#They immediately assume women who are victims are lying for attention

[notanotherblorbo]

The worst thing about what happened to shubble for me personally is how as soon as I bring it up irl people's first instinct is to defend Wilbur. Even if they don't know anything about the situation, their first response is always, "So like, he just ignored a safeword?" Or "This stuff isn't even real. You should stop letting internet drama affect you so much." Or "Was she actually serious, or was she just doing it for attention?" Or "Oh, is this gonna ruin the band for you?" Followed by "isn't it a little ridiculous to drop them entirely for some stupid drama?" it's fucking awful.

[nervoustragedyluminary]

Yeah like I'm uncomfortable with identifying with a label that was put on me because a Dr saw i had a vag as a baby but there are medical situations where it's kinda useful language though honestly "people who can get pregnant" type language is way less clunky and it doesn't erase intersex people some of who also face pregnancy related issues that people will shorthand as "Afab issues"

if someone is being transmisogynistic you can just say "x person is being transmisogynistic and doesn't have solidarity with trans women or think that trans women are actually trans and treats/talks about them as if they are cis men /has brought into terf /radfem views of trans women and claims to be trans positive but doesn't show that support or positivity to all trans people and basically treats trans women like they can't be trusted / has said or done xyz transmisogynistic things "

Honestly "clinging to their afabness" is often used as shorthand for "talks about facing violence and transphobia and I don't think they really have it that bad because 'afabs' are hysterical attention seekers who want to steal valour from the real trans people who are 'Amab' and intersex people don't exist unless I assume they're "more Amab" (intersexist rhetoric) in which case they are real intersex people unless they disagree with me then they're lying and need to be transvestigated to prove they're an evil Afab "

you don't need to go "actually by talking about your issues under white cishet patriarchy some of which relate to transphobes taking advantage of your asab to force you or threaten to force you into detransition w pregnancy to" correct "you or making pregnancy dangerous for you if you refuse to detransition and identify as a mother (if your body is capable of that)

you're somehow belittling the trauma of trans women who can't get pregnant and rubbing that in their faces to feel like the most special victim so you should shut up actually because if you were a real trans man/person you'd be made so dysphoric and physically ill by any talk of pregnancy *insert kalvin garah levels of transmedicalism and reinforcing toxic masculinity here implying that to speak on one's oppression makes one a woman because only women 'whine' about that and plenty of infantalising belittling language *"

which is something I've seen a (thankfully) small minority of asshats say.

It's honestly just an inversion/reflection of the transmisogynistic terf/mra BS of "you can't trust" "Amab" trans people they're just lying to be creeps /to get away with being creeps because women are allowed to be creepy/it's not creepy when women do x and they're only trans to take advantage of that loophole and you must not trust them or associate with them or show them any empathy " -

"you can't trust "Afab" people they're all just lying to get attention /privelge /to creep on" real trans people and using being trans as a loophole" and are detransitioning double agents in waiting and you must never associate with them or trust them or show them any empathy"

Like both attitudes( plus the combo you get if you don't immediately reveal your agab somehow or are trans neutral) are transphobic and are used as an excuse to do harm to trans people and act like trans rights are some sort of binary pie where only 2types of trans people exist and it's an us vs them seesaw where if we are talking about one binary half's issues we are automatically saying the other half experiences the opposite/can't have issues and blaming the other binary half for being in league with or equal in standing to cis people who opress us all... Like it's human rights not pie

Thankfully most people get that this is divisive bullshit; it's hurt people hurting people and trying to justify it as liberatory

Someone's agab isn't a horoscope/mbti/etc* that can tell you what kind of person they are or how likely they are to harm you or be an ally to you, life isn't that simple.

Also like Im using the examples of rhetoric I've seen where people reduce it to amab/Afab but often it's not even only or mostly about that it's about "rejecting masculinity" socially so if you're butch regardless of your agab you'll be dehumanised and degraded for "choosing masculinity" NVM that many butches don't see their butchness that way and it's as nuanced as any variety of femme gender expression , there's a lot of layers of shit going on that go beyond the agab of people which you can't even know unless you ask them or they tell you

It's kinda a damned if you do damned if you don't situation because I've seen people called theyfabs for being "too feminine obviously you aren't really trans you're using your femininity for privelge " but also for being "too masculine - your dysphoria is just toxic masculinity and you didn't try hard enough to be a feminist you just want privelge"

all trans people, intersex people regardless of agab or identity (and some cis people too let's be real) get forced into this bullshit tightrope where we are constantly surveiled for signs of being a "fake trans person whose making it harder for the other more real trans people" and it's like a dysphoric panopticon of misery

*not saying that I beleive in horoscopes or mbti as a mark of these things either I'm using it as an example

defending the use of the word theyfab is so cringe, sorry. you can say that its just meant to call out “nonbinary people who cling to their afab identity,” whatever that means, but its a pretty gross word at the end of the day and is also, undeniably, used just to be plain old transphobic and exorsexist by both affiliated and unaffiliated parties of this “original” use. i do not think this term produces a net positive effect on the world or the trans community. crazy that this has to be said.

[staticscreenwriting]

LOVE LIKE THE MOVIES // BUCKY BARNES

TWO - Grease 1 & 2

Masterlist 

Summary: This is a story of boy meets girl. The boy, Bucky Barnes, finds himself thrown into a world that seems so different from everything he’s ever known. The girl, (Y/N) knows entirely too much about rom-coms and is quite particular about the way she eats her popcorn. Bucky meets (Y/N) a few months after returning to NYC. He knows almost immediately that becoming her friend is inevitable. This is a story of boy meets girl. This is a story about love. (Bucky Barnes x female!Reader // a few spoilers for TFATWS)

[additional note: I am German. Sometimes I get the tense wrong or make mistakes. I am useless when it comes to punctuation. Go easy on me, please.]

“  I made a friend. “

Dr. Raynor doesn’t look up from her notebook but the slightly surprised raise of her eyebrow doesn’t get lost on Bucky.

“ Thought you might want to know. “

She stops writing for a second and glances up at him, her eyes holding a certain sense of hesitation and reluctance. He can almost see the gears in her head turning. She’s trying to get one step ahead of him, figure out what smartass comment he’ll throw at her. Only this time there isn’t one. This time it’s all genuine. It’s all true.

“ I do. That’s — good. Where’s the catch? “

“ There’s no catch. I made a new friend, just like that. And it’s not some making amends thing either. “

She closes her notebook, places it on the table to her right, and then folds her hands in her lap the way she does sometimes when Bucky knows he’s said something important. He has her entire and undivided attention.

“ That’s good, James. Tell me more about this friend. “

“ Her name is (Y/N). She’s a waitress and she’s really into movies. “

“ Oh. “

“ Oh? “

“ It’s a woman. “

“ Yeah it’s a woman, is that a problem? “ Bucky asks. Now it’s time for him to raise an eyebrow in question.

“ No. It’s not. I just didn’t expect it. “

“ Are you saying men and women can’t be friends? That’s awfully antiquated thinking, Doc. Have you ever seen when Harry met Sally? “

“ I have. Have you?”

Bucky scoffs as if the question is an insult to his intelligence.

“ Sure. It’s a classic. “

He hits her with a sarcastic grin, the one he knows she hates. The one she knows is fake and fabricated but that allows him to be unreadable to her for just a second.

“ Well then. I’m glad you’re making friends. It’s a big step, James. But I don’t want you to get attached to someone because you think that’s gonna make you get out of this arrangement any sooner, “ she says and motions her finger around the room in a twirling motion. “ It’s a more permanent situation. I hope you are aware of that.”

Eyes averted to the floor, Bucky nods his head in understanding.

“ I know. That’s not the reason. I — she knows me. Knows about me before all of the bad stuff. In her eyes, I am the man I used to be before Hydra. It’s nice to go back to that even if it’s not the truth. (Y/N) gives me a chance to figure out who I am right now without being reminded of all the bad things I did. “

When he looks back up Dr. Reynor regards him with a look he’s never seen before. Softer. She even smiles a little bit and he hardly ever sees her smile. Granted, he doesn't make these sessions easy for her so what does he expect really? Her smiling at him feels like he’s doing something right.

“ She sounds lovely. “

“ She talks so much and she sends me weird videos I don’t understand. Like, yesterday she sent me one of a kid saying he’s 19 and he can’t read and — I have no idea what it meant. And she makes fun of me for having a flip phone. But it’s not mean-spirited or anything. She doesn’t make me feel left out. Doesn’t make me feel stupid. “

“ Anything else you know about her? “

“ Her coffee tastes horrible. “

Dr. Reynor lets out an airy chuckle. “ James, I like the fact that you’re making friends. We all need friends, especially during times when we feel like we’re lost or have no direction in life. And it sounds like this friendship is good for you. “

“ But? “

“ Why do you think there’s a but ? “

“ There always is. “

She regards him for a second then nods slightly. “ You’re right. But it’s not a bad one. Listen, it seems like this woman knows a lot about who you used to be. How about you learn a little more about her? Even the playing field. A friendship is based on mutual understanding and trust. That’s my homework for you. Get to know her better. “

“ Your homework is for me to spend time with a friend? “

“ Yes. Now that doesn’t sound so bad, does it? “

Bucky shakes his head in reply.

No, that really doesn’t sound all that bad.

The bell above the door chimes as Bucky steps inside the diner. It’s quite a bit more crowded than the last time he’s been here.

“ Grumpy!”

His head snaps towards the counter at the enthusiastic exclamation of his new nickname.

  (Y/N) stands behind the counter clad in the diner’s signature baby blue polo shirt, a pencil tugged behind her ears, and a frilly apron wrapped around her waist.

Her lips pull into a smile as he approaches and plops down onto one of the barstools.

“ You have impeccable timing, Grumpy.”

“ I guess that’s gonna stick? “

(Y/N) only nods her head in agreement, eyes full of mischief and determination. There’s no sense in arguing about this topic. That’s one nickname set in stone now. And really, it’s not like it doesn’t fit him.

“ I have something for you. “

“ You do? “

“ Well it’s not technically for you specifically but I need someone to try it so — “

Before he can even react she rushes back into the kitchen, her sneakers creating squeaking sounds on the shiny linoleum floor.

“ Do you want some coffee? “ the other waitress approaches, holding out the pot filled with the dark brew. It smells warm and delicious and Bucky wants to say yes until he remembers the last time he’s had coffee here and how bitter and burned it had been. And how he drank it anyway because he couldn’t bear to let (Y/N) know that her coffee was horrible.

“ Don’t worry, “ the waitress speaks up again, obviously picking up on Bucky’s complicated feelings towards the diner’s coffee “ I made it. Won’t let her near the pot when I’m around.”

“ In that case, please. “

Just as the mug fills with coffee, (Y/N) comes back tumbling around the corner and out of the kitchen. She leans against the counter, next to the red-haired waitress, and plops a Tupperware container in front of Bucky.

“ Try these and tell me what you think. “

Bucky takes a sip of his coffee before slowly opening the container to be greeted by a pile of cookies, of all shapes and sizes, no two quite the same.

“ Cookies? “

“ Eat one! “

“ Whoa, hold up.” Bucky exclaims as he raises his hands in mock defense. “ this sounds awfully suspicious to me. Are you trying to pull a Snow White on me here? “

(Y/N) eyes grow big and the most radiant smile spreads across her face at his words.

“ You made a pop culture reference!”

“ Saw it in the cinema. “

“ No way.”

“ Mmmh. With my sister.”

“ I just decided I love it when you make pop culture references. “

“ Noted.”

“ Okay, so since no one thinks it’s important to introduce me, let me do it myself,” the red-haired waitress chimes in and holds out her hand for Bucky to shake. He can see her eyebrows furrow a little as she notices his gloves. It’s not yet cold enough for people to not wonder about it. They know something ain’t right with him and he hates it. Wishes they’d just disregard it. Act like it’s a completely normal and feasible thing.

“ I’m Robin, (Y/N)’s best friend. “

“ I’m Bucky. Hopefully, not the first victim of (Y/N)’s poisoning.”

“ Oh, how arrogant of you to assume you’d be the first. If you don’t want my cookies, give ‘em back !”

(Y/N) tries to reach across the counter only for Bucky to snatch the container away holding it out of her reach. “ You gave me the cookies, you can’t take them back. That’s not how gifts work.”

“ Then try one for god’s sake! “

“ Alright, calm down. I will. “

He hates the fact that both (Y/N) and Robin are staring at him as he takes a bite of one of the cookies. The whole thing is almost the size of his face and littered with chocolate chips. It’s a damn mess of a cookie and he’d loved to have been there when she made them. No doubt it was chaos. No doubt it was an awful lot of fun too.

The cookie is — a lot. It’s too much sugar, too much chocolate. Too much of everything. He can practically feel the cavities building with every bite he takes. It’s that sweet.

But she looks at him with such glee in her eyes and this big beautiful smile that rivals the sun with its brightness and there’s no way in hell he can tell her the truth. Not when lying about it keeps that smile on her face.

Quite honestly,  Bucky thinks, life isn’t about telling the truth at all times. Sometimes, life is about knowing when to use your little white lies. Sometimes telling the truth isn’t doing anyone any favor.

“ So ? “

“ They’re — sweet.”

And they are. So really, it isn’t even an actual lie after all.

“ Good. They’re supposed to be. You see, I have a date tomorrow and I asked him what his favorite dessert was and he said cookies. I’m not sure they count as a dessert but anyway. Thanks for being my guinea pig. “

Robin throws him a look over (Y/N)’s shoulder. A look that lets him know she’s not buying it. She’s looking right through him. But she smiles so maybe she too realizes that sometimes lying saves everyone the heartache that may come with the truth.

“ You have a date? “

“ I do. His name is Russell, we’ve been hanging out for a while but he had to go to Europe for work and we haven’t seen each other in a few months. It was never anything serious, kind of a wrong place, wrong time thing. But maybe this time it works. “

“ Oh please, “ Robin exclaims, furiously slamming the pot back into the coffee machine. “ This loser has been stringing you along for far too long now. He’s not worth it. Trust me you can do so much better than him. “

There’s something about the way (Y/N) mood changes, the way she falters, that Bucky doesn’t like. Not even a tiny little bit. It’s a split second, just the whisper of a moment and then she’s back to her joking, bubbly self. But that tiny second is enough. Enough for Bucky to know he never wants to see it again. The doubt and hurt fluttering across her eyes. He’s seen too much hurt in too many eyes. It’s never getting any easier. It just makes him realize how much he hates seeing it in hers.

“ Ignore the crazy lady, he’s not that bad.” (Y/N) tries to reason, though the light and airy tone in her voice doesn’t sound quite as convincing as it usually does.

“ He refuses to put a label on your relationship and he treats you like you’re disposable. “

“ Sounds like a catch, is this the one with the fish picture or the one with the star wars facts? “ Bucky asks, biting off yet another piece of the tooth-achingly sweet cookie.

“ Neither. We met while walking our dogs. He’s nice, really. “

“ Sounds like it. “

“ He is. Robin over there just thinks she’s the expert on romance because she’s about to get married. Don’t believe a thing she says. Her own fairytale romance makes her blind to other people’s romantic struggles. “

Robin shakes her head in disagreement, making her red curls bounce with each motion. “ You’re a big girl, you know what you’re doing. I’m just calling things as I see them. Anyway, I gotta serve table 4.”

Silence falls upon them as Robin leaves to tend to the customers and (Y/N) averts her eyes back towards the countertop.

“ Hey, “ Bucky speaks up, getting (Y/N) to look up and meet his eyes. “ I hope the date turns out well for you, you deserve that. And if it doesn’t, just text me and we can watch another movie or something. “

“ You’d do that for me? “

“ Yeah. Sure. It’s what friends do. We’re friends now — right ? “

(Y/N) smiles “ right!”

And it’s nice, Bucky thinks, to have a friend again. Even though it’s all new and fresh, it feels wonderful. Like a tiny bit of weight has been taken from his shoulders. Like he can take a breath for the first time in a long time.

Joe’s Pizzaria is an American restaurant that tries desperately to trick Americans into thinking it’s an authentic Italian restaurant.

And while it does have a certain undeniable charm, (Y/N) gets a bit tired of chomping down on yet another breadstick while staring at the red and white checkered tablecloth and pretending not to grasp the gravity of the situation. He’s not gonna come. He’s two hours late. Two whole hours. Half a bottle of wine and one salad late. The waiters pity her, it’s painfully obvious. The way they keep checking on her, keep asking if there’s anything they can bring her. Keep filling her breadstick with no upcharge.

Pity, (Y/N) thinks, is her least favorite emotion. It doesn’t do anyone any good and in the end, everyone just feels worse.

A "ping" coming from her phone pulls (Y/N) from her thoughts and for a teeny-tiny second a flicker of hope sparks in her heart that maybe Russell is just late and this is him apologizing and explaining. Maybe she was worth it to him after all.

Then her eyes register the name on the screen and disappointment fills her veins. Does he really not care? Does she really mean so little to him, he doesn't even feel the need to cancel the date? Is this some sick joke?

Bucky's message reads: Hope you're having fun. Did he like the cookies?

It's a weird feeling, to know someone she hasn't known for very long wastes even the smallest thought on her while her date doesn't give a shit. All it does is set into perspective that her blossoming friendship with Bucky is worth any effort it might take.

"Don't ask. Hey, what are you doing right now?"

"Oh, that bad? Not much. Trying to figure out what to have for dinner. Why?"

"How do you feel about spaghetti and meatballs?"

He doesn’t have a couch.

That’s the one thought that spooks around his head as soon as he realizes what he’s just agreed to.

He’s been living here for months and he doesn’t even have a fucking couch.

When (Y/N) asked if she could come around, when she said she’d bring food and asked if her dog could come, he couldn’t say no. Not when she's already been stood up that night. Nevertheless, everything inside him starts twisting up in knots at the thought of opening his home to another person. Home. That’s really the problem now that he thinks about it. This place doesn’t feel like a home. It’s 4 walls and a roof. Nothing has felt like home in a long time.

