now?”

I have no idea, she thought.

She didn’t know if she’d make it through this case, let alone if she’d take on another.

Her future was too uncertain, her confidence too shaken to answer.

“Um,” Charlie stammered, looking for an answer that didn’t expose her as a nervous wreck, “We’ll see how it works out with my remaining leave, I guess,” she answered noncommittally.

It was the wrong answer.

Too uncommitted. Not enough enthusiasm. Recognizable nerves.

It exposed something that Charlie wanted to hide. It showed how little she controlled this situation, how little she controlled everything. She didn’t know what would happen or what she wanted to happen. It was such a stark contrast from the determined, headstrong intern she’d once been.

If Baz noticed, he took it in stride and said he hoped she would be back full time soon. Then, he started telling her about all she’d missed – leaving out Levi, of course.

June noticed, though.

She sensed Charlie’s unease, and as a result, she stared. And studied.

Charlie became increasingly uncomfortable as the subject of June’s fascination. She felt like she might crack, like June would see through her if she was given enough time.

She began to feel like an imposter trying to fill her old role, and the deception of it all made her sick.

Charlie couldn’t stay for the rest of the evening, not if she was going to survive the night.

So, Charlie finished her bourbon a little too quickly, and to Baz’s disappointment, she excused herself to review online journals on her laptop. June wasn’t surprised she was leaving, though she politely said goodnight anyway.

Maybe June suspected Charlie’s weakness all along.

Maybe she was the smart one. Maybe she saw the truth that Ethan and Baz couldn’t – that Charlie was irreparably broken.

Even with the distance of a few floors separating them, Charlie felt haunted by the exchange – and maybe even still watched by June.

Charlie wanted to prove herself. She wanted to be the old star resident again, though she wondered if she had it in her.

The research proved fascinating, though research had never been a problem for Charlie. She loved learning, and she was always captivated by cases like this. Still, Paula’s case was an enigma, and Charlie went between journals, online textbooks, and her own observations over and over until her eyes burned. When she couldn’t focus anymore, she decided to take a walk and check on Paula. With any luck, she’d gain valuable information through questioning or observation. Even if learned nothing, it would be nice to see Ethan, someone who knew about her trauma and still believed in her enough to bring her here.

Charlie was halfway to Paula’s room when she spotted a familiar face.

“Timothy?” Charlie called out.

Timothy, the patient’s son, stopped mid-stride in shock. He probably didn’t think that anyone else in this hotel knew him.

“I’m one of your mom’s doctors,” Charlie explained quickly, hoping to put him at ease.

It worked. Timothy relaxed a bit, though he remained rigid enough to protect the cup of herbal tea he was carrying. Another mug for his mom, Charlie suspected. She worried that this meant her symptoms were getting worse.

“I’m on your way to your mother’s room. Do you mind if I walk with you?” Charlie asked. During the interview, Timothy had been more forthcoming than his mother, and if Paula became more uncooperative, he would be their only hope. And she worried for the boy. It had to be scary to watch something like this happen to your mother.

Timothy agreed, and they walked together quietly. After a few quiet moments, Charlie commented, “That’s very sweet of you to bring your mother some tea. You’ve been a very good caretaker, Timothy. That’s brave of you, and I want you to know you’re doing a good job, though you should also take care of yourself tonight.”

“Oh, it’s nothing. I’m used to it,” Timothy said sheepishly, looking into the cup of tea with a shy smile.

Charlie’s interest was piqued.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s just mom and me at home, so I take care of her.”

“What do you take care of, Timothy?”

Timothy frowned like he’d said something wrong.

“We’re here to help,” Charlie assured him, “So if she has a condition you’ve been helping her with, it’s okay. Just let us know. It may be interacting with or causing her current ailment.”

Timothy looked at Charlie thoughtfully. Almost too thoughtfully.

Charlie was sure there was something he wanted to tell her, or at least something he should tell her.

But all he said was, “It’s nothing really. We’re doing better now.”

Better from what? she thought.

Timothy suddenly looked down and frowned further.

“Is something wrong?”

“I forgot my bag in the lobby when I went to make the tea….”

“I can go get it for you.”

“No,” Timothy insisted too quickly.

Charlie was startled.

“Well, I can bring the tea if you want….” Charlie offered, her voice soft.