He invited her over and he doesn’t even have a fucking couch.

There’s a TV and an armchair, a few cupboards, a chair, and a bed he doesn’t sleep in. Sometimes he thinks back to his childhood home, with all his mother's porcelain figurines collecting dust on the shelves and the wall of family pictures. It felt warm and cozy and like it was meant for people to live and learn and grow. It was their own.

This apartment is a box for him to stay at. Nothing here is in any way personal. But how do you make something your own when you don’t even know who you really are? When all you remember are times long gone or times you want to forget.

He snatches the sheets and pillow off the floor and throws them on his bed. He might not be able to get any more furniture in time for (Y/N) to arrive but he sure as hell doesn’t need to let her know that his nightmares don’t allow him to sleep in his own damn bed.

A knock sounds from the front door and for a second, Bucky’s blood turns cold as ice. No one ever talks about how scary it is to let people in. Would it matter to her and their friendship that his apartment is just as empty as he feels inside?

As soon as he opens the door, a fluffy bundle of white and brown fur rushes past him and runs a lap around his living room before settling by his feet, tail wagging and tongue hanging from his mouth.

“ Oh god, sorry. She’s just so excited to meet new people. “

Giving the dog a few pets, Bucky turns back to (Y/N), who gives him one of her signature sunshine smiles as she holds out a paper bag to him. The smell of delicious food reaches Bucky’s nose as he takes the bag from her and ushers her inside.

“ So, Spaghetti? “

“ Yup. And meatballs. “

Bucky nods his head in approval, “ Sounds good to me. “

She smiles at him again but there’s a kind of sadness surrounding her that he wishes he could take away. Whoever that Russell guy is, he’s a damn fool for not showing up.

“ Food’s still warm so if you tell me where your plates are … “ (Y/N) trails off as she really takes in the state of his apartment for the first time since she’s stepped inside. He can basically see the thoughts running through her head, one after the other, none sticking around long enough to form a coherent string of words to express what she’s thinking. He knows she wants to comment, can see it in her eyes. But something is holding her back and he can’t blame her. Their friendship isn’t that deep yet. You don’t ask someone you’ve just gotten friendly with why their apartment is so fucking empty. It’s sad and there are implications there that run deeper than one can see.

So to spare her any more awkward silence, Bucky speaks up again.

“ I uh — I just moved in. Haven’t gotten around to getting much furniture. We can sit by the kitchen counter or you can take the armchair and I’ll take the floor. “

“ That’s fine, we’ll make it work, “ she replies, before turning towards the kitchen cupboards, “ now … plates ?”

“ This is delicious “ Bucky exclaims as he stuffs yet another fork of Spaghetti into his mouth.

Lady, (Y/N)'s Cocker Spaniel, casually lounges on his armchair, eyes always trained on the dishes of pasta, while Bucky and (Y/N) sit on the floor, backs against the wall.

“ Right? I love Meatballs. Last time I was at Joe’s Pizzeria, I was there with Russell and he got real pretentious about not ordering Spaghetti and Meatballs from an Italian restaurant because it wasn’t authentic Italian cuisine. As if I care. It tastes good, that’s all that matters.”

“ Well, he really does sound better with every new thing you tell me about him.”

(Y/N) shrugs and avoids eye contact with him. It’s strange, Bucky thinks, to see her this way. All of her bubbly personality and contagious energy are suddenly drained from her. Like someone squeezed her too tightly and pushed all the joy out.

“ Yeah he’s an asshole, I don’t know what I was thinking. I guess whatever we had going on just felt familiar and sometimes going back to something you know, even though it’s bad for you, is easier than opening yourself to something new. “

“ Wow, my therapist would love you. That sounded so smart.”

“ It did, didn’t it?,” (Y/N) says and lets out a little chuckle. It’s nice to hear her laugh even though it doesn’t hold the radiance, the pure happiness it usually does.

“She gave me some homework.”

(Y/N) looks at Bucky between bites, raising an eyebrow in intrigue. “ She did? “

“ Mmmh. I told her about you and our friendship and she thought that, because you know a lot about me, I should learn some things about you. “

(Y/N) quickly swallows the pasta before placing both her hands over her heart and staring at Bucky with an expression he can’t entirely read. There’s a glimmer of mischief in her eyes but there’s more, he just needs to figure out what exactly it is.

“ You talk to your therapist about me? Awww. That’s how you know a friendship is worthwhile. When they mention you to their therapist, that’s when you know it’s real. “

“ Aw man, now you’re just making fun of me. I take it all back. “

“ No! No, Bucky. I think that’s very sweet and it makes me feel important,” there’s a sincerity in her eyes that makes him feel a little weird. Not a bad weird. Just — different. He didn’t think this was gonna be such a big deal to her. And while he still feels extremely self-conscious about it all, he’s a little glad that he mentioned her to Dr. Reynor. Maybe it would do both of them some good, him and (Y/N).

“ It’s nice that our new friendship matters enough for you to mention it to her. Getting stood up by Russell felt like a punch in the guts. It made me feel incredibly inadequate and like I wasn’t worth enough for him to text me let alone show up. Knowing that there’s someone who thinks about me every once in a while, that’s a nice feeling. Least my friends think I’m worth it. "

Hearing those words fall from her lips sends a wave of anger and disbelief through Bucky. (Y/N) is the first person in a long while that makes him feel like he can figure out who he is and who he was and not feel guilty about it. To think she feels inadequate or like she's not good enough is just unbelievable to him.

"Just forget about that guy, he's clearly an idiot. You deserve someone who shows up. When it matters and even when it doesn't. "

"He didn't even get to try my cookies. I worked so hard on them."

"What? Oh my god, okay see - he's a damn fool. Those cookies were - so sweet. His loss, really."

(Y/N)'s laughter echoes through the halls of his empty apartment and Bucky thinks that maybe that was one of the things missing from this place to really make it a home. Emotions. Laughter and joy. Something other than fear and regret. Something other than pain.

“ Bucky, you’re so nice but you don’t have to lie. I know the cookies weren’t all that great. “

“ No! They were good, they were just — very sweet. And you know what? You deserve a guy who eats them anyway.”

She doesn’t give him a reply to that comment and maybe it doesn’t ask for one either. Some statements don’t need answers, they just are.

“ Hey, do you want my last meatball? “ he asks, and at her smile and enthusiastic nod, he rolls it from his plate onto hers.

“ Now what movie did you bring? “

“ Oh boy, “ (Y/N) proclaims and looks at Bucky with an unwavering excitement “ you’re in for a wild ride. Tonight we’re doing a double feature.”

“ Bringing the big guns, huh? “

“ You have no idea. Tonight we’re watching Grease 1 and 2. “

Two couples stare back at Bucky from the bubblegum-colored DVD case (Y/N) pulls from her purse. Something about the bright colors and the over-the-top hairstyles makes Bucky think that these movies won’t be the absolute pinnacle of sophisticated filmmaking.

“ What’s the lesson this time?“

“ Eh, “ (Y/N) says and shrugs “ when I was younger I thought it was meant to teach you that if you want to be with someone you can overcome any obstacle. No matter how different you seem or what other people might think. Now that I’m an adult I think it’s just about the 50s aesthetic and the killer musical number. “

“ Musical numbers? “

“ Mmmh. And well, the second one is pure garbage but it’s so bad it’s good. It also helps that Michelle Pfeiffer and Maxwell Caulfield look absolutely gorgeous in this film. “

“ So this isn’t gonna help me with my romance skills then? “

(Y/N) regards him for a second, purses her lips, and taps the side of her face as she thinks about her answer. “ I mean, the second movie is basically about how cool men who ride motorcycles are. Do you ride a motorcycle? “

“ I do actually. “

“ What? Oh, you just got 10 times cooler. One could say you’re a — cool rider.”

Bucky furrows his eyebrow in confusion.

“ Don’t worry, Grumpy. You’ll get the reference later.”

“ If I’m Grumpy, which of the 7 dwarves are you? “

“ Sleepy? “

“ Dopey? “

“ No. How about Happy ?”

It’s meant to be silly, just a joke really, but Bucky can’t help but think that it fits her. Even when she’s sad, there’s an infinite positivity in her eyes, an aura of joy and happiness and being around her is just so easy.

“ You know what? I think that’s the one. “

“ I like it. Now — let me introduce you to the students of Rydell High.”

“ What in the world did you just make me watch? “ Bucky asks as the end credits to Grease 2 roll across the tv screen. Lady is snuggled up in his lap and his right hand lazily combs through her soft fur.

“ Two absolute masterpieces. “

“ In the first one they flew away in a car. And that second one, I don’t even know what to say.”

“ Because it was so good? “

“ Mmmmh no. That's not why. “

"Oh please, you can admit you l-" a big yawn interrupts her words and Bucky notices just how tired she looks right then.

"You're tired." It's not a question, more an observation.

"Mmmh Lady and I should probably head out."

He doesn't want her to leave. Disappointment, it's a feeling he knows very well, it's familiar and almost comfortable. Usually, though, that disappointment is directed towards himself. A lovely dose of self-deprecation. This time it's different. This time he's disappointed about the situation. About the prospect of being alone again. Alone in his empty box of an apartment.

The anxiety of letting someone in is slowly being overshadowed by his fear of being alone again. With his thoughts and his failures and the images of all the faces that have ever looked at him in fear.

"You can stay"

"Bucky … you don't have a couch. Where would I sleep?"

"Bed," he says as if it's the most obvious of all answers ever given.

"Grumpy, I'm not taking your bed."

"I'm not sleeping there anyway."

"Why?"

Her eyes are so soft and gentle as the question tumbles from her lips. So full of concern. For him. Concern and care, for him. It's not like he deserves it but it's a nice feeling either way.

"It's too soft."

It's painfully obvious that she knows there's more to it, that his words hold more gravity and weight than just that simple fact.

She doesn’t push it though and for that Bucky is eternally grateful. Sure, talking to her is easy and it helps him in some way or another. But this, his nightmares and his trauma and the faces that won't leave his thoughts, that haunt him as soon as he falls asleep, that's a can of worms he's not ready to open yet.

"Where do you sleep?"

"Floor."

"Oh, Grumpy. Hey uh - how about we both stay on the floor? You're in luck too because I also have a live version of Grease the musical we can watch."

He doesn't necessarily want to watch another movie where they sing pretty much every two minutes but if it means she'll stay, he'll do it. 

" Okay then."

"Okay."

That night, Bucky sleeps on the floor just like he does every night only this time there's a friend with him just a few meters away , close enough but not suffocating, and a dog resting on his chest, softly breathing gentle breaths.

That night Bucky sleeps on the floor just like he does every night only this night, there are no nightmares.

Taglist // If you want to be added or taken off just message me //:

@zaynzierulez - @je-like-you - @dracoxxyoflam​ - @jackiehollanderr​ - @majo240820 - @kay-gilles - @booksb4looksstuff - @jckie94 - 

[usermoreid]

Everything Means Nothing (If I Ain't Got You)

Fic Week Day One: Favourite Character/Pairing

His ears rang as bullet after bullet flew past him, embedding themselves into the walls and floor, barely missing him as one grazed his ear and another landed only a few inches away from his knee. Without thinking, his arm instinctively shot out, wrapping around the body next to him and holding them in a tight grip as he rushed towards the door, using his own body as a shield against the rain of bullets still pouring down on them. It was mostly due to his years of training and experience that he made it as close to the door as he had but even with luck on his side, it was only a foot away from the exit that a bullet finally found its target.

With a pained cry, he shoved the girl forward, paying no mind to gentleness as ripples of agony tore through him. Her knees connected with the hard floor before a hand grasped her arm and pulled her out of the line of fire, tugging her up and dragging her away as quickly as possible. A different arm stretched out in front of him, catching him hardly a moment before he collapsed, the pain of the bullet landing in his back pulling him down faster than gravity ever could.

A warm body pressing against his own was the last thing he was aware of before everything became a blur of colours and vague shapes that he didn't care to distinguish. He was pushed every which way, less than willingly giving up control of his body, until he was suddenly horizontal despite having no memory of lying down. He tried to force his focus to turn to the voices around him but he quickly gave up, each word amalgamating into a cacophony of grotesque sounds that he eventually began fighting against, attempting to cover his ears but finding that his arms were too heavy to lift. It was a blessing when everything finally faded to darkness.

The repetitive beeping of what he assumed was his alarm was playing incessantly in his ear, shrill and loud and feeling as though it was slicing directly into his brain. He tried to force himself to roll over, needing to shut off the sound before it carved a permanent place into his skull, but he discovered that he couldn’t so much as twitch a finger, no matter how much he tried. A slight panic rushed through him, lighting his veins with fear as case after case flooded his head, reminders of where he could be and what could’ve happened to make him this way. Knowing that he needed to remain as calm and collected as possible in order to figure out his situation, he pushed them down, focusing instead on what to do next. 

It took a few seconds longer than normal to shuffle through his thoughts - God, he wanted to smash that alarm to pieces - but before long, he realised that the next logical step would be to open his eyes and assess the situation before jumping to the worst conclusions possible. The panic from before fought to overthrow him when his eyelids seemed to be almost glued shut but he repressed it further, shoving it to the very back of his mind until there was no way he could reach it. 

Suddenly the darkness seemed much less like a blessing and more of a curse that he couldn't break free from as he tried again and again to peel open his eyes to no avail, his breathing picking up pace the longer he was stuck. He needed to calm down. He needed to focus. He needed to assess the situation. Okay, he thought to himself, if I can’t see and I can’t move, what else do I do? I feel.

He centred every bit of his attention on his fingers, trying with as much effort as he could muster to figure out what he was lying on. It was soft, he noticed. Slightly scratchy but not altogether uncomfortable. Vaguely familiar, as was the smell - he’d definitely been here before. His own bed, possibly? No, not quite that familiar. A friend’s house? If it was, he didn’t know whose.

He clenched his jaw, almost resigned to being trapped in never-ending nothingness until he realised what he had just done. He’d clenched his jaw. He’d moved. Only the slightest amount, but he’d moved nonetheless. A spark of hope flickered inside of him and he didn’t put it out - if he was able to move his jaw, perhaps it wouldn’t be long until he could move his hand or open his eyes and finally find out where he is. The hope was a good thing. The hope would wake him up.

With a new found sense of determination, he attempted to move his hand. Just a little, he thought, just a twitch would be enough. He tried again and again, practically shouting at himself inside his head as the hope fought to stay alight and not dwindle. One more try. Just one more. His heart was beating so hard he was sure it could be heard outside of his chest and if the rest of his body could be felt, he was sure there’d be sweat building on it. It was as the disappointment was beginning to set in that he finally felt it - the smallest of movements. His index finger raised ever so minutely before immediately dropping back down.

The joy building inside him almost threatened to burst, he didn’t know what to do with it all. Filled with adrenaline, he pushed further. Each and every fibre of his being was concentrated on his hand until eventually he felt it again; both his index and middle finger twitched, enough that they stayed elevated for at least an entire second. Muffled voices attempted to force their way through the thick blanket of darkness covering him but he wasn’t able to make out the words. Initially that worried him, a sudden intense ball of anxiety forming at the bottom of his stomach. Random voices surrounding him when he couldn’t move; when he couldn’t see? There was no way that was anything but trouble. But he pushed on. He was so close to gaining the control of his body back, he could feel it. He had to keep going.

Disregarding the voices that had since quietened, another attempt was made, this time even more successful than the last. His whole hand slightly flexed, and he was able to wiggle his fingers a small amount. The voices returned even louder than before they had faded, one speaking over the rest. Without warning, an unexpected pressure seized his hand. 

Fight or flight suddenly activated, he fought to free himself. Whoever had him had clearly noticed his movement and was trying to restrain him, or possibly even drug him into unconsciousness. His hand curled up into a fist, preparing to throw a punch before he even knew who he’d be facing. He didn’t care who it was or how many of them were around him; all he knew was that he wouldn’t be going down as easily as they hoped.

With as much strength as he could gather in his sluggish state, he swung. His eyes still hadn’t opened but he felt the connection; heard the thud of skin hitting skin. That first contact was all the fuel he needed, both hands coming up and viciously flying through the air, striking anything close enough. Something cold pressed against his skin - a hand, he realised - and he didn’t give it a second thought before aiming in that direction. 

He didn’t stop thrashing until everything went dark once again, but only after his eyes briefly opened and he caught a glimpse of the white ceiling directly above him. 

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

The next time he regained consciousness, there was significantly less of a struggle. His eyes slowly fluttered open, seeing only a blur of white until he registered that he was facing a tiled ceiling. He blinked slowly at it, unable to wade through the fog that was his thoughts enough to make sense of where he was. His eyes drifted shut as he took a deep breath and cast his mind back to the last thing he could remember.

They’d been called out for a case, he knew. Women were being abducted and found three days later, their bodies beaten horrendously. The team had worked the case for several days before a solid lead was finally found, but only after another victim had been taken. They were racing against the clock to find her, knowing that it was only a matter of time before she suffered the same fate as those before her. He was the first to reach the warehouse. He was aware that protocol dictated he stay outside and wait for backup but when a scream erupted into the otherwise silent air, he rushed in, gun ready to fire and his bullet-proof vest wrapped securely around him. 

Everything that happened after was too vague to work out - everything but the throbbing pain that had spread throughout him like a wildfire. He’d been injured in some way. So where was he now?

That was the moment he remembered. The darkness. The paralysis. The hands touching him.

A sharp breath was taken in as his eyes flung open, forgetting his injury as he tried to sit up but quickly being reminded of it as the pain erupted once again and he fell back to the bed. A weak moan fell from his lips as his eyes slammed shut, the world around him swaying and spinning even after he was shielded from the bright lights by the darkness of his eyelids. A soft hand came to gently rest against his forearm and for reasons unbeknownst to him, he didn’t move it away. The blood rushing to his ears had drowned out the sound around him but now as his heart beat was beginning to slow down to a less concerning pace, the faint hush of a voice whispering soothing words to him was heard.

“It’s alright,” the voice said. “You’re alright. You’re in the hospital. You’re safe. You’re okay. I’m here with you.”

Ever so slowly, he began to calm down. The pain was no longer unbearable; the panic was no longer overwhelming. He was safe, the voice had said, and he trusted the voice. Eventually his breathing evened out and the dizzying world slowed to a stop, and so he opened his eyes to take in the room around him, though the bright lights he was immediately greeted with made that difficult. His squinting must have made his discomfort obvious as only a moment later, the hand on his arm disappeared, only to reappear once the light had been turned off. 

The room was bathed only in the evening sunlight from the windows and it helped tremendously. No longer struggling against the light, his eyes opened wider and he looked at the man in front of him. Though everything was still blurry, he could still tell who it was.

“Spencer,” he breathed out. 

A gentle smile was sent his way. “Hi, Derek.”

“What- what happened?”

Spencer’s eyebrows furrowed, whether it was in concern or annoyance Derek couldn’t tell. “The unsub shot you. Don’t you remember?”

He sighed, and Spencer began lightly rubbing his hand back and forth on Derek’s arm. “I remember leaving for the warehouse but nothing much after. Did we find Abigail?”

“We did. You saved her.”

This time his sigh was in relief. “Good, I’m glad to hear that.”

“And how are you feeling?”

“How am I feeling?” Derek’s eyes filled with mirth. “I feel like I just got shot.”

Spencer rolled his eyes jokingly. “You’ve been shot before, you can deal with it.”

“Ouch, pretty boy. You’re a doctor, you should be nursing me back to health.”

“For once, I’m glad I’m not actually a medical doctor. I’m not sure I could take having someone like you as a patient.”

“Someone like me?” Derek repeated, smirking. “Someone with dashing good looks and the sense of humour to match?”

“Someone who gets himself into so much unnecessary danger as if he has some sort of death wish.”

The sudden seriousness in Spencer’s voice made him pause, smirk falling off his face as he tried to catch up with the unexpected topic change. He couldn’t tell if Spencer was still playing along with the joke or if he was genuinely upset. “I’ll be honest with you here - I have no idea how to respond to that.”

It was Spencer’s turn to sigh, the corner of his mouth turning downward as his hand stopped stroking Derek’s arm and remained still. “You could’ve died today, Derek.”

“Spencer,” Derek started, tone conveying his confusion, “we have dangerous jobs. Any of us could die anytime we go on a case. Any of us could die even just walking out of our houses. You know this.”

Spencer’s jaw tightened noticeably, his voice quietening down into a low sound that Derek strained to hear. “I know that we have an above average chance of death compared to most regular jobs, but that doesn’t mean you have to make that chance any more likely than it already is.”

“Is this about me not waiting for backup? Spencer, I heard her scream. I wasn’t just going to leave her there. And we got her, didn’t we? Abigail is safe and sound. I don’t regret my decision to go in.”

“I’m not-” Spencer made a small distressed noise before restarting. “I’m not asking you to regret your choice. I’m asking you to be more careful the next time another choice like this comes up.”

“Be more careful?” He repeated. “That’s pretty rich coming from you. We both know you would’ve done the exact same thing. At least I had the common sense to not take my vest off.”

Spencer turned away, drawing his hand back and running it through his hair before placing it in his lap. “It doesn’t matter what I would’ve done. We’re not talking about me.”

“And why not? You’re always rushing in and trying to save the day. You’ve gotten hurt on the job more often than anybody I know.”

Their eyes met, a fire behind Spencer’s that Derek had never seen. "I'm not important in this situation. You need to be careful."

"I'm an FBI agent, I'm as careful as I can possibly be."

"That’s not good enough! You got hurt today, Derek, but you survived. You might not be so lucky next time." 

"That's a risk we signed up for when we joined the FBI." They stared at each other for a few seconds, time passing slower than humanly possible until Derek lightly shook his head. "Why are you lecturing me on being safe? This could've happened to any of us."

Spencer was silent for long enough that Derek thought he was going to just ignore the question, but eventually he answered. "Because people need you. Your family needs you." He opened his mouth but instantly closed it again. "The team needs you."

Once again, silence filled the room. 

"I don't know what you expect me to say here, Spencer. I'm just doing my job. It's a dangerous job, but it's mine."

"I know it's a dangerous job, but- but-" His words seemed to be caught in his throat.

"But what?"

"But you don't understand how terrifying it is!" Spencer suddenly burst out, much louder than he had been. The volume didn't help Derek's steadily building headache but he didn't say anything, half shocked into silence by Spencer's outburst and half convinced that if he spoke, Spencer would never say what he needed to say. "You don't understand what it's like to watch you go out in the field, knowing that this case could be your last. I know that you can do your job but it doesn't stop this fear from grabbing hold of me every time you leave for an unsub and refusing to let me go until I see you again. You're more than capable of doing your job, Derek, but I don't know how capable I am of watching you walk out that door one more time."

Derek blinked at him, his mouth hanging open ever so slightly. All he'd ever wanted was to hear that his feelings - the desire, the affection, the terror, the love - were mutual, but he’d given up. He'd accepted that he'd have to move on; that Spencer would never feel the same way about him. He tried to push down the hope rising in him, knowing that this might not be the confession it sounded like, but it refused to be quenched.

"Why is it different with me? Why don't you act like this with Emily? Or JJ?" He asked. His heart was racing, the words he so desperately wanted to admit were at the tip of his tongue, but he couldn't speak them aloud. Not yet. Not until he knew it was reciprocated.

"Because I'm in love with you, God damnit!" 

His eyes stretched impossibly wide, clearly shocked at himself for the outburst he presumably hadn't planned on saying. Derek froze, every atom in his body igniting with so much joy but so much panic that he couldn't utter a single word. The lack of an answer must have made Spencer uneasy, Derek realised, as words tumbled out of his mouth faster than he could process.

"I'm sorry, that was probably- I shouldn't have- I don't- you don't have to reply to that. I should just go."

It wasn't until Spencer was halfway out of his seat that Derek reacted, a hand rushing forward to grab that of the man in front of him. Spencer stopped when he felt the fingers wrapping around his own, freezing momentarily before slowly turning back around without removing his hand.

"I do understand," Derek confessed, watching the way Spencer's eyes widened ever so slightly. "You think I don't feel that same exact way about you? Every time you go to a takedown and talk to the unsub, it takes every part of me to hold myself back from running after you. The only thing that stops me is the fact that I know you can do your job."

The bobbing of Spencer's Adam's apple was visible as he gulped, looking into Derek's eyes as if he would find the words he wanted to say within them. The seconds stretched on until one of them finally found the courage to speak.

"Derek, I'm not- you know I'm not good at this. I think there's something in between the lines of that and I'm really sincerely hoping that there is and I'm not just making it up but I can't tell if it's me imagining it or if you're genuinely saying what I think you're saying and if you're not saying that then this is going to be really embarrassing and I don't-"

"Spencer," he interrupted, shaking his head fondly before taking a breath, "you're right. I'm…" Derek paused, a sudden fear taking over him. He looked into Spencer's eyes, seeing the anticipation and excitement that was in them. Spencer must have sensed his trepidation as he placed his hand back where it was before, resting gently on Derek's forearm. The instance their skin touched, the anxiety calmed. He breathed in deeply once more and smiled softly at him. "I'm in love with you."

The look in Spencer's eyes was something that Derek knew he would never forget even if he never saw it again, though he would do his absolute best to recreate it any chance he was given. The glint of happiness made his eyes shine brighter and the slight disbelief made them open wider, showing Derek even more of that colour that had long ago become his favourite.

"You mean that?" Spencer asked softly.

"Of course I do," he replied at the same volume. "How could I ever meet somebody like you and not instantly fall in love?"

Spencer's face split into a grin, unshed tears making an appearance at his waterline as he sat back down in his seat. "You're so cheesy."

"Cheesy is a good thing, pretty boy. Everybody loves cheesy."

His smile dropped into a mocking seriousness. "I'm lactose intolerant."

"Oh, you are?" He laughed, receiving a mirthful 'mhm' in confirmation. "Well, I guess you're really gonna have to figure something out because you're about to get a whole lot more cheesiness in your life."

The hand on Derek's forearm drifted down towards his wrist, the light touch leaving goosebumps in its wake. Their fingers interlaced before Spencer delicately squeezed. He looked up at Derek with such a tender look on his face that Derek envied Spencer's superior memory, if only to commit just this one scene to a permanent place in his brain.

"I think I can definitely figure something out." He said. "Just for you." 

"I quite like the sound of that." For a moment they simply smiled at each other, Derek's thumb stroking the back of the hand that was in his before he noticed something now that his vision had cleared. His other hand raised, cupping the face looking down at him. "What's this?" He asked, referring to the red mark staining Spencer's skin at the corner of his mouth.

"Oh, that's, um…" Spencer's own hand lifted, resting on top of Derek's. "You probably don't remember the first time you kind of woke up, do you? You freaked out a little."

"I remember," Derek said quietly. "I did that?"

"You did, but it really does look worse than it is. You know I bruise easily. It doesn't hurt at all, it was pretty much just a light slap."

Derek sighed, knowing that Spencer was telling the truth but not liking it anyway. "Still, I'm really sorry."

"Well, there is one way you could make it up to me." Derek felt the small smirk stretching the skin beneath his hand.

"Oh? And how's that?"

Spencer's eyebrows raised slightly as the smirk grew wider. "Kiss it better?"

A grin found its way to Derek's face. "Is that the doctor's orders?"

Spencer nodded, pretending to be serious. "Absolutely, it is. It's the only cure actually."

Derek hummed. "Well, if the doctor says so."

He leaned forwards and pressed a gentle kiss to the corner of Spencer's mouth, looking into Spencer's eyes as he pulled back slightly, barely an inch between them. He watched as they flickered shut, immediately missing the brown and gold. Pressing forward again, he finally did what he had wanted to for years.

When their lips touched, there were no fireworks, no sparks, but there was definitely something. Something that filled his entire body, made his nerves light up and his skin feel as though it was on fire in the most pleasant way possible.

He wanted to kiss Spencer forever, and he intended to do just that.

[plus-size-reader]

Breaking Protocol

Spencer Reid x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 2151 words

Warnings: none 

Summary: Spencer kept in touch with the daughter of a serial killer they took down. They think there's a copycat which brings them to her door once again

——————————————————————————————————

As a general rule, the BAU team didn’t keep in very much contact with the people they saved. The victims' families, or sometimes the victims themselves were kept at arm's length, due to protocol. 

However, protocol never said anything about the Unsub’s families. 

Your father, a gruesome and heinous serial killer, who murdered your mother along with seventeen other women had brought the FBI’s behavioral analysis unit to your door. 

It was your sparkling wit and kind eyes that kept one Dr.Spencer Reid there for far beyond when the case had ended. 

There was something special about you, something that Spencer recognized almost immediately, but the more he spoke to you, the more pain he found behind those kind eyes that drew him in. 

You were in constant pain, a constant pain that you couldn’t avoid. Everytime you closed your eyes, you saw him there, the way they found him when you called the police. He was covered in blood, holding a knife, poised over her body. 

You didn’t even know her. You had never seen her before in your life, but there she was, lying dead on the kitchen floor. 

And yet, you remained as gentle as anyone could have been. It confused Spencer, and naturally he wanted to know what it was that made you that way. 

So he kept coming to visit you, even months after your father’s initial arrest. He just wanted to make sure you were okay, for whatever reason. 

It didn’t make any sense and he was painfully aware of that but it wasn’t something he had any control over. He cared about you and that was never going to change. 

...For whatever reason. 

At this point, you two didn’t speak much with Spencer only making monthly visits when he was in the area and calling at least once a week to check up on you. 

Until today. 

You had heard a few things here and there on the news, but you kept away from all that nasty stuff to avoid the nightmares. It was hard for someone with your past to ever really move on.

That had become clear to you but the point wasn’t that you were moving on, it was that you were doing your best. 

It was all you could do.

Though, all thoughts came falling away as soon as you heard that knock on your door. It was familiar and you couldn’t have mistaken it but that didn’t confuse you any less.

Spencer wasn’t supposed to be in the area for another week or so, but there was no one else who knocked that way. It was a signature of Reid’s so that you knew it was him. 

He liked to have a special thing between just the two of you. 

Not that it helped you in any way right now. 

“You aren’t supposed to be here for another week-” you started, swinging the door open without hesitation, only stopping when you realized Spencer wasn’t alone. 

In fact, he couldn’t have been farther from it. There were three men standing on your doorstep, each holding badges up to your screen with muted intentions. You had no idea what this was about, but it didn’t really matter. 

Knowing Spencer as well as you did, you knew it was only a matter of time before he filled you in with more detail than anyone could have ever needed. 

“Sorry, I should have called first” he shrugged, knowing that a heads up would have been nice but this whole thing had to be by the books and nothing was going to change that. 

Not even how much he cared about you. 

“Not a problem at all, what can I do for you?” you wondered, opening the door to them, letting them slip into your house without hesitation. Whatever it was they needed to talk about, you weren’t worried. 

Spencer had made it very clear that if there was any development in your father’s case or something changed, he was going to make sure you knew before anyone else. 

Even if it meant breaking protocol, which he did frequently where you were concerned. 

This was going to be a hard conversation to have, and Reid knew that, but luckily he knew you well enough to know that you could handle it. You were adults, and you weren’t living under some illusion over who your father was. 

You knew that he was a monster, and you also knew that he was going to spend the rest of his life rotting in prison. Still, having to relive the things he’d done was going to be had. 

After all, you were sure that you’d put that all behind you after he was locked up. 

“Y/N, we have to talk about your father” Spencer started, counting on Alvez to let him take the lead on this whole thing. They weren’t sure what exactly it was going on between the two of you, but they could tell you had a bond. 

It might have been odd, but if it could help them find whoever was committing these murderers, no one was about to stop him. 

“Why? Did something happen?” you asked, terrified that perhaps he’d gotten out or something had happened. It horrified you, but you knew well enough to keep calm. 

Whatever it was that was going on, you just had to trust that Spencer was going to take care of you. Besides, there was no way your dad had managed to get out of there. 

He had been locked in max security a few years ago and wasn’t ever getting out. That was what Spencer had assured you and that was what you needed to be the case. 

You had to make this work.

“Not exactly. There have been a series of murders following your father’s original schematic. All signs point to a-” 

“A copycat?” you filled in, fully aware that must have been what he was alluding to. It had always been a fear of yours, something you had talked to Spencer about a few times but you never thought it could actually happen. 

After all, what kind of person could actually idolize the monster you were forced to call family? You had always assumed that no one would be that sick, but clearly you were wrong. 

Someone had an interest in his brutality.

“Yeah, and I was hoping you could help me? No one knew him better than you, after all. If anyone could get inside his head, it would be you” Spencer informed, giving you that look he always did when you talked about the past. 

He didn’t like it. 

It hurt him to have to see you relive all those horrible memories, but it was just something you had to do. He wouldn’t ask if he didn’t absolutely need your help, and you knew that. 

You knew that he needed you, and you weren’t about to turn your back on him. 

So, you nodded.

Whatever it was that Spencer needed you to do, you would be able to figure it out with him by your side. 

~ ��Do you want to talk about it? Before I bring you into the bureau, I mean?” he asked, sitting down beside you at your dining room table, where you were staring out your kitchen window. 

You had been like that since the rest of the team left, content with the fact that Spencer was going to bring you to the BAU after having a brief conversation with you.

Though, it had become clear by that point that the conversation was going to be anything but brief. 

“Talk about what Spence? My dad and all those girls he murdered? The fact that somebody is taking a page out of his handbook? Or we could talk about the simple fact that even locked up, he’s ruining my life” 

Your words were a ramble at best but that didn’t make it any harder for Spencer to piece together what you were getting at. This was hard on you and no one knew that better than him.

You were completely different when your dad was around, even from behind bulletproof glass, and it was only natural that you tried to avoid all mention of him.

“Hey, it’s alright. I’m not going to let anything happen to you” he assured, reaching out to take your hand in his own, a strange gesture coming from him. Even with you, Spencer had never been too keen on that. 

Perhaps it would have been comforting, had you been worried about you. Though, you couldn’t have been worried about yourself at a time like this. You were really just having a hard time believing this. 

How was it possible that someone was going to do this? Of all the things your dad was, a role model wouldn’t even make the list. 

“I’m not worried about that Spencer, I’m worried about everybody else” you sighed, trying to rationalize why in the world they would even need you for all of this. 

Spencer knew your father’s M.O and case like the back of his hand, and probably better, after everything you had been through together and any information you had, Spencer had too. 

It was all locked up in his beautiful brain, and besides, it could be so dangerous for you two to be in the BAU together. After all, you didn’t know what kind of trouble Spencer could get into for keeping contact with you all this time. 

It may have been against some kind of rule or protocol for all you knew. 

“Tell me the truth Spencer, why do you want me to be part of this so bad?” you wondered, knowing that if it was just for information, they didn’t really need you. 

You just had a feeling that there had to be something more going on, and as well as you knew him, you knew better than to believe that Spencer could avoid the truth with you for that long. 

Not after all the time you two had spent together. 

“I think you may have something new to add-” he started, but you stopped him before he could get further into whatever he was going to say. You didn’t have to have to be a genius to know that he had some kind of ulterior motive. 

You just had to figure out what it was. 

“We both know you don’t need me for that Spencer. What is this really about?” you hummed, turning your attention away from the window completely. Whatever this was, there had to be some reason he was keeping it from you. 

After all, he had never kept anything from you before. Under the circumstances of which you two met, nothing else really seemed that important. 

This was the first time you had ever known Spencer to hesitate where the truth was concerned.  

...But eventually the truth came. 

“Fine. I want to keep you safe” 

It was nothing more than a whisper but you caught it just fine due to the close proximity between the two of you. Now, you were much less concerned with the copycat or anything else. 

Instead, you were focused on the emotion on Spencer’s face and the obvious distress there. 