“She wouldn’t take it from you,” Timothy shook his head, his eyes softer now. Almost like he was apologetic for his mom’s violent dislike of doctors.

Charlie didn’t want to let Timothy go, especially when he was clearly hiding something, but he insisted she go ahead to the room without him. Not wanting to alienate him, Charlie reluctantly complied.

Once Charlie was in Paula’s room, she almost forgot about her strange encounter with Timothy. The change in Paula was drastic. Her boisterous laughter had faded into dreary silence. She laid in the bed silent and unmoving, her face blank and cold. Even the room felt darker, like all of the energy had been drained as depression gripped the primary occupant.

Ethan was stationed in the corner of the room, and he greeted Charlie with a silent nod.

“How long has this been going on?” Charlie whispered as she approached.

“About an hour,” Ethan frowned.

“I ran into the son in the hallway. I think there’s a preexisting condition they’re hiding from us,” Charlie lowered her voice even further to keep from being heard.

“Hmm,” Ethan raised his eyebrows with intrigue.

“I’m working on it,” she assured him.

Before they could talk any further, Timothy entered with a cup of tea and a bookbag in tow. He dropped the bag by the door, letting it slouch near Ethan and Charlie as he rushed to his mother’s side to deliver the tea. His bag’s zipper was half-undone, revealing some of the contents.

Charlie couldn’t help but look.

A notebook. Headphones. Pencils and pens. What looked like a few pages of math homework. Teabags, presumably from the herbal tea.

All normal stuff for a high schooler.

Still, she tilted her head just a bit more.

Some socks. A bag of –

A bag of pills.

Charlie’s head jerked to attention.

Why would he have a bag of pills? Was he abusing them?

Charlie was about to elbow Ethan and draw his attention to it when Timothy returned for the bag, zipping it back up and slinging it over his shoulder. If he noticed her stare, he didn’t let on.

Everything that was said after that was a blur. Charlie was wracking her brain trying to mentally identify the pill, but she didn’t recognize it. If only she knew what it was, maybe she could help.

When June arrived to take her shift, Charlie took it as her opportunity to return to her room to research medications commonly used or abused by teenagers.

Ethan, oblivious to her new mission, was disappointed by how quickly she ran away. He’d been excited when she came to check on Paula. He thought she was getting back into medicine, but now she was running away from it – and him.

He’d hoped to talk to her once he was off duty.

But Charlie didn’t even realize she’d slighted him.

She spent the next forty-five minutes trying to find a match for the pill.

Nothing jumped out at her. The pill she saw didn’t seem to be commonly abused, nor was it coming up in her research. Could it be a regular vitamin? If so, why would he have it in a bag? Or was it a street drug not listed in these databases?

Without interruption, she might have spent the whole night in this fruitless search.

She was lucky Ethan knocked on the door.

Knock. Knock.

Her train of thought was rudely interrupted, she thought, and she was reluctant to abandon her computer and greet the intruder. Had there not been a patient, she might have been annoyed enough to wait for a second knock.

When she saw Ethan, her mind went back to that room – to Paula.

She forgot that there was any other reason he might be coming to see her.

Like the fact that this was her first time back to work or that he was her boyfriend.

“Are Paula and Timothy alright?” Charlie blurted out, skipping introductions as she assumed the worst.

“Oh…” Ethan was a little knocked back, “Yes. They’re fine.”

“Oh,” Charlie was relieved but now a bit confused.

He stared at her.

Didn’t she understand why he was here? Why wasn’t she inviting him inside?

For a second, she’d gotten so into her job that she’d forgotten everything else – even how much her job terrified her.

“I came to check on you,” Ethan announced finally.

This jolted Charlie’s memory, and she quickly moved back from the door, letting him enter.

Her room was smaller than his, he noted. He found himself hoping she wouldn’t sleep in it tonight. He wanted her by his side. He wanted the assurance that he hadn’t lost her by pushing her too hard.

“How are you doing?” Ethan asked as he crossed the room, silently appraising her living arrangements. By the state of the crumbled comforter, it looked like she’d been researching on her laptop for most of the night.

“Alright, I guess” Charlie murmured, a little unsure of herself.

Their case was an enigma, and their patient was rapidly detreating in a blizzard. A teen had mystery pills in his backpack. June was now studying her. All day, Charlie had been teetering between genuine passion for her job and the feeling of insufficiently filling her old role.

How well could she really be doing?

But she also couldn’t say that she was miserable. She wasn’t as sure of her decision to leave as she had been this morning, nor was she convinced that medicine was all death and destruction.

The best way to describe Charlie was unsteady. Unsure, even.

She just had to survive this case.

Ethan, unsatisfied with her answer, awkwardly paced her small hotel room. She watched.

Finally, he turned to her, and finding the courage to say the words he’d prepared for the last hour, he said, “I’ve been thinking, and I wanted to apologize. I pushed you a lot today. At the time, I thought it was right. In fact, I still think it was right, but… it wasn’t fair.”

Charlie couldn’t believe Ethan was apologizing. Any other day, she might have even gloated. But today, she squirmed, equally unnerved by the situation. Maybe even more so.

Ethan waited for her response, trying so hard to be patient but failing miserably. He couldn’t fathom that he might have misjudged her limits and ruined everything.

It felt like an eternity before she spoke.

“It’s okay… I needed to come back before I decided. Maybe not so abruptly but…” Charlie trailed off, the edge of a smile on her lips. There was a glint in her eyes, and he realized she was poking fun at him.

He was relieved.

“You’ve done really well today,” Ethan ventured, “I’m proud of you.”

Charlie shook her head sheepishly, “I barely spoke.”

“But you were listening.”

“You can’t pretend I’m the same as I was.”

“You don’t have to be the same to be a good doctor, Charlie.”

Charlie bit her lower lip as she averted her gaze.

He took that as an invitation to be bolder, “I think you should come back permanently.”

“What?” Charlie’s eyes shot back to him, the shock in her eyes verging on indignation.

“The team agrees. It’s time, Charlie,” Ethan knew he was stuck now. He couldn’t take it back or soothe the storm that was brewing.

“You spoke to the team?” her gaze grew harder.

“I wanted you to know that you had full faith in you!” Ethan explained.

“June’s already watching me like there’s something wrong with me! Now you’ve just given her more reason to study me,” Charlie shook her head, frustration rising through her veins, “Why would you do that before talking to me?”

“You need to know that we believe in you, Charlotte,” Ethan said quite defensively, “We want you on the team.”

“I haven’t even made it through this case. What makes you think I’m ready to take on another?”

“Because you’re you. You’re not even out of residency yet, and you’re pulling your weight among experts. You’re discovering preexisting conditions none of us ever knew about-“

“Of which we have no proof!” Charlie interrupted.

“You’re still closer to an answer than any of us are,” Ethan said firmly, “And even when you’re scared, like you are now, you still care. You’re a good doctor. Great, even. You’ll be better than me one day. But you’re giving up-“

“Giving up?” Charlie repeated incredulously, “That’s what you think I’m doing?”

“You have a gift!”

“I almost died,” Charlie emphasized, “Every time a patient comes in with a mystery illness and no hope, I know what that feels like. I relive the worst day of my life through their eyes, and I know I can’t save them all. And you think I’m just giving up?”

“I didn’t mean it like that, Charlie,” Ethan said, suddenly ashamed, “I’m trying to help you. I love you, and I know you love medicine. I don’t want you to lose that because of a premature decision.”

“So, you think you’re helping me by making me do what I don’t want?”

Ethan frowned, “When it feels like it’s for the best, yes… But it’ll get better.”

Charlie paused.

And then something clicked.

And the fight – and Ethan’s dumb words – were forgotten.

“Wait,” she mumbled, “Making me do what I don’t want…”

“Yes, I know, and I’m sorry. But I really am trying to help,” Ethan tried, oblivious to the shift in Charlie’s mind.

She ignored him, rushing to her computer.

“What are you doing?” Ethan asked incredulously, watching as she frantically typed something into her computer. Again, she ignored him.

Her eyes the screen until they landed on the pill she’d seen in Timothy’s bag.

“I know what’s wrong with Paula.”

Ethan dropped his defensive stance and rushed to her side, hoping he’d understand by looking at her screen. But all he saw was a medication.

“There’s a bag of lithium in Timothy’s backpack. He said he’s been taking care of her for a long time but that she got better recently. I think he’s drugging her with this.”

“Her mood swings…” Ethan’s jaw almost dropped.