Something was wrong, “If a copycat is deeply obsessed with your father, there is a good chance that they will want you or at least, victimize you” he warned, running his hands through his hair gingerly. 

He could hardly breathe just thinking about what could happen to you. Your father never went after you because you were off limits for him but he killed his victims that bore a strong resemblance to you. 

If your father killed surrogates in your place, there was no reason to think someone idolizing him wouldn’t go after you. They would lack the personal connection that kept your dad from hurting you. 

…And Spencer wasn’t about to let that happen. 

It made sense, but you also didn’t understand why he cared so much. Though, before you could tell him that you thought it was silly, you realized that the hold Spencer had on your hand had only tightened when talking about it. 

He was scared. 

Realizing that stopped all joking and teasing in their tracks, as you thought about it. Spencer genuinely believed that you were in danger and had interwoven you into the investigation to keep you under close watch. 

“Okay Spence. Let me pack a bag” you decided, before stepping away to grab a change of clothes and some of your essentials. If this was so important to him, it wouldn’t kill you to make him feel better. 

After all, it wasn’t every day that you saw Spencer that shook up. You just had to hope that staying with him for a few days would be enough to convince him that you weren’t in any danger. 

[babyangellee]

“Please Find Me”

Summary- The reader gets kidnapped and her captor exposes her relationship with Spencer to the team. They race to find her before it’s too late.

Warnings- Blood, stabbing, injury, possible swearing?, the usual criminal minds drama

Word Count- 2.3k 

[Part 2] [Part 3]

You danced around your kitchen while wiping down the counter. You were so into the music that you didn't hear your front door open and close. You didn't hear the slight squish of his boots on the hardwood as he slowly approached you. When you finally turned around you let out a small scream and dropped the cloth you were using.

"Jesus Danny! You scared me!" You yelled whacking your cousin's chest as you started to laugh.

"Sorry Y/N didn't mean to startle you" He replied slowly bending down to grab the cloth and then handing it to you.

"So how long are you in town for? I have to get into work soon but I'd love to get dinner or something when I get bac-'' You were cut off by something hard hitting the back of your head causing you to fall to the floor.

***

"Alright let's get started!" Garcia said enthusiastically while clapping her hand together.

"Wait, where's Y/L/N?" Hotch asked and everyone looked at each other realizing you weren't there.

"Maybe she's sick or slept in?" Spencer piped up, slightly confused himself. You guys had been dating for a while but only JJ knew about it. "I can give her a call to see what's up?"

"Let's brief first and then call her, tell her to meet at the police station," Hotch said and nodded to Garcia to continue.

"No need to take your Dramamine! This case is right in DC. Alright so in the last month four bodies have turned up. Allison Mark, Taylor McLaughlin, Jaime Hunt, and Kayla Johnson. All women in their late 20's were abducted from their homes, held for a week, and then killed." Garcia explained while going through the case on the screen behind her.

"This unsub definitely has a type, all the victims look like they could be sisters." She pointed out. She couldn't help but have a weird feeling about how eerily similar they looked to you. The same y/h/c and y/e/c, the same sparkle in their eye, and the same bright smile. She tried to shake the thought from her head as the rest of the team continued to go over the details.

"Alright. Prentiss and Rossi I want you to head to the ME, JJ, and Morgan I want you to go and pick up Y/L/N and then head to the dumpsite. Reid and I will head to the station." Hotch said picking up his case file and walking out of the conference room. Everyone nodded and split up heading to their SUV with their assigned partners.

Morgan and JJ had pulled up to your apartment and saw your car parked outside. They headed into the building and walked up the stairs to your apartment. You lived on the fourth floor but taking the stairs was faster than the elevator. When they approached your door Morgan knocked fairly loudly so that if you were sleeping hopefully it would wake you. After about 30 seconds and still no response JJ pulled out her phone dialing your number as Morgan knocked again.

Still, no response so JJ pulled out the emergency key you had given her about a year ago. Penelope and her were your closest friends on the team so along with Spencer, they both had a key in case of emergency. JJ deemed this an emergency.

She went to put the key in the lock but realized it was already unlocked. That was weird. You never left your door unlocked. The only people that ever needed to get in had keys. She gave Derek a concerned look as she pulled her gun from its holster. Morgan quickly followed her action as they opened your door.

"Y/N!" JJ called out walking into your bedroom as Derek made his way into your living room and then into the kitchen.

"JJ in here!" Derek yelled. JJ ran in seeing broken glass on the floor and your cell on the kitchen counter. As Morgan pulled out his phone to inform Hotch, JJ looked around more closely noticing a few drops of blood near the broken glass. You didn't leave without a struggle.

"Hotch, she's not here...... no, her car is but she isn't...... there looks like there was a struggle...... yea we're on the way." Morgan looked at JJ as he hung up the phone. "Another body just turned up. We just found this guy's pattern. And his latest victim."

JJ swallowed a lump in her throat that she didn't know was there. She nodded her head as she followed Morgan back to the car.

****

You woke up in a cold sweat not knowing where you were or how you got there. You quickly realized you were gagged and bound to a chair. You frantically tried to wriggle your hand free but they wouldn't budge. You looked around but there wasn't much to see. You were in a big open space. The floor and walls were concrete, you assumed you were in an abandoned building of some kind, maybe a warehouse.

Your head was pounding and you could feel the dried blood on the side of your face. You closed your eyes and tried to take a deep breath and remain as calm as possible, given the situation you were in. Just when you got your breathing in control you heard his voice and it sent chills down your spine.

"Good, you are finally awake! I was getting bored." He laughed. You looked at him absolutely terrified. How could he be doing this to you? You were his family. He just gave you a wicked smile before pulling out a camera. He placed it on a tripod and turned it on. You stared at the blinking red light drowning out what he was saying.

You only reacted when he took a knife dragging it across your cheek making you cry out in pain. He just laughed moving the knife to your arm before pushing down causing the cut to go deeper and you let out a muffled sob.

" I think that's enough of a message don't you?" He smiled again before taking the SIM card out of the camera and placing it in an envelope. He then handed you a sharpie and placed the paper under your hand. Forcing you to write the words FBI BAU TEAM on it so they couldn't analyze his handwriting.

Once you were done he took the envelope and the sharpie before leaving you alone again. He drove the hour-long distance to Quantico and walked up the building with a dark hoodie on. He knew it was kind of risky but if he got questioned he could definitely talk his way out of it. Once inside he handed the envelope to a security guard.

"I don't know man! I was across the street enjoying a nice iced coffee and when I went to get in my car I saw this on my windshield." He explained. The guard just nodded before making his way up to the sixth floor and handing it to one of the team members.

****

Your head slowly lolled to the side as your eyes fluttered closed. You were tired and in pain. You just wanted this to be over with. Just as you let slumber claim your body you were instantly awoken to the feeling of cold water being sprayed at you. You whimpered as the freezing water completely soaked your body making your teeth slightly chatter against the gag. The water turned off just as fast as it had been turned on and you saw Danny laughing holding a hose. He dropped it before making his way over to you. He slowly stroked your face and then retracted his hand.

"I think your friends might want to see this." He said walking away before reappearing with the camera, this time it was hooked up to a laptop and you knew he was going to live stream it. He set up the tripod and then turned around typing a few things into the computer and then stalking back over to you. Once he could tell the team was watching he started speaking.

" Ya know, I didn't really know how to feel when your mom told me you had a boyfriend." He started playing with a small knife in his hands. "She wouldn't shut up about him! She told me how you met up for lunch and told her you thought he was the one. Now when she said that, it struck a nerve. I've known you your whole life and never once were you ever serious about any guy but then all of a sudden you've had a boyfriend for four and a half years and are planning a future with him." He was starting to get angrier as he spoke and you knew Spencer and the team were hearing this.

"So it got me thinking. You always liked to brag and everything needed to be perfect with you. And after I looked him up it finally clicked. Supervisory Special Agent Spencer Reid. Or is it Doctor Spencer Reid. Who has three PhDs and two BAs? A child prodigy who went to high school at the age of twelve. You must have eaten that up." He laughed. He was trying to get under your skin and it was working. "He's just a fancy label to you. You don't love him for his personality, you love the attention you get from HIM being your boyfriend!"

"So tell me. How'd you do it? Huh? You were never interested in someone for longer than two months, how's you manage to fake four years?" He gave you a quizzical look before you saw a light bulb go off in his head. "Actually! Don't just tell me. Tell him." He pointed to the camera before stalking over to you and untying your gag.

"Don't listen to him, Spencer! I love you! Please find me!" You cried before you were silenced by the gag again. You had made him angry.

"You liar! You're lying to him! You bitch!" With that he took the knife in his hands, pushing it into your thigh. He twisted it and then pulled it out. You screamed in pain against the thick cloth material in your mouth. You looked down at the red liquid quickly oozing out of your leg as you continued to cry.

"Don't you get it! I loved you! I'm in love with you! What does he have that I don't!" He screamed as you started seeing spots. The pain radiating through your body. You started to struggle to keep your eyes open, your head dropping. As they started to flutter closed Danny aggressively grabbed your cheeks causing you to stare at him.

"I'm not done!" He yelled slapping you harshly before letting go of your face, your head immediately dropping again. He growled in irritation before walking back over to the hose spraying with the freezing cold water cause you to be on high alert.

"Now let's tell that boyfriend of yours the truth." He said coming up behind you and untying the gag again. This time held a knife against your shoulder. "Now tell him! Tell him you don't love him!"

You shook your head staying quiet. He pushed the knife into your shoulder with just enough pressure to break the skin, and you let out a soft whimper.

"SAY IT!" He yelled again causing you to flinch. You still stayed silent and he pushed the knife in all the way. You yelped at the pain finally giving in.

"I-I-I don't love you. I-I'm s-sorry" You cried out looking straight into the camera. Your heartfelt like breaking for saying those words. Danny, satisfied, pulled the knife out of your shoulder and walked around to the front of you. He bent down so he was face to face with you.

"I really hope he's still watching," He said quietly as he leaned in and kissed you. Danny slowly pulled away with rage in his eyes after about 20 seconds. "You didn't kiss back! Why did-" He was cut off but rustling outside of the warehouse. He stopped speaking and placed a hand over your already gagged mouth. When the rustling got closer he panicked and jabbed the knife into your stomach making you sharply inhale.

"FBI! DANIEL ANDERSON DON'T MOVE!" You sighed a breath of relief as you heard your friend and co-worker Derek Morgan's voice boom out. Danny went to plunge the knife into your body again before you heard a shot fired, the man in front of you falling to the floor. Knowing he was dead and you would be safe made your entire body relax.

"Hey, sweetheart" Morgan quickly walked over to you. Derek yelled into his radio for a medic once he saw your injuries. You started seeing spots again and felt weaker than ever before. You felt his hand reach up and gently grabbed your face so he could look at you. Your skin was paler than ever before and your lips had a bluish tint.

"JJ! Hurry!" He yelled behind you and you heard heels clicking over to you. Your eyes started to flutter closed again as you didn't have the strength to keep them open any longer. "Hey, hey, hey come on pretty girl keep those eyes open for me," Derek said hurriedly as JJ was untying the restraints that keep you in the chair. You tried your best but you just couldn't stay awake. The last thing you heard was Derek yelling into his radio again for the medics to hurry up.

[shadowturtlesstuff]

Dress part 2

so this is dress from Audrey rose’s perspective. i loved writing this. i finished it a few weeks back and its been slowly edited. i am working on other things, but i can feel my brain slolwy stop working, and i’m failing miserably.

This party is dreadful. Beautiful, but dreadful. The only things that are interesting to me is looking at the gowns being worn and the intricate details I discovered when observing them. And Thomas. But I refuse to acknowledge the latter and fix my gaze on a pale pink dress, little gems of dark pink lining the neckline flowed down the bottom of the dress. My own was of a pale green and blue, the top being blue and slowly turning green, with gems in little pockets so that if I were to dance, to spin, there would just be a flash of colour. It is a shame I will not be dancing tonight. Originally my dress was going to be a deep purple with white pearls around the neckline but I may have overheard Thomas talking to his carriage driver about his own outfit for tonight and may have decided against the purple.

My eyes move away from the gown and find Thomas who is conversing with an old man that I assume is his father. From the scowl on Thomas's face one can assume his father must be a pleasant conversationalist. Then Thomas's gaze slides away from his father and meets mine almost immediately, as if he was waiting for my eyes to find his, or that he could feel my gaze. A smirk replaces his scowl and I try to ignore the blush creeping onto my cheeks as I look away quickly; to find my cousin’s face fixed on mine, and eyebrows raised as she took in my expresion. She took her own gaze at Thomas, then winks at me and I scowl slightly. All night I had been stealing looks at Thomas, to try and notice all the details in his suit. He looked incredibly handsome in his midnight blue and black clothing, his hair brushed back and a permanent look of boredom and contemptment on his face. Apart from when he caught me looking. Then his lips quirked up in a smirk that I wanted to smack off.

It takes all my common sense to stay rooted in my seat and not walk over and ask Thomas to dance. Yet all of this silence and patience, pining and anticipating our next encounter was starting to weigh on my chest, hoarding control over my senses. It was infuriating. My mind was still convinced I did not ever need a husband, yet my mind also wondered about a life where Thomas was by my side. Every time I did the weight would increase slightly and I had no idea how to fix this. We were not even meant to be friends, uncle had warned me a few times when I had gone to investigate something on his behalf, that Thomas was trouble. Yet it always seemed he disliked Mr.Douglas more, and was miserable about the fact we did not have Thomas's particular skill sets on our side.

“It is most important for you young girls to attend not just tea parties, but parties.” Aunt Amilia was saying to us. Liza looked exceptional tonight, her dress was golden yellow with lilac accents. She had been very excited about tonight, about the prospects of romance and the fact she did not attend such things when trapped in the countryside; even though I hadn't been looking forward to tonight, her excitement was invigorating.

I let my aunt and cousin talk as I mess with the bottom of my glass. Attending tonight meant that there was another chance for our murderer to strike, another victim to add to his growing list. I shuddered at the thought of seeing another horrific scene; a woman cut open and dispatched as though she was worth nothing. Uncle and I had conducted post mortems on all the unfortunate women, they all seemed to have similar inflicting wounds yet they were worse each time. Uncle claims our murder is getting more confident as he is taunting the Scotland Yard. As much as I enjoy the magical atmosphere the ball produced; I couldn't help but think it a waste of time. There must be more we could do to find who our perpetrator was. Thomas and I had been discussing theories over the course of the last month whenever we found ourselves together, and even with our skills combined we were no closer than when we started. It certainly didn't help that we kept getting distracted. Thomas is an excellent flirt and seems to want to do just that all the time. It did not help that my mind kept drifting back to our kiss either. I had to keep convincing myself it was the adrenaline that caused me to kiss him, not the fact I had grown to like him very much.

I kept thinking about how his hands burnt my skin, electrifying me and it made me drunk on his touch. I kept wondering what would happen to me if we were to kiss again and if I would be able to control myself. To not drown in his touch.

I caught another glance of him, but his eyes were already upon mine. I looked away just as Mr.Douglas appeared at his side. I slid my eyes back to him as he begrudgingly spoke to his boss. Thomas scowled at something he said.

“Audrey Rose, would you like another glass of champagne brought to you?” Liza asks, capturing my attention away from Thomas. I had only had one and it couldn't hurt to nurse another tonight. So I nodded and watched Aunt Amila gesture to the waiters to bring a glass for me as well as some food for Liza. My glass is replaced and I try to ignore the growing boredom I have.

“May I borrow your daughter for a dance, sir?” The smooth voice of Mr. Thomas Cresswell appears to my left. Slowly I look at him, trying to hide my confusion. And longing. I would very much like to dance with Thomas. I would like to know how it feels to dance with him, whether he can dance. Yet we were not meant to be friends, surely Uncle will notice the fact we are, and perhaps scold me for it. My father looks over at him, surly registering who he is, who his father is and the title he holds. He gives a tight smile. Father is still slowly recovering from his opium addiction. Aunt Amilia arrived so she can keep an eye on him and it makes me happier to see him be less tired. Yet it does cause problems if I need to visit my Uncle. Nathaniel narrows his eyes at Thomas, surly bemused at why his apparent robotic friend would want to dance with me. However he gives a more genuine smile than my father does. Then Uncle scowls. I would much rather face the killer's knife than be in Thomas's position right now. I look towards where Liza is trying stilfe her giggles and can't help but smile too.

“Cert-” My father begins, but does not get far before my Uncle cuts in. Of course he would. Normally he would not care. I am still shocked my Aunt managed to convince him to leave his laboratory for this.

“No.”

“What do you mean no? She's my daughter I suggest you-”

“No. Mr. Cresswell, what are you doing? You do not wish to seek out my niece for the case do you? If so, leave now.” I see Thomas wince slightly, but smile before quickly looking at me and answering:

“No sir, I can see why you'd think that but I truly wish to dance. Your daughter is captivating.” His smooth words wash over me, the honesty in his tone fills my bones, making me more light headed than the champagne ever could.

“I shall dance with you Mr. Cresswell.” I interject before anyone else can speak on my behalf. Thomas is the only one I had wanted to dance with. I make my way to the dance floor, giddy with excitement. My hands shake slightly from the need to hold him.

“I'm glad you saved me. I've been dreadfully bored.” I tell him as he places his hands on my waist, my own finding his shoulder. I forget how tall he is sometimes. I would have to go on my tiptoes if I were to kiss him and he would need to bend to find my lips. He laughs at my words and everything about him relaxes slightly as we begin to dance. Each step is filled with confidence. Of course he'd be perfect at dancing.

“I'll always be the one to save you Wadsworth. I am your Dark Prince. Be sure to think about me and my heroic nature whenever you're alone.” Once again I ignore the blush making my cheeks it’s home and focus on his smirk. His ridiculously arrogant smirk.

“Please; I have more important things to consider than you.”

“You look beautiful, Audrey Rose.The dress is magnificent, compliments you perfectly,” he must be making the connection to his own outfit and contemplating the implications behind it; “although completely unnecessary, I'm sure you are perfectly capable of rendering me speechless without a dress on at all.” Or not. The fiend just wanted to shamelessly flirt with me. To make my skin turn hot and cold all at once while I consider his implications. His eyes hold promise and he no longer wears his impenetrable mask with force. It makes him look younger, more like the man I have grown to know and not the cruel beast society believes him to be.

“You claim I render you speechless yet you still speak? Are you lying or just horribly bad at compliments? Or, you hate the dress but need to charm me nonetheless?” Despite his vaulnrability I must not allow him to have the upper hand in this conversation or I shall never live it down.

“Wadsworth, darling, please; do you really think that little of me? I'm merely stating the obvious, it's what I do best. And I don't need to charm you when you are already infatuated with me. If I were you I would be. And as much as you truly render me speechless with your brilliant mind, I adore your body too, an added bonus, but I will always be able to tell you how astonishing you look.” He looks ready to kiss me, and I know if he did I would let him. It would be quite the scandal but I do not care at this point. We flirt, tease and taunt each other endlessly but it pains me that we do not get to do it as often as we wish. That I do not get to learn each side of Thomas, like this charming man who holds me tightly, as though if he let go of me I'd disappear. I feel as though I might if he did. I search for any lie, anything but the same pain I must be showing on my face. Instead of a kiss, unfortunately, he pinches my sides lightly, as if conveying his words to me. I pinch him back and we smile, content in our own little world.

“It is a good job you are not me then isn't it?” My voice is barely above a whisper and we both know my words hold little bite. People were fools to think Thomas was anything other than lovable. He may be in pain most of the time but that was a part of his charm.

He clears his throat, attempting to control himself, “I've enjoyed the game tonight, our secret moments in this crowded room no one knows about. Each little glance at me gives my heart a rush. Makes it worth being at this blastidly boring event. I've missed you.”

‘I’ve missed you.’

The three words repeat over and over in mind. We spoke this week yet in my bones I understand what he means. We haven't truly discussed our kiss; or our feelings. We are both too wrapped up in our individual fears. Yet even with the confession we dance in comfortable silence.

“When does this get easier?” My voice is quiet for a completely different reason than before. Our eyes meet and I find myself captivated by him, the fact my best friend is not perceived as my friend. A secret that neither of us ever wanted to keep. “I want to stay with you all night, but after this we must return to our lives, I go back to being judged for my curiosity and you will go back to the animatronic villain the world thinks you are. When does it get easier Thomas?”

He contemplates for a moment, his eyes flashing all sorts of emotion before turning to that calculated gaze that feels somehow more intimate than before. If he has an idea on how to make this all better then I have no intention of stopping him.

“Wadsworth, how much does your Uncle hate me?”

“He doesn't hate you, at least I don’t think he does. He- he isn't a person who gives positive opinions on anyone. Even me. But no, I do not think he hates you, just Mr. Douglas. Oh but he doesn't like that you are working against us. For him no less.'' I have believed for some time my Uncle would like Thomas to work with us and attend his school. He never technically speaks ill of him, but of who he works for. I’m half convinced Uncle is upset Thomas did not go to him first.

“It's not ideal, I despise him, he doesn't care about the cases, but of the fame; it makes me near vomit whenever he speaks about the women- or any woman for that matter.” Uncle had said the same thing a few times to me.

“Audrey Rose, if I were to quit would your uncle offer me an apprenticeship?”

“I think so but why?”

“There are more benefits in working with your Uncle than that egotistical man. The main one being right in front of me.'' I gasp slightly and stop for a second. Once again Thomas has left me speechless at how vulnerable he is for me, at how his words caress me and hold such promises that make us both slightly afraid. There was so much wrongness in the world, so much that confused me and left me stranded. Perhaps that is why I relish science so much, in finding out facts from the deceased because they could never lie to me, never hold my brain in such misery that I feel ill. Maybe the familiar feeling of carving open a body meant that it was the only sure thing I knew. That was before Thomas.

Now I know two things for sure. For the most part. Thomas would always baffle me but in the most delightful ways.

Finally I mustered the courage to speak. “You could talk to my uncle tonight, I'm sure he'd much rather discuss the case or anything remotely close to work rather than listening to my Aunt.”

“Would you want me to work alongside you Wadsworth because if not I can-” he would always allow me a choice, but he would always doubt himself too. So I snapped my head up from where I was staring at his chest. His eyes flash as he misunderstands my movements.

“Do not finish that sentence Thomas. Of course I want you to work with me and my Uncle.”

“My brilliance is desperately needed isn't it? I mean you cannot resist my charm.” He adds a wink, lightning the tone and making me roll my eyes in the process.  

“No, I'm merely the one saving you from that- that man before he rots the only decent part of your brain.” Half truth, half a lie. I relish in our easy banter.

“If you are the one saving me, will you be like the heroes in the books, because I do recall that they always give their saved maidans a kiss once they are saved?”  I blush again at his words, but more so the memory of his lips on mine.

We had been investigating when two ruffians attacked, so we fled to safety in an alleyway. With one look we were both upon each other, clinging desperately as our lips met, the feeling of being lost in him, the feeling of his hair beneath my gloves. Of the sweetest kiss he added after we broke apart. Even after then Thomas had doubted his actions slightly and apologized but in that moment I didn't care about anything but him. I'd seen a new side to him that night, one I wished to witness again.

We were coming to the end of our second dance, any more would be considered improper. Thomas seemed to stumble onto that fact too as his grip tightened ever so slightly. Just enough for me to notice. I doubt even his impressive deduction skills noticed his own movement as he was too fixated on my face. It made me smile slightly.  Even as I knew I'd have to break apart and return to my table. To Liza's knowing smile and teases, to the males scowling and whatever my Aunt thought.

Slowly I let go of him, the music coming back into my head, as though I had stopped paying attention to it. We walk back to my table and I take my seat, hand going onto my glass as I calm my heart. Thomas stands there awkwardly by the empty chair, so I kick it slightly with a smile playing at my lips. He scowled but sat down. I tried desperately to ignore my cousin, I knew she watched me dance and would inform me of her opinions on it and on Thomas.

Everyone at the table is silent, watching and waiting. My father orders a glass of champagne for Thomas, which indicates either he likes Thomas or the title he holds. I watch as Thomas messes with the rim of the glass. My friend has never been exactly good at social interactions and becomes restless faster than a toddler. Uncle is glaring at Thomas so my father elbows him and it seems so unlike them I smile. They are no longer close due to my mother’s death, but perhaps my Aunt can change that for the better, at least a little bit whilst she is here.

“So Mr. Cresswell, my son has been telling me a bit about you, what is it you do again?”

I've not spoken to Nathaniel about Thomas. In fact I haven't spoken to him in quite a number of days. I make a mental note to fix that.

“I'm a scientist sir.” My fathers face drops, either having that information made true or knowing Nathaniel had missed it out deliberately.

“Surely a man of your title would pursue something other than that?”

“Science isn't about titles sir, it's just the pursuit of knowledge. You must want to know how things work, how things are made. I enjoy learning about the body, the world and how it works.” My father narrows his eyes at him. He used to enjoy that sentiment before my mother died. He loved making things. It was his form of science. Perhaps if mother had not died he would be more open to my love of science. I'm filled with silence that floods my head until Thomas taps the table slightly. My attention turns to his warm smile, one that tells me everything I need.

I am not morally corrupt for liking science. I return the smile, a silent thank you.

Silence falls on our table and I find Liza watching me and Thomas with something like wonder on her face. When she notices me she smiles, then raises her eyebrows up and down and we both nearly snort with laughter. But we control ourselves as Uncle takes a seat next to Thomas. His gaze makes Thomas bounce his knee in the annoying way he does when he is nervous.  

“Would it be okay for me to attend your school sir?” Thomas askes suddenly

“Yes, on one condition; you must stop working for Mr. Douglas.”

Neither of us were surprised by the condition, although I am miserable that Thomas was accepted so quickly. I had to beg my Uncle to let me join and I've only ever been once. His stipulation for me was to remain quiet. Quite a task when the ‘men’ partaking in his lesson squirmed more than I did.

“Of course.”

After a few minutes Thomas returns to his table and my Uncle stays in the seat he's in, instead of going back to the seat beside my father. My father returns to his conversation with Nathaniel, Liza and Aunt Amelia being talking again. I look to uncle in hopes he will talk to me, but he is looking at his plate of food miserably. So I sit alone silently.

“Mr. Wadsworth? May I join you this fine evening?” The voice of Mr. Blackburn pierces my thoughts. He takes the seat that was my Uncles and smiles brightly at me. “It is lovely to see you, Miss. Wadsworth. You look beautiful.”

I force a smile as my mind wanders to the words Thomas uttered to me earlier. They felt real. It leaped at me and held me tightly. Blackburns’ felt much like my smile. Forced. Polite. I had no idea what he was doing here. If he wanted to talk about the case I'm sure he'd drag Uncle somewhere.

“Thank you.” I say, turning to look at Liza and begging her to help me out. But Aunt Amelia cuts in instead.

“She looks delightful doesn't she? You must dance together.”

I try to hide my wince but it clearly doesnt work as Liza smirks at me.

“Before you do that there is something we must discuss Audrey Rose,” Blackburn states, his tone makes me squirm in my seat like a child, Uncle looks up from his food finally and they look at each other carefully, “We need you both tomorrow at the station, the Ripper has sent another letter.”

So Uncle was right when he spoke about the killer's confidence another letter surely meant he was ready to strike again. I must speak to Thomas, get him to be at the station with us, he will likely notice things we would normally miss.

“Certainly.” Was all Uncle responded with. Especially since we both noticed my father’s glare at us all.

“Both? Both? When I told you to court my daughter I didn't expect you to let her see such horrors. You were to stop her madness not help it prevail.” He snaps at Blackburn. Anger rose as I understood what my father was saying. He had graciously allowed Blackburn to court me, to marry me, without even mentioning it once to me. I was clearly too much to handle and must be doused before I dare have a life of my own choosing.

“You have been secretly courting me?” I snapped at him, rising from my seat. “Father, why on earth would you allow this? I have a right to know, to choose for myself.”

“Audrey Rose, sit down and be quiet, you're making a scene.” My Aunt snaps back. Of course, our reputation is in such jeopardy if I stand up for myself.

How had I missed Blackburns’ advances, my fathers scheme? What else were they hiding from me? My father was enraged with me, Blackburn had the guts to look sorry for me. It was utterly ridiculous. I hated him, hated my father, hated society. Myself. I'd missed it because I had convinced myself he was a friend. I was so desperate I had ignored my intuition. I was pathetic.

Instead of sitting down I pushed my chair far back and began walking out of the ballroom. I needed air. Needed control. Needed Thomas. A thought I refused to linger.

The cold air bit at my skin, seeped inside me as I walked to the edge of the garden. The darkness comforted me as tears freely slipped down my face. I was a fool. I didn't want to marry Blackburn. I wasn't sure I wanted to ever marry. I just wanted to be a scientist. I wanted-

“Miss. Wadsworth, is everything okay?” Thomas appears behind me and I find it so utterly cruel that he gets to see me so vulnerable. Not an hour ago had we danced, had we been happy and now I was apparently being courted so I spun around and let out a joyless laugh.

“Perfect, Mr. Cresswell. I am a woman in this absurd society so I must not dare think about anything remotely masculine. I must not be able to pick who I love but have my father arrange it without informing me.” I spit at the words at him, knowing he was not to blame but knowing he was the only one willing to listen to me.

“Audrey Ro-”

“Blackburn. He chose Blackburn. He was never nice to me to be my friend, but because of him and my fathers scheming. If he hadn't been he would not have been this nice to me. I know I am not exactly the nicest person and that my interests disgust society but it was nice to have a friend.” I whisper the last part as though I voice how pathetic I am.

“Am I not your friend Audrey Rose?” His voice is an attempt at a joke, I think, but it is also tinged with pain. I consider Thomas my best friend, and it hurts me he thinks otherwise.

“You are but you're different, you; I don't need to try with you Thomas. I have to try with everyone but you.” He dares a step towards our eyes finally meeting. We needn't say a thing for us to understand each other.

“Wadsworth, I find it easy with you too. More than I even understand. This world is cruel and I wish more than anything to make it better for you, for it to be better in general. I- my father long ago gave up trying to marry me off, deeming me worthless and unable to love, and I still cannot figure out which is worse.” This was another side of Thomas he was showing me, to tell me that we may not fit into society but it doesn't matter too much. The fact will always hurt us slightly but we learn to live with it. Eventually.

He takes my gloved hands and rubs small circles over my palm sending shivers over my body. “You are worth more to society than they realise, so please keep fighting for your freedom. I will forever remain your friend if that is what you wish to happen, to help you figure this world out.” His confession replaces the darkness clinging to me. I wasn't sure if I wanted to be a wife, but Thomas always made me doubt that. He would always give me my freedom because he understood how important it was to me. I tighten my grip and he catches his breath as I take another step closer.

“Thomas,” My voice is somewhat breathless, my own breathing failing me, “you are not unlovable, your father is a fool. An utter fool. I want you by my side always, I fear I couldn't do this without you.” I go closer, impossibly so, “What if, what if it was more than friends though?” I may have overstepped with my question, we were in such uncertain territory to what we felt and I wished I could take back the words. What if Thomas wanted nothing more than friendship? The kiss we had could have just been adrenaline for him. His flirts may be out of boredom or something else I couldn't understand.

“I- I’m sorry.” I stutter when he doesn't respond to me. I take a step back, ready to return to the line placed between us. Where I would forever remain it seems.

That is until his hand tightened on mine and brought me back forward. My face widens in shock.

“Wadsworth I'd like that too.”

There is a second of silence as it sinks in. “You would?”

“More than anything. I care deeply about you. I shall court you like a proper gentleman if that is what you wish.” We return to standing apart and I can't help but snort at his insane statement.

“You are anything but a gentleman Cresswell.” I smile brightly as we both laugh. “It may be my favourite thing about you.” He flashes me a devilish smile.

“I am fully aware, love, that you love the scandalousness of my words. Would you like to go back inside or return home, I am sure I can get us a carriage to share.”

“Us? Thomas you do not live with me.”

“Yet,” he adds. I roll my eyes at his dramatic nature despite picturing how lovely it would be to live with him. “It would be ungentlemanly to let you return home alone; and purly scandalous to be in close quarters with you.'' Once again I ignore his words and begin to walk to where the carriages await. I couldn't care less if father got mad at me for going home. I knew I had to be lectured anyway.

“Very well, you may escort me home. From a distance.” I emphasise this to make sure he understands. He merely laughs at me.

When I make nearly a quarter of the distance and do not find Thomas with me I spin around and find him watching me with a weird expression on his face. He is captivating as he stares at me, his eyes full of wonder. His perfect hair has fallen in his face slightly, disheveling him slightly. My brows burrow in confusion at what could make him look like this, but I relish the look he gives me anyway. He really is a dark prince; standing tall in his dashing suit. He blinks when he releases I've stopped then begins to follow me.

“Are you alright?” I ask as he falls into step with me.

“Yes of course, I get to leave with the most dazzling woman at the party.”

We link arms, pay for a carriage and start to head towards my home. We sit across from each other, but the carriage is small and Thomas obnoxiously spreads his legs out so they brush against me and it takes all my willpower not to just place my hand on his knee, slowly stand then lean over him and kiss him. He nudges me and I raise my gaze, he tells me something but I've no clue what.  

I blink and feel the heat of my blush form on my face. Which Thomas notices and smirks wickedly at me whilst raising his eyebrows in amusement.

“Wadsworth?” He asks and I hum a response and try to snap out of my indecent thoughts.

“Cresswell?” I attempt words, not sure that I can manage more than his name.

“My kiss? I am still waiting for it.”

When did I promise him a kiss? Not that I do not want to kiss him. He leans closer, knee hitting mine. I feel the heat of him envelop my senses even as I remember our dance and the words he teased me with. For a moment I see him doubt and so I lean in to make sure he doesn't regret being in here with me, regret asking to kiss me.

His lips are soft as they meet mine. I feel his hand rest on my knee as I deepen the kiss. My night has been abysmal and I do not think I would have made it if Thomas was here. I adore the feeling of his lips on me and find my hands wandering on his knees. This is so vastly different from the first kiss and it makes me wonder if our kisses will always be different. Thomas pulls back, resting his head on my forehead and searches my face. I am a complete mess as he looks me over and he smiles at the result of our kiss. He presses a lingering kiss then sits back. I return to being pressed against the back of the carriage as we regain our composure. But I feel his legs still against mine so I brush my own against him and his warm smile against his flushed face made my heart nearly burst.

“I should save you from boring events more often if it means kissing you like that.” The words hold the same promise as the kiss and I smile brightly at him. I didn't think I wanted a husband but perhaps being with Thomas my feelings would change. Even in my worst time Thomas would stand by me, and I'd stand by him. We would make mistakes, argue; but I felt the truth sink in that we would always see the truth in each other. He was my one and only lifeline and I do not think I could ever truly explain the feelings as they raced around in my body faster than I could comprehend.

@fangirling-again @goatahoan @city-of-fae @the-hoofflepooff @purplecreatorhorsewagon @kittycat2187 @padfoot-sirius-black @boredbookwormgirl @goddess-of-writing @lovecakeandmore @loveyatopluto @yikesitsmaddie

[walkerwords]

“The Bourbon Drinker and the Brute” Negan x F!Reader

Summary: When you are trying to relax mid-apocalypse, Negan comes across you while he is on his way back to Alexandria, dragging Rick and Carl along. What happens when he tries to engage with you in conversation? Will you humor him? Essentially, you meet Negan while he's on the road and you are less than impressed.

Word Count: 1944

Warning: mention of past abuse, swearing, drinking, negan being negan

Song I Wrote To: “Ain’t No Rest for the Wicked” by Cage The Elephant

Notes: This is also posted on my AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23147752

-----

The apocalypse was not something you would have thought would happen while you were alive. 

The Dead rising? That was something that was from movies and comic books, not seen from your backyard. You had been on your own since the start of the infection and would occasionally find groups, but it never lasted longer than a few weeks. You started to realize that maybe the humans were worse than the dead.

Everyone knew that some of the Living were trying to build a new world order. There was talk about communities rising out of the rubble, but you always stayed clear of any place that had barbed wire and walls. It wasn’t ideal to be on your own all the time, but you figured it was better than being under the rule of someone who felt the need to be the new advocate for humanity. Especially when they had guns. 

Shortly after the initial wave of the Dead, you found out that noise was the worse thing. You had a pistol, still did for emergencies, but your preferred weapon was the bow in your hands and the quiver on your back. You learned to shoot at a young age. Your grandfather was an archer and your mother as well. It was her bow that you carried. You didn’t know if either of them were still alive, but you kept that hope in your heart as you made your way across the southern states of America.

Sleep was hard to come by and being alone meant nobody was there to be a lookout. You started by locking yourself in old hotel rooms and abandoned schools, but you soon found that being indoors only made the Dead smell you more and so you took to the outdoors whenever the weather allowed it. Your favourite place was trees and you’ve even been lucky to find empty tree houses in which you removed the ladders and scaled the trees. You made camp there until you ran out of supplies and had to be on the move once again.

On the rare occasions that you ran into people, you stayed hidden and prayed that they wouldn’t discover you. It happened a lot at first, but now, people were rare in the more rural areas. Either they had found shelter, fell victim to the Dead, or they had even joined the Dead themselves. It was just the way it was, people weren’t around anymore.

However, that changed the day you met a group that terrified and also annoyed you to no end. You knew you were risking it being so close to what you called a safe haven. It was reckless to be in a territory you knew was run by armed men and women, but supplies were short and so you had to make runs. A recent one gained you a new bottle of bourbon that was not only delicious, but much needed.

So, there you were, laying in the bright Southern sun, on the ledge of an abandoned pedestrian bridge. Both sides had been blown out by someone or torn apart by something and barricaded to restrict access, so you had to climb a few of the overgrown vines. However, you were just glad to be up high and even let your right leg swing lazily off the side.

It was around midday when you were keeping your ears open for the dead and you heard the rumbling of multiple cars. It wasn’t unheard of to hear the odd engine, but nowadays it was rare. You tried to stay clear of the people in the area and now you were regretting the bourbon run even more so. You kept your breathing even as the procession of vehicles stopped before your bridge and many men and women filed out of the cars, guns in hand. You lazily lift your bottle to your lips. It’s nearly empty and you’re enjoying it till the last drop. You take another pull when you hear the brutish voice from down below.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?” You prop yourself up onto your elbows, securing yourself with your dangling leg, and look down at the man. He is clearly the leader. He wears a wolfish grin on his stubbled face and a leather jacket on his back. In his right hand, he holds a baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire.

He swings it up onto his shoulder as he looks up at you, “Looks to me like we have a little loner here, hey Rick?” The brute looks over his shoulder at another man who looks as if he’d rather be anywhere else than near the man with the bat. A kid is next to the one called Rick, his son, you guess due to the matching expression that was a near mirror to the first man. You take another drink, getting to the end of the bottle. “What’s your name, Darlin’?” the first man asks. 

“Not ‘Darlin’,” you shoot back. He whistles, pressing his hips forward like a bad Travolta impression.

“Well, aren’t you something? What are you doing up there all by your lonesome self?” You raise the bottle so he can see it better. 

“Drinking,” You call back. You lift it to your lips and down the rest of the bourbon. He watches you, clearly amused. When you’re done, you drop the bottle off the side of the bridge. It breaks against a boulder, shattering into many pieces. “Sorry, that was my last bottle.”

“Fuck, you really are a little spitfire.” You stare down at him. “Still waiting on that name,” he says and since he didn’t use some ridiculous pet name, you humor him.

“(Y/n),” you say. 

“Well, (y/n),” he smiles and a laugh comes right after, “why don’t you come down from there?” You glance at the army at his back. It becomes obvious he is a leader of one of the nearby forts that make you nervous. However, you would be lying if you said he didn’t make you curious.

“I think I’m good up here, Bruce,” you shoot back. He frowns at the name you give him. 

“The name’s Negan,” he says.

“I think it's a joke,” The kid next to Rick says, gaining Negan’s attention. “Bruce as in Bruce Wayne. Batman.” The kid gestures to the baseball bat on Negan’s shoulder. Negan howls at your bad joke, reaching over to slap the kid on the shoulder who tries not to shake off the man’s hand. 

“I hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but I ain’t no fucking superhero,” Negan says.

“Neither was Batman,” you finish, causing him to laugh again. 

“Well, okay then. So, listen (y/n), here’s what I want,” You cut him off. 

“Oh, I know what you want. You’re one of them looters. You want my supplies. But here’s the thing, I only have the clothes off my back, the knife in my boot, and a bow without arrows. A bow that you’d have to kill me for and tear from my undead hands if you want it. So, keep moving, Bruce, and leave me to get some much-needed sleep.” Negan whistles gaining timid laughter from behind him. Rick was looking between you and the brute as if trying to figure out who was going to win. 

“I ain’t too fucking keen on people telling me what to do, Darlin’,” You lay back down, swinging your leg once again. 

“Name’s not ‘Darlin’, Bruce, and the way I see it is that you can either get back into your car and leave me the hell alone or you and your merry men can drag my ass off this bridge and put a bullet in my head twice over,” You say bluntly. The group was quiet, clearly not expecting those words to come out of your mouth.

“How about this?” Negan says, “I see a third option.”

“I don’t,” you call. He was quiet again. “I’ve survived alone for a long time. I tried it with people before and it did not end well for me or them. Therefore, I’ll take my chances because either the Dead kill me or you do,” you look down at him, narrowing your eyes, “your move.”

“You just love to be disrespectful, don’t you?” Negan taunts.

“It’s the damn apocalypse, honey, respect is pointless.” Light entered his eyes as if he had finally met his match. “So,” you continued, “with the utmost respect, fuck off.” Immediately, you hear a gun cocked in your direction and you move. You notch an arrow, spinning onto your left knee, raise your bow and pull back. You aim at the man with the mustache to Negan’s right.

Negan glances between his man and your steady hands. “Thought you didn’t have any fucking arrows,” Negan calls. 

“I lied,” you sneer.

“Simon, drop your fucking weapon,” Negan orders and he does. Negan then hands the bat to the kid who takes it as if he has been asked to do it before. Negan takes a couple of steps closer to you and you retrain your weapon on him. He raises his hands. “No need for violence, a pretty thing like you shouldn’t be concerned with the likes of me.”

“Call me a stupid pet name one more time,” you warn, keeping him in your sights. 

“I’m assuming the last man who called you that didn’t get an arrow pointed at him,” Negan grins.

“You’re right,” you nod, “he just got a knife to the groin. Sudden castration is an unfortunate side effect of being a rapist.” Something flares in his eyes and you could tell that even if he was a killer, Negan would never lay a hand on a woman uninvited.

“That why you’re alone?” he asks. 

“Beats the alternative.”

“Yes ma’am it does,” he says. “I’ll tell you what Miss (y/n), you’re a fucking fighter and I respect that. So I will remember you. You stay out of my way and I’ll stay out of yours. That sound good to you, Grimes?” He asks Rick.

Rick nodded to him with a sigh of relief. Rick then met your eyes and nodded to you. You decided then and if you were to cross paths with them again, Rick would be the one you’d trust.

You lower your weapon.

“I’d say we have a deal...Negan,” you say. The brute smiles up at you. Then from his jacket, he produces a small bottle. He tosses it up to you. You catch it and smile at the small bottle of whiskey. 

“Peace offering,” he says. “I’ll see you again, (y/n). Dead or alive, we’ll cross paths again,” Negan says as he struts back to his truck. The kid hands Negan the bat back and Negan gets into the driver’s seat. You keep a firm grip on your bow as the vehicles cross under the bridge. You watch until they disappear over the hill in the distance.

Tucking the mini bottle into your boot, you lay down and listen to the groaning of the dead in the distance. Your heart slowly leaves your throat. You hadn’t been that scared in a long time. You had perfected the mask to keep people at bay, but you knew that if he had been any closer, he would have seen the sweat on your brow and the slight shaking of your leg. You only hope that Negan didn’t see through it and that he would keep his word.

You stay out his way and he would leave you alone. Problem was, a part of you didn’t know if you wanted him to leave you alone and that scared the hell out of you even more. 

[sillyshortstories]

Parsley

Summary: This short story is inspired by the original Rapunzel tale by Giambattista Basile. Serafina must embark on many side quests to obtain the witch's parsley, before her pregnant wife Satomi succumbs to scratching her eczema ridden skin!

Cultural context: Birthmarks and cravings. 

“I’m really craving parsley,” Satomi said, longingly staring out the window. 

Serafina immediately rose from her coffin, and stared at her wife in horror. “Which… which parsley?”

Satomi pressed herself against the window, and dragged a hand down it slowly. “The neighbour’s.” 

These words granted Serafina more alertness than 49 cups of coffee. Satomi turned her head, pouting out her lip like a small child. Serafina softly started, “Don’t-”

“Could you,” Satomi started to beg. “Get some for me?”

Serafina stumbled out of her coffin, shaking her head profusely. “Nope. No. Not gonna happen, sorry babe.” 

Satomi whined, “But Serafina-”

“I may be a 240 year old blood-thirsty-vampire, but she’s a 22 year old independent witch of this century. She’ll destroy me and you know it.” Serafina grabbed Satomi’s hands, and pulled her gently. “”Now let’s get away from the window and think of sorbet. You like sorbet! I can go to the corner store and pick you up some of that.” 

Like a switch, Satomi change her demeanor, and leaned into her wife. She slowly and seductively whispered, “I want that parsley.” She breathed into Serafina’s ear. “And my eczema is acting up.”

Serafina quickly pushed and held Satomi at a distance. “You’re lying?” she said softly. 

“You know I’m not.”

Sweat began to form on Serafina’s forehead. She shifted her attention from Satomi to the window, until she gulped down. “You uh,” her voice quivered. “You really want that parsley?” 

Satomi smiled, horns imagined on her head as she planted a kiss on Serafina’s pale lips. “Make sure to get a big bunch,” she requested, and sat back down on the windowsill. “Thanks babe.”

“It was nice knowing you, my love. I’ll die on this quest to get parsley for my beautiful wife,” Serafina performed, allowing a tear to fall from her eye. “Tell our baby that I love them.”

“Hon, you’re immortal.” 

“She’ll break my soul!” Serafina sniffled, then ended her dramatic scene. “Okay, I’m going.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

___

Serafina tiptoed her way around the fence that divided the two properties, and somersaulted on the grass like a secret agent. She did it correctly, only her feet landed and crushed a lavender head. 

“Well, I already fucked up.”

Serafina stood up, dusted off her pants and cloak, and walked right up to the small patch of fresh parsley. She wrapped her hands around the stems of as many as she could, then ripped it out from the Earth. Soil spilled out from beneath it, pulling out multiple carrot-looking roots along with it.

Serafina heard a crack of a twig, fear shook her to the very core as a shadowy figure stepped into her view. The figure was her neighbour Nomi, who held onto the ends of her cloak above her head, giving the illusion of a larger stature in the dark night. However, she was approximately the average size of a pubescent child.  

Nomi squinted her eyes at the lavender patch, releasing her cloak, and croaked, “What did you do to my lavender?”

“It was an acci-”

“Those were to save the bees. What, you don’t like bees now?”

“No, I love those chubby fuckers! It was an accident, really.”

“And this bunch of parsley you ripped out from my garden? I’m guessing that was an accident too.”

“Well, uh, see-”

Nomi snatched the parsley from Serafina’s grasp. “Nice try, but it’ll cost you.”

“How much money do you want?”

“Not money…” Nomi stroked the parsley in her hands. “I’ll let you have the parsley if-” She smirked. “If you give me your first-”

“Not my first child!” Serafina screamed. 

“Goddess no, why would I want to be a mother in this economy? I just want your first murder victim. Their bones, to be precise.”

“I-I haven’t killed anyone. I’ve always lived off of period blood.”

Nomi blinked rapidly, shaking her head in disbelief. “Wow, um, okay? Then just get me Dildar from the graveyard down the street. Aaron’s been hoarding him since I was 7.”

“Are you sure you don’t just want mo-”

“Bones!” Nomi screeched, swinging her cloak over her face, and disappeared into the shadows again. 

___

The fog was thick in the graveyard, the whistling of the wind filling Serafina’s ears. She clutched her cloak and wrapped it around her body as she wandered deeper into the graveyard. Some fog passed through her body, and took the shape of a 10 foot cyclops. 

“I am the grave ghost! Fear me!”

“Hey Aaron.”

“Oh, hey Serafina.” The ghost relaxed and shrunk down to Serafina’s height, in a human form. “Has it been a year already?”

“No, I’m not here to visit my former husband. I’m here for, uh… Dildar, actually.”

Aaron squinted his illuminated eyes, and hovered around Serafina’s body. “Why?”

“Well, uh, see Aaron, I need something from Nomi and-”

“Tell that Gnome that she cannot have his bones.”

Tears welled in Serafina’s eyes. “Come on Aaron, it’s not like I’m asking for your husband’s bones.”

“Dildar was my first love and you know that.” Aaron descended slowly to sit on top of Dildar’s tombstone. He let out a sigh. “We met when I was 20.”

Aaron smiled softly, immersing himself in the soft memories.

Human Aaron was walking his dog when there was an explosion a few houses down. Thick smoke seeped out through the cracks in the window of the small stone house. A young man with singed eyebrows and a coarse beard stumbled out of the front door, and fell on the lawn.

“Are you okay?” Aaron asked, wafting away the smoke around him. 

“I’m fi-fi-fi-fine,” Dildar replied. 

Aaron offered a hand out towards Dildar. “You need some moisturizer, you are looking a little ashy.” 

Dildar burst out into laughter, then smudged some of the black soot from his cheek with the back of his hand.

“We became friends because of that,” ghost Aaron said recalling some more memories. “He sure was an experimental alchemist, and a talented witch.” 

Serafina spoke softly, “You know he would allow his bones to be used after his death.”

“I know that, Nomi just boils my blood.” Aaron floated up from the tombstone and circled around Serafina slowly. “Why are you helping the Gnome anyways?” 

“Satomi is craving parsley and-”

“Say no more,” Aaron interrupted. “I will make a deal with you. I will give you the bones of Dildar if,” he tapped his finger against each other, like he was hatching an evil plan. “You get me Rasmus’ lucky rabbit’s foot.”

“Oh, come on Aaron,” Serafina whined. 

“I cannot give you his bones, Serafina.”

“Fine, fine, I’ll get the rabbit’s foot for you.” Serafina turned and mumbled unpleasant commentary under her breath as she stormed out of the graveyard. 

___

Music was blaring through the open windows. Serafina’s knock was barely audible, but Rasmus swung the door open. 

“Serafina!” Rasmus shouted over the noise. “What’s up? Come in!”

Serafina immersed herself in the chaos, and without hesitation she tried to explain, “I’m going to be straight with you- well, not straight ‘cause i’m not.” She snorted. “But like, to the point, I need- Is that a dancing chicken?!”

“Oh yeah, Ove and Ivalu found her wandering on our front lawn,” Rasmus replied. “She’s pretty talented, huh?”

The chicken was racking up points in Dance Dance Revolution until the very end. The tiny Ivalu, exhausted, toppled over in defeat once the song finished. 

“Y’ain’t shit Ivalu,” Ove shouted at his sister, as he pushed her battered body to the side. 

Like clockwork, Ove and the chicken agreed on a song, and began to dance. But this song, When I Grow Up by The Pussycat Dolls, sent the chicken down memory lane.

Freshly hatched from the egg, the chicken was introduced to music, and with that, the influence to move to the melody. Her mother thought it was cute, the way she would move her feet, and sway her plump behind, but she wanted to be more than cute. She wanted to be the best. She wanted to be famous. 

At the ripe age of 1, she set out on her own. She followed the music, made it to frat parties, and befriended lonely flute players in the woods. 

‘I’ll be famous one day’, she would think as she practiced daily. On her journey, the chicken stumbled upon Rasmus’ front lawn, and danced to the music that poured out of the windows. 

Eventually, she caught the attention of the two children, and as many others had done, they welcomed the talented chicken into their home. However, this time was different. 

Other people, other homes, were not equipped with a game to help her practice. This game offered her a wide selection of tunes and choreography. Upon discovering this game, the chicken silently decided she would stay a while, and practice to achieve her dreams. 

‘I’ll be famous one day,’ she repeated in her head. ‘It is my dance dance resolution.’

Serafina stared in awe as the chicken demolished Ove this round without even breaking a sweat. Not that she could sweat, she’s a chicken after all. 

“Uh.” Serafina cleared her throat, and looked to Rasmus. “Look, I’m really in a rush. My wife needs parsley, but Nomi wants bones, and Aaron wants your lucky rabbit’s foot. Can I give you something in exchange for the foot?”

“Why does Satomi need parsley?”

“You know, pregnant women crave thi-”

“She’s pregnant?!” Rasmus threw his hands in the air, and giggled like a schoolgirl. 

Serafina smiled at his excitement. “Yeah, for a few months now.”

“I had no idea! I assumed hormone replacement therapy would make you infertile.”

“Oh no, I’m not on hormones. It’s hard enough to get my supply of period blood all the way out here, forget estrogen.” Serafina tossed her long hair over her shoulder. “Anyways, Rasmus, I need the lucky rabbit’s foot. What do you want in exchange for it?”

Serafina silently prayed for his request to be money. 

Rasmus placed a finger to his chin and stared at the ceiling as he thought. He animated his thought process by throwing his thinking hand into the air. “Oh! I know! Tamecia has a handwritten cookbook.”

“You want a cookbook?”

“Hey, I’m a single dad living in the middle of the forest. I need to make due with a surplus of wild mushrooms and ramps.”

Serafina sighed. “Fair enough. I’ll be back with the cookbook,” and she went on her not-so-merry-way.

___

She was exactly where Serafina knew she’d be; stuck in a tree. The branches crackled beneath her, and in an instant, Tamecia fell to the ground. 

Tamecia had a white afro as big as her belly, that now housed several branches and withering leaves. 

“Hey,” Serafina dragged out the word in a forced upbeat tone. “Tamecia.” 

“Serafina! Hello darling. Help me up, won’t you?” Tamecia grunted, and stuck her arms out for Serafina to grab. 

Serafina’s veins popped, muscles rippled as she strained to lift Tamecia up, who was putting in no effort herself. 

“There you go. Not too difficult for you, I hope?” Tamecia chuckled to herself, and dusted off her silk nightgown. 

Serafina was still panting as she blurted out, “Can I buy your cookbook?”

A bellow of laughter erupted from Tamecia. “Why would you need a cookbook, dear?”

“I don’t, but Rasmus does, and I need something from him.”

“Ah, Rasmus. Good fellow. Did you see that dancing chicken he has?”

“I had the pleasure of meeting her today. Now how about that cookbook.” Serafina whipped out her wallet from her back pocket. “How much do you want for it?”

“Oh sweetheart, I don’t want money.”

Serafina’s face light up like Diwali. “You don’t? Then can I get it n-”

“Monifa does have an invention I’m interested in.” Serafina immediately deflated as Tamecia continued, “If you can get that for me, dear, then I’ll gladly give you the cookbook.”

Serafina looked like death. “What’s the invention?”

“It’s a potion that gives you stretchy limbs. It’d be very useful for me. You don’t know how often my Kitty gets stuck in trees.”

“No no, I can imagine how often your kite Kitty gets caught in trees. We do live in a forest after all.” Serafina let out a long sigh, and carried herself away from Tamecia, who had begun another attempt at retrieving her pet kite from the tree. 

“So, a stretchy formula,” Serafina mumbled, swaying her lifeless body in the direction of Monifa’s house. 

___

Monifa’s lawn was full of botanical life, but with a clean walkway to the front door. Serafina breathed in the calming lavender, attempting to enjoy nature instead of letting the bitterness brew in her chest. She couldn’t believe Nomi was the only person in the whole village to grow parsley. 

‘It’s okay.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I will get this parsley, as if my life depends on it.’

Just as Serafina put her fist to the door, it swung open. “Hey Serafina,” Monfia said. 

“That was… were you expecting someone or something?” Serafina looked behind her, and searched around for someone else. 

“No.” Monifa leaned against the doorframe. “You were just standing on my porch for a while. Seemed a little out of it. Are you okay?”

Serafina’s voice cracked, and her body fell, as she clutched onto Monifa’s lab coat. “I need parsley.”

“Oh, okay?” Monifa instinctively held onto Serafina, and attempted to pull her up. “How can I help?” 

“I need your limb-stretching formula or whatever it’s called.”

“Stretcher 4.0. I’m sorry, but how does… how does that help you get parsley?”

Serafina pulled herself up with the aid of Monifa, and explained to her they daily events that led to this moment. She pointed to the trees, and danced like the chicken to animate her predicament. 

Monifa attempted to contain her laughter. “Wait wait wait, you’re going through all of this because your wife is craving parsley?”

“My wife has eczema, I can’t just not! Our child will have parsley all over their skin!”

“Actually, that superstition has been disproven for centu-”

“PARSLEY! PARSLEY ON OUR BABY’S BODY!” Serafina threw her hands in the air frantically, then dragged her fingers through her hair, tugging it down. “Now, what do you want in exchange for the stretchy thingy?”

Monifa paused for a moment before pointing behind her. “Do you see a little girl eating brownies back there?”

Serafina peered in, noticing a tray of untouched, steaming brownies, but no sign of anyone else in the bungalow. “Uh, no?”

Monifa adjusted her glasses to sit higher up the bridge of her nose. “Okay, I figured I needed to switch up my meds.” Monfia reached into her pocket, and pulled out a thin vial with a thick iridescent fluid. “Here you go, the stretcher 4.0.”

Serafina took it in her hands, and stared at it bewildered. “That’s all?”

“Yeah.”

“Are.. you sure?”

“Yup, that’s all I needed. Oh! One more thing before you go; be sure to unplug your appliances after use, because it can burn out the device and it wastes electricity.”

Serafina switched her gaze from the vial to Monifa, with tears forming in her eyes. She sniffled, “Thank you.”

___

The house was flooded with the burnt orange of dawn light, and Serafina swam in the warmth of it. The parsley in her hands flopped around as she danced to jazz music from the 1920’s, playing softly on the record player.

Even with the missing component of garlic, the scent of tomato sauce transported Serafina to her childhood in Italy.  

She burst into the tiny kitchen to greet Satomi when the record scratched and stopped. 

A pot began to spit out sauce as Satomi stood frozen over the stove, with her eyes fixed on Serafina. Satomi’s hand was still on her neck, which was inflamed and cracked. Slowly, her hand moved down to her side. 

Serafina held the bouquet of parsley out and mumbled, “You’re not still craving this, are you?”

“I, uh,” Satomi stuttered, just as the pot of water began to boil over. 

Satomi hurriedly removed the lid from the pot, and slowly stirred in the pasta, occasionally stealing glances of Serafina. 

Finally, Serafina relaxed into a smile as she watched her wife. She imagined their child looking just like Satomi, with birthmarks in place of her eczema. 

Serafina planted a kiss on Satomi’s cheek. “Our child is going to be so beautiful.”

[seriouslyblacklikemysoul]

An Ephemeral Eternity in Seven Parts - Steve Rogers x Reader.

MASTERLIST Warnings: Gifs aren’t mine. My English. Word Count~ 2.7k PART I PART II

Everywhere she looked she would see familiar faces but not quite known. She was always in a haze that blocked her from being herself... Well, not that she knew who that was. Starring out of her window and into the city, she realized how small she was, just a dot in an evergreen universe that expanded beyond her wildest fantasies. Maybe life wasn't for everyone she thought. Maybe she was failing it because she didn't know how to do it. How to function.  Since she could remember, discipline, austerity, punctuality, precision and discretion were all she was taught. Over and over again.  Back when HYDRA was being supplied women by Madam B., she had gained a lot of attention. Madam B. had seen potential and she insisted on ballet lessons. At first, she thought that ballet would be a way to exit everything but she soon realized that while indeed taking ballet classes she was been taught how to kill with the exact same moves. In the past couple of months, somewhere between Ultron and Rumlow, her fractured memories were falling to place, revealing all that horror of a past.   An especially bad memory, that had been followed by many others, was unfolding in front of her eyes while she was asleep. She faced her first victim. Murdered a young girl while being one. Courtesy of Madam B. She shot awake and run to Natasha, not even caring about the time. Sooner rather than later many of her victims showed their faces, each leaving her without breath. She had killed a lot of people. A lot of innocent people. And no matter how much she would try to redeem those actions, she was never going to be able go forgive herself. She had hit another level of desperation. She was no goddess. Maybe a monster, a lying one.   Of course it was doomed to end cruelly, why would she expect anything but? He was the sun, the God of everything good and pure. Gods were simply tragedies waiting to happen to people like her. She had realized that all the dark tales are true, that when sinners like her loved Gods, all that was left was their abyss and the burning embers of themselves. She closed her eyes and left the view from her not being able to look at it any longer.  Tiptoeing across the compound, trying to be as soundless as possible, she walked pass his room, the temptation much greater than her common sense, as she heard muffled words.   "I could already see it in the quick flash before she turned away onto that empty sidewalk yesterday. She always looked like she had learned how to handle herself a long time ago, but in the way children are forced to grow up too fast. She had always seemed so unwilling to show weakness, but I could see the tears that were waiting to fall and the kind of sadness that was so apparent despite her attempts to hide it and the kind of exhaustion that tells me that maybe she had just given up.  After so long, I still wish I had asked her how she felt. I hope she knew that I wanted her safe, that I cared. That I still do" Steve was whispering to someone, who did not answer. Her mind played games, making her hope for something only to have her be a wrecked mess later on. He would never talk about her like that, he would never feel like that for her. The truth was, she had already decided her future was going to be a mirror of her past, dark, cold and lonely. She never really gave herself a chance. How could she?   She forced her legs to move and take her away from there. Waltzing in the huge kitchen without turning any lights on, she reached for the top self of the cupboard above the oven. She enjoyed the darkness better; it was reflecting parts of herself that no one could ever see. She grabbed a shot glass and poured the vodka she found, downing it immediately to numb the frostbiting cold that grew inside her. She repeated that a couple more times than necessary. Anything was better than being in pain. She took out her tabacco smoke, filters and rolling papers and treated herself with a cigarette, lighting it up, inhaling the rich texture, downing the smoke and exhaling it.  "You shouldn't be drinking or smoking. You should be sleeping" his softly reprimanding voice startled her. She turned on the dim light above the oven, just so she could she him. There was moonlight in his eyes and stars that rested upon his lips. Constellations that fell for him after the sunlight dipped.   "It’s nights like these that are the worst; when I can’t sleep no matter how tired I feel and there are all these thoughts eating me up, wondering if I’ll ever be enough for someone to love, after all the things I've done" she finally admitted. Maybe it was the alcohol, or the smoke, maybe it was the late night hour. He was taken aback by her brutally honest answer. He ran his hands through his golden locks and she could only guess how soft they felt.   "You don’t owe anyone an apology but yourself. You have to let go" he said, stepping closer to her. He was tired, that much was obvious. But she was tired too. Pretending to be the girl they thought she was, trying to be better for him... She wasn't the little sunshine Sharon was. She was dark, broken and stained for life. She locked her eyes with his.  "Have you?" she blatantly asked him, already knowing the answer. He was still looking at her, eyes darting from her for a mere second, enough for them to understand each other. He took the bottle of vodka and placed it back in the cupboard above their heads while he put her cigarette out.  "You should rest. We have a long day ahead of us" he tenderly said. She smiled in a melancholic way.  "You shouldn't talk like that. Someone might think that you do care about me" she commented sorrowfully. He was caught by surprise but didn't fail to see her eyes looking at his intensely like they were waiting for a coherent answer. He sighted, defeated.   "That's the thing, doll. I do care about you" he breathed out with his eyes darting to her lips and back to her eyes. She nodded a bit heartbroken but she asked anyway.  "Then promise me that at some point you're gonna hold me in a way that will make all those broken pieces stick together again". And in that moment she let him see how damaged she was but he didn't turn away. She decided it was time to let him be and maybe even get a decent hour of sleep.   "Goodnight Steve" she bid him and walked away, leaving him completely stunned. He knew though, he would keep that promise no matter what. 

It had been all over the news. The Avengers had failed. Too many casualties. "Our people's blood is spilled on foreign soil. Not only because of the actions of criminals, but by the indifference of those pledged to stop them. Victory at the expense of the innocent, is no victory at all" the King of Wakanda said. She rolled her eyes at his statement. Wanda was the one who was affected the most. She had literally locked herself in her room watching the reporters repeating themselves. She had to hand it to them, they were excellent creating guilty consciousness. She wasn't shocked nor questioning her abilities. She was aware that every battle was going to have casualties, they weren't perfect but they were the closest thing this earth had to protectors. Since the moment her powers unlocked, she had become unstoppable.  She was indeed an Enhanced individual thanks to all those experiments, she had gained control over nature, she could manipulate the human mind and she was strong enough to send Captain America flying across the room with a single kick. Knowing that she was powerful enough to help everyone who wasn't made her throw herself in the game without even thinking about it. It was her obligation. Slowly but surely, he noticed the changes - they were small at first but they grew to be spectacular. He was impressed and inspired by her. She was about to enter Wanda's room when she heard his voice and halted.  "Rumlow said "Bucky" and . . . all of a sudden I was a 16-year-old kid again, in Brooklyn" he said defeated. She noticed that they were sitting next to each other and her heart squeezed.   "And people died. It's on me" he concluded but Wanda disagreed.  "It's on both of us" she told him. That was when she decided to step in and stop being jealous from the door frame.   "This job . . . we try to save as many people as we can. Sometimes that doesn't mean everybody. But if we can't find a way to live with that, next time . . . maybe nobody gets saved" he tried to reason with her.  "I didn’t know before that hope could be a person but that's exactly what we are doing Wanda. It's not on you. It's not on us. It's on those reporters trying to get to our heads. Don't let 'em" she said certain of her truth, which made Steve look at her in a new found admiration. If she had hope, no one had the right to give up he thought. Vision materialized out of thin air, startling them.  "Vis! We talked about this" Wanda softly reprimanded him, but there was something more to it, she could tell.   "Yes, but the door was open so I assumed that . . ." Vision trailed off as he gestured at the door.   "Captain Rogers wished to know when Mr. Stark was arriving" he continued, giving Wanda a sad look.   "Thank you. We'll be right down" he told him as he made his way to her.  "I'll . . . use the door. Oh, and apparently, he's brought a guest" Vision informed them and she knew that Tony was up to no good. She could sense something was off.   "Who did my father dragged into this time?" she sarcastically asked as she realized all eyes were on her.  "The Secretary of State". Fuck. She looked at Steve worried. It wasn't going to end well. Not even a chance. She chuckled darkly and turned hot on her heels. ...  "For the past four years, you've operated with unlimited power and no supervision. That's an arrangement the governments of the world can no longer tolerate. But I think we have a solution" Ross sternly told them as he placed a thick document on the desk and passed to Wanda. She picked it up but immediately passed it to her enhanced friend.  "The Sokovia Accords. Approved by 117 countries . . . it states that the Avengers shall no longer be a private organization. Instead, they'll operate under the supervision of a United Nations panel, only when and if that panel deems it necessary" Ross pointed out.   "The Avengers were formed to make the world a safer place. I feel we've done that" Steve cut through his lies. He looked up and met her eyes, fierce and unforgiving to her father. He thought she would feel trapped but she had never made a decision with more ease in her life.   "Tell me, Captain, do you know where Thor and Banner are right now?" Secretary Ross pushed back as she met his eyes and soft purple sparks flew from her fingers in anger, something that Steve saw and softly took her hand in his.   "If I misplaced a couple of 30 megaton nukes . . . you can bet there'd be consequences. Compromise. Reassurance. That's how the world works. Believe me, this is the middle ground" he continued without the slightest idea of how angry she was. And how dangerous.   "So, there are contingencies" James came to the same conclusion they had.  "Three days from now, the UN meets in Vienna to ratify the Accords" Ross told them and she glared daggers at Tony. He knew she was stubborn but he hoped she would side with him. She stood up abruptly and left the room. She was suffocating.

"Tony. You are being uncharacteristically non-hyper-verbal" Natasha commented dryly.   "It's because he's already made up his mind" Steve attacked back.   "Boy, you know me so well" he ironically told him off as he got up, rubbing the back of his head. He placed his phone in a basket and tapped it, a young man appearing.   "Oh, that's Charles Spencer, by the way. He's a great kid. Computer engineering degree, 3.6 GPA. Had a floor level gig at Intel planned for the fall. But first, he wanted to put a few miles on his soul, before he parked it behind a desk. See the world. Maybe be of service. Charlie didn't want to go to Vegas or Fort Lauderdale, which is what I would do. He didn't go to Paris or Amsterdam, which sounds fun. He decided to spend his summer building sustainable housing for the poor. Guess where, Sokovia. He wanted to make a difference, I suppose. I mean, we won't know because we dropped a building on him while we were kicking ass. There's no decision-making process here. We need to be put in check! Whatever form that takes, I'm game. If we can't accept limitations, if we're boundary-less, we're no better than the bad guys." he felt the headache affecting his speech and he downed a pill with some coffee. She tuned out as they went on discussing and fighting. Her world was crumbling down one more time. She had grown tired of rebuilding her life every few years.   "So are you in my side? Cause if you're not... you can't stay here" he finally asked her, thinking that pressure was the best method. She closed her eyes for a moment and let go.  "Okay, fine. You wanna play dad to this kid? Go ahead. Be my guest. But let me tell you, dad, the monster beneath my bed was the monster called Childhood. It was ugly and hungry, just like me. I can remember the taste of nightmares. They are still on my tongue. I wasn’t prepared for this; blurry, swirly images of a world with an appetite for innocence. They were supposed to keep me safe, but instead they chewed me up and spat me out. I met evil when I was just a child. Pick a color, then a number, and I’ll tell you your future. Did I survive? I’m not sure. In the mirror, I see a half-formed creature. Shh. The knots in the wood beneath the kitchen table looked like screaming faces. I can’t remember the last time a house felt like a home. And now this. Tony, this not about you. It's about me, about my ideas and my beliefs. I am not siding against you to punish you. I am simply standing my ground. And if that means you don't want me to live here anymore... that's okay too. I don't have a shield or a suite to put down and stand back. I am the shield, I am the suite. I am not going to place myself in their disposal" she went on and on, making everyone look at her in a new light. She gave him a smile, a sad one and nodded as she realized.  "Bye dad" she whispered and left the room to pack a bag with few of her things. She would manage.   "I have to go" she heard him say but she knew she wasn't the one he was going after. After all, she had those damn powers. She knew a bit more than she ever let on. 

Taglist: @accio-rogers​ @coffee-with-orion​ @moli1497​

[sobdasha]

"I definitely updated my list of books I was reading on tumblr so it's all good" -me, a lying liar, right before spending several months finishing my reread of All The Discworld Books I Own But In Chronological Order For The First Time Ever Which In Fact Makes A Difference.

(and then I did it again after the libraries closed)

The Left Hand of Darkness, Ursula K. Le Guin Hm, so. I definitely read this. At some point. It was not really for me, not bad, but not really for me. This particular edition had various notes before and after the text, all of which I read, which made it an experience I got more out of. It's important for me to know that the author is aware that the protagonist is a raging misogynist who's stupid, and yes this was on purpose so you'd realize how really incredibly stupid he is and thus maybe be tricked into changing your mind yourself. It is a legit tactic, but one I tend not to enjoy, so if I hadn't been forewarned I'd have been UUUUGGGGGHHHH MAKE HIM SHUT UP ALREADY and probably rage-quit. As it was, I was able to better appreciate what Le Guin was doing here, even if this book didn't win a place in my heart and I probably won't reread. I definitely preferred Ancillary Justice's take, with the feminine pronouns. For my brain, masculine pronouns = they might as well all be men = business as usual = I didn't really get any gender queering from it. I can't really remember much else now. Oh, it was also part "survival in the wilderness" story, which they're big on making you read in school (which I find very suspicious), and which I tolerated and read a few classic ones on my own until they kept assigning these kinds of stories for us to read and now I get nothing from them and mindlessly hate them. Anyway, as I said, not bad at all but not really for me.

Lavinia, Ursula K. Le Guin This one's a reread--I picked it up from the library during college because we were doing Titus Andronicus in class and it didn't occur to me that there might be more than one Lavinia???? But hey it worked out because later in college we did the Aeneid and then I had Background for rereading Lavinia. This is the book that is lyrical and beautiful and pulls me in and makes me care deeply about the world and the characters. This is the book of Le Guin's that makes me feel the way everyone else feels about Earthsea and The Left Hand of Darkness and etc. I would like to find more of Le Guin's work that makes me feel the same way, because as I've said you can really tell from her other stuff that she's a solid writer who knows her stuff. I just…don't enjoy any of the other things. Anyway I recommend. I always forget about this book, and then when I reread I'm like "wow why don't I read this more often?????"

How Long 'Til Black Future Month?, N. K. Jemisin I liked every story in this short story collection. I should just reread it and try writing this up again tbh but also tbh I'll probably do the rereading and then just not write anything up again. Just read Jemisin's stuff I love her writing so much okay. ETA: that’s exactly what I did, I reread this during my covid rereads and said “I should do a proper write-up this time” and lo and behold where is it

Tehanu, Ursula K. Le Guin Okay, this last Earthsea book treated me much better than the others. It's probably not for everyone else, which might be why it's for me. It's much more domestic, much less "plot" happening, full of introspection, and centered on women rather than men. This novel acknowledges and confronts the rampant internalized misogyny in the previous three books, engages it in a way that the misandrist in me finds satisfying even though it never comes to a good solution for the problem. This book is more like a reflection. Earthsea has never been about "light is always good, dark is always bad; be a hero, fight evil" etc. But this one I think shifts the tone a little farther; it's less about balance, and more...I guess I'd put it as, "actions have consequences." It's not concerned with right or wrong, it's concerned with people getting hurt. It's pretty somber and serious, without any humor to balance it out, tons of bad things happen to people, lots of PTSD...but this time I really cared about the characters, and I feel like it was all handled really well? In addition to critiquing internalized misogyny, it also critiqued victim blaming. Seemed like it handled disability pretty well too--was honest about how people are jerks about it in reality, while still being optimistic and treating Therru as valuable; made occasional mentions of considering work-arounds for having only one fully-functional hand, while mostly just having Therru go about living and doing chores and being capable and assuming she did find those work-arounds without having to draw attention to it; and Therru's terrible scars didn't get magically healed at the end, the whole book makes a point all the way through that her physical scars will always be with her the same way her emotional scars will be, and she's simply learned how to go on living with them. Tehanu: a book full of trauma happening to people, where what would normally be the plot in a fantasy novel ended up not even getting started to be resolved, but Le Guin's writing and handling of the subject matter helped heal my jaded soul.

Ninefox Gambit, Yoon Ha Lee A quick summary of my experience: Chapter 1 - ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh what is going on what even Chapter 2 - no, no this is just, this is what sci fi is like, right? Just give it a few chapters and then by the end of the book everything will probably make sense. I'm sure that's how it works. Remember how even in Ancillary Justice I ended up with two separate Battles of Valskay, but now everything is fine??? It's. Fine. Chapter 4 - (ohhhhhhh I still don't know what's going on) Several Chapters Later - still no clue what's going on, but hit my stride with the terminology, my foreign language instinct kicked in where words stopped sounding weird and while I could not for the life of me define any terms for you, I had a vague comprehension of how the words operated In Context. Sort of. And by then I had, without realizing it, begun page-turning and binging, so I guess I liked the book lol! Another serious-but-not-funny one, but with an extra dose of War Memoir and all the gruesomeness that entails (but probably, like any good War Memoir, probably not actually gratuitous and actually in fact the necessary amount of gruesome). Jedao was turned into a woobie at the last minute and, well, damn, guy knows the way to my heart. The novel apparently gripped me enough that I don't even mind that it only came into play at the very end of the game. And hey, there's two more novels to deal with that revelation, which I have picked up from the library to read immediately! Yay! Current personal theory: based on the heavy math references that made me want to cry at the start, but the almost entire absence of actual numbers, and a reference to "there's no way actual physics works like that, it was obviously a calendrical effect" or something…I'm going to throw out a wild guess that the calendar stuff (and all the social structuring that goes with it) is so that they can break and reinvent math. So they can effect a universe where 2+2=5 and therefore a bunch of people standing in this exact position makes a force field or bullets of rose thorns or whatever and some other dude can make himself immortal. This sounded like a pretty terrible theory already and it sounds even worse now I've typed it up but oh well.

Raven Stratagems, Yoon Ha Lee Guess who didn't write this up back when she read it!!! Also, I returned Ninefox Gambit to the library right before the libraries shut down for covid. So, I had Raven and Revenant on hand for months but I didn't have Ninefox on hand to do an immediate reread to see if that made the sci fi make more sense. (It probably wouldn't have, but I would have liked to do a rereading while the ending was still fresh.) By this time there is a lesser degree of visceral viscera. Lee is brutal, however, about continuing to be honest about what war costs and whether war is worth that cost (which depends, really, on whose lives you think matter. Very relevant for these times. Very much prepared me to shut up and not whine about the inconveniences of protests and their fallout. There is no pretty and clean way to have a revolution, since it involves destroying a particular [terrible] way of life, so we're all just gonna have to sacrifice together). Also I think by this point all the character development from the first novel paid off in the form of character dynamics being hilarious now despite, y’know, the gruesome shadow of war.

Revenant Gun, Yoon Ha Lee Continues to discuss the honest price of war and the messiness of fallout. Shuos "The risks I took were calculated, but boy am I bad at math" Jedao. Oh I think this is also the one where every so often one of the characters thinks, "Okay so this person is a tyrannical murderous dictator but he is ensuring that there will never again be food shortages and no one in the space empire ever goes hungry." And then Lee turns around and is like, "Haha but don't forget this same person invented a form of vital infrastructural technology (and also immortality) that is optionally based off ritual human torture sacrifice. Like he didn't have to do that to make it work. He just decided to anyway. And that's always bad :) " (Also useful in our current climate of "Okay but we should consider the other person's circumstances and point of view" and also "Yeah but that doesn't apply if they're literally Nazis tho.")

Hexarchate Stories, Yoon Ha Lee A collection of short stories set in the universe of those three books. There's one story at the end that does satisfy the "But I wanted another sequel!!!" urge. And there's a bit of backstory for Jedao and Cheris. But by and large what you should be in the mood to read is flash fiction snippets that simply happen to be set in the same universe but have no bearing on the plot. Which is pretty cool and interesting if you are in the proper mindset! Even better, Lee includes author's notes at the end of each story to talk about the story, or the influences, or the context of his life at the time, etc etc. That is always my absolute favorite part of a short story collection. Also these notes told me everything I needed to know about why I liked certain things about his writing. "I wanted to write my own AUs," "If I get stuck I go on TV Tropes," "My only regret is that I had to cut the scene where Jedao goes to ~Halloween~ dressed as himself and trolls people" ahhhh that's also a regret I share.

Dragon Pearl, Yoon Ha Lee This one is YA! There is a lot less gore although I guess there was still genocide! Read this when you are in the mood for something that doesn't attempt to hide the fact that the plot is completely, conveniently contrived to give you fast-paced action and fun. Min sure has a lot of coincidental meetings that should stretch my disbelief but I don't care. Also, I am enjoying reading books with girls as protagonists that do what I'm tired of being told to love about boy protagonists--just keep barreling along with complete self-assurance that you are right and, if you run into trouble, you can egotistically figure your way out.

The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms, N. K. Jemisin Gods and mortal ruling family's messy soap opera sexcapades is not exactly my favorite genre, but luckily it is handled by Jemisin so it's all good. Lots of Souma Family Values. I'm really appreciating how Jemisin considers choice of narrator very carefully and uses it to brilliant effect in this trilogy. Stories are things told by a narrator to an audience; why should we rely on the artifice of an "impartial" "reliable" "omniscient" 3rd person narrator writing into the void? This trilogy was Jemisin's first, I believe, so it's a little awkward coming back to them now, only because Jemisin is such a powerful writer that the themes she's begun working with here have only gotten stronger with each successive work.

The Broken Kingdoms, N. K. Jemisin This one I rated as I read for Protagonist Is Blind based on the scale of a sighted person going "but some of my best friends are blind!" In that regard, I think the book does really well! Blindness doesn't define Oree's life and value; Oree doesn't get magical powers that make her a blind person who isn't really blind; Oree moves away from home and gets a job and lives on her own which seems very accurate to me based on my knowledge of one (1) person who is blind; instead of being ~cured~, Oree actually gets more blind at the end of the story and this is considered a Good Ending. Also personal bonus points are awarded for references to her stick being handy for hitting people with. Some stuff was stereotypical, but Jemisin's intent was not. A+, will read again, please support including way more characters who are blind in media. Anyway I enjoyed this one.

The Kingdom of Gods, N. K. Jemisin First off, Jemisin directly up front critiques the narration choices she made in the first two books and then pays it off like a boss at the end. Like holy crap. I admit by now I was getting a bit bored of the genre, but the book was still very engaging because Jemisin is a master. It may also have been affected by how much increasing pain I've been in lately.

The Awakened Kingdom, N. K. Jemisin I'm dead. This one was way more my speed and you need the other three books to understand this novella but ohhhh my god it's perfect. I read a lot of choice passages of this aloud to my roommate because how could you resist. It's still heavy but it's hilarious. Bless Shill.

[simplyshelbs16xoxo]

‘Repeating History’ Chapter 1: Then and Now

Happy Sherlolly Halloween at 221B Time!

In 1894: It seems that Jack the Ripper is on the loose again despite his disappearance, but Sherlock and Molly are on the case. They set out to find the identity of the ripper, unaware that they’re closer to the answer than they think...

In 2016: Sherlock and Molly are together, but their relationship is rocky to start with after the phone call. A modern Jack the Ripper is terrorizing London, and seems to have close ties with the detective. Meanwhile, strange dreams of a past life plague both Sherlock and Molly, leading them to the identity of the murderer.

Note:  This is the most complex fic I've every written, so please bare with me. If you don't understand something, please don't hesitate to PM me with any questions. I have combed through these chapters several times over, rewritten them several times over, etc. A huge thank you to @manus-multae-cor-unum and @penelope1730 for beta-reading my first 4 chapters!

FFN | Ao3 | Buy Me a Coffee?

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1894

Scouring the depths of London’s dark streets, two gentlemen accompany the Detective Inspector to the scene of the crime that had occurred only two hours ago. They are fresh on the trail of a man who plans to terrorize the city for months, and to never make it easy for anyone to figure out when or where he may strike next.

“Dear God, Holmes, what do you make of this?” John Watson asked his colleague, his face twisted in horror, gesturing toward the young woman lying cold on the dark city street. She had been brutally murdered, as her intestines were in a jumble sprouting from within her. Her stomach appeared to be missing as well. It was a most gruesome sight, indeed.

               Sherlock Holmes, a distinguished and somewhat modern gentleman of his time, studied the body for any leads. He scrunched his nose in the slightest as he bent down to survey the handiwork of the murderer. Tracing a gloved finger over one side of the opening, he noticed how clean the cut was. “Whomever opened this woman up has a clear understanding of medical procedures, and a tenacity for the most gruesome murders, not unlike another madman who had been running around.” His voice was a deep baritone, smooth as whisky.

               Watson paced frantically, his bushy mustache in motion from the way he was wriggling his nose. “You don’t mean to say that The Ripper is back, do you, Holmes?”

               “Who is to say he ever left?” Sherlock quipped, a smirk showing upon his face. “It may be him, or it may be another who was inspired by The Ripper’s work.” He brought up a calloused hand to smooth his already slicked-back hair. “I have reason to believe it is the latter, as the victim was not a woman of the streets.” He paused, and pointed toward her hand. “For instance, gripped in her hand is a nursing chatelaine. If you notice,” he continued, lifting an item hanging from the chatelaine, “these scissors were used to ward off her attacker as you can see from the bloodstains. It does concern me, however, that this is the second nurse to have been killed in the span of three weeks.”

               “Fascinating, Holmes,” Watson mused. “How in the devil do you do it?” It was a rhetorical question, though Sherlock seemed to find it a necessity to answer it for the simple-minded. They continued to converse, both oblivious to the fact that they were not alone. Neither realised there had been a pair of eyes watching them throughout the ordeal, also fascinated by the accuracy of Sherlock’s deductions.

.

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               Ah, the scent of formaldehyde was a welcoming one. It marked what his elder brother, Mycroft, deemed his ‘home away from home.’ The hospital was bustling as usual with nurses and doctors taking care of their many patients. Sherlock walked through the west corridor toward the main office when a nurse bumped right into him.

               “Oh, I am so terribly sorry, sir!” She bent down to pick up the towels she had dropped; only standing upright to face him when they were decently re-folded. Sherlock took note of her appearance right away. Her chestnut locks were curled, and up tight against her head despite the flyaway hairs that stuck to her face. Her eyes were a deep shade of brown, and sparkled beautifully. She had a petite stature, only coming up to his chest. There was a stethoscope hanging from around her shoulders, and her chatelaine was properly attached at the waist.

               He nodded his head in acknowledgment. “All is well, Miss…”

               “Hooper,” she informed him, a sweet smile showing on her face. “Margaret Hooper, but you can call me Molly. May I ask for your name?”

               “Oh, well, it’s—“

               “Sherlock Holmes, as I live and breathe!” Mike Stamford exclaimed, clapping his hands together. “I see you’ve met our most promising nurse! Miss Molly Hooper is an excellent nurse, and a gifted pathologist to boot!” This small fact had suddenly fascinated the detective.

               “A pathologist? Is that right?” He flashed a smile of pure wonderment. Miss Hooper, however, appeared to be avoiding his gaze. “You must be quite brilliant!” Sherlock had always been supportive of women getting ahead in what society deemed ‘a man’s world.’ This, however, was the first time he’d come across such a woman in person.

               “Thank you, kindly, Mister Holmes,” she replied in a gentle tone of voice. “If you were to ever find yourself in need of service of the forensic nature, do not hesitate to call on me.” With a subtle nod of her head, she left the two men for her nursing duties. Stamford just so happened to notice the way Sherlock’s eyes followed after her until she disappeared around the corner. Perhaps, the detective had finally found himself bewitched by a woman whose intelligence could be a match for his own.    

               Stamford spoke up to recapture Holmes’s attention. “So, what is it you need to talk with me about?”

               Sherlock quickly snapped out of his thoughts, replying, “Oh yes, I was going to ask if you’ve any reason to be wary around any of your employees? Particularly male.”

               “None that I can think of; they all seem pretty sane to me,” Stamford joked with a belly laugh. “Is there a reason for such an inquiry?”

               “We found a woman murdered late last night; another nurse. No identification yet, but it looks as if the murderer has extensive medical knowledge. I have reason to believe that the nurses you have employed here may be in grave danger.” Sherlock immediately thought of Miss Hooper on a slab, herself, but banished the thought from his mind. “Let me know if you suspect anyone, Stamford. It could save lives.”

               With a flourish, Sherlock rushed out of the hospital doors, eager to view the preliminary results of the autopsy that Lestrade had acquired. He was fairly certain that if or when there was another murder, Sherlock would make his preference of pathologist known. It was strange to him to feel a strong connection with someone after only just meeting them, but there was something about Miss Hooper that fascinated him. For somebody who was surrounded by death, she was quite the cheerful damsel.

.

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2016

               Molly Hooper had been feeling odd for the past couple of weeks, for that’s how long it had been since the phone call Eurus Holmes had forced Sherlock to make. Granted, she and Sherlock have been in a relationship since then as well, but it still took some getting used to. Molly thought at first that it was just the usual jitters she was used to getting around him lately, but couldn’t help but think it was something else causing it. As to what it could be, she hadn’t the faintest idea. Instead of dwelling on the growing anxiety, she decided to snap on a pair of latex gloves in preparation for the autopsy she was called in by Stamford for.

               “Victim’s name is Lucille Hornsby,” she spoke into the voice recorder. “Thirty-two years old. Victim appears to have been murdered by way of strangulation, followed by the removal of the lungs. Incisions appear to be of a professional nature, as the organs appear to have been extracted with great care.” Releasing the record button, Molly felt her stomach coil in knots, feeling a pair of eyes on her. She dared not turn around, for fear had struck her frozen.

               “Don’t stop on my account, darling.”

Whirling around, Molly exhaled heavily, a hand pressed against her chest. “Jesus, Sherlock, you scared the devil out of me!”

“Quite the statement, Molly,” he replied, obviously amused. Sherlock now stood beside her, studying the body. “How is our case going?”

Furrowing her eyebrows, Molly looked up at him. “Ah—our case?” Sherlock simply looked at her as if this were an obvious fact. “So soon after Sherrinford? And your parents?”

“I need to keep my mind preoccupied after everything; I mustn’t lose my touch after all,” he explained. “Oh! And my parents are expecting us for dinner; we’ll be going someplace upscale I assume as it is Mycroft’s treat.”

Molly’s mind was racing, unable to keep up with all that had been thrown at her in the span of two minutes. It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy working cases with Sherlock, but that she had been worried about him as of late. Neither of them were quite used to their change in relationship