“He’s probably been trying to treat her for bipolar disorder on his own. You saw how she was with doctors. I doubt she would have gone in for treatment,” Charlie felt a knot form in her stomach. Even though she was sure of her hypothesis, she hoped it wasn’t true.

“And they gave her ibuprofen to treat her head injury,” Ethan swallowed heavily.

“We have to get her to a hospital.”

“And talk to Timothy.”

As if reading each other’s minds, they abandoned the laptop in Charlie’s room and raced to Paula’s room where they found Timothy waiting by his sleeping mother, looking exhausted but sleepless with worry.

Unfortunately, Charlie’s theory was correct.

Timothy confessed, and Charlie’s heart broke as they explained the repercussions of his actions as well as the severity of what he had done wrong. She felt for him, for what he must have gone through to think such action was necessary. But she couldn’t excuse his decision to medicate her without her consent, especially given the consequences. The lithium and ibuprofen combined to form a disastrous chain reaction, one that lasted even after they discovered the cause.

It took hours for the storm to clear enough for the helicopters to take Paula to the hospital.

While they waited, Charlie and Ethan sat in his room – a romantic suite with a view of the snowy mountains. It felt like a waste now. A romantic night they could have had, if Charlie hadn’t solved such a sad mystery. She was tired, though she wouldn’t admit it. At some point, she drifted to sleep, and Ethan held her, his fingers running through her hair as he kissed her temple and quietly congratulated her on her solve.

“I always knew you’d be the one to solve it,” he whispered.

“Why?” she murmured, “Were you holding back?”

“No, because you’re smarter than me,” he chuckled.

Charlie was smiling when she fell asleep.

When she woke up, the mood had shifted back to panic.

The helicopter on its way, and the team needed to follow. June and Baz took the helicopter with Paula and Timothy, and Ethan and Charlie drove the car back once the roads opened. The team called a few times to share updates and ask for advice.

But for most of the drive, Ethan held Charlie’s hand in silence.

The case was over.

She could back to her life in the apartment where she hid from the world and pushed herself just a little day by day, building her tolerance safely. She could tell Ethan he was wrong. Or she could stay.

And the truth was… she couldn’t imagine going back now.

Not now that she remembered what it was like on the good days – ones where she made the solve and saved the day. Ones where she realized she made a difference, that she solved things other people couldn’t.

It was okay to be scared.

Even as the words were on the tip of her tongue, she was terrified.

“My answer is yes.”

Ethan’s eyes momentarily drifted from the road to her, “What?”

“To your question last night. I want to come back permanently.”

Ethan felt like he could crash the car out of pure shock.

“Are you sure?”

“I mean… not really. I’m scared, but I think it’s time,” Charlie nodded her head, trying to project the confidence she wanted to once more possess.

“We can wait for you if you need more time,” Ethan assured her, struggling to keep his eyes on the highway and not right at her.

“I know,” Charlie confirmed, “But now is the time. I can’t retire, and I can’t wait forever to go back. I’ll never be 100% ready, so I just have to jump in.”

Ethan’s heart was beating so fast that Charlie felt it as she held his hand.

“Are you really, really sure?” Ethan clarified just one more time.

“Yes,” Charlie laughed, a smile lingering on her lips.

He looked at her. Briefly, of course. He was driving, after all.

And then his face broke out in a face-splitting grin.

“I’m so proud of you, Rookie,” he brought her hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles, “You’re amazing! I love you! I love you so much.”

His happiness was infectious. So infectious that she forgot about the fear.

And she laughed.

“You haven’t called me Rookie in a long time,” she squeezed his hand softly, and he cast a sideways glance at her.

“Do you still like being called Rookie?”

“Yes,” she smiled so warmly it practically radiated off of her.

And he loved her. He really did.

“Well then, I love you, Rookie,” he smirked, “And I owe you a romantic ski vacation.”

“Bold of you to assume I know how to ski.”

“And I owe you ski lessons, I suppose,” he murmured affectionately.

“You also owe me a kiss when we stop this car,” Charlie added.

He looked over at her – and quite recklessly because they were doctors and knew what could happen when young lovers were stupid on highways – he kissed her. Quickly, of course. Softly. But lovingly.

And even if she regretted it tomorrow and the world caved again, she was glad she was back today.

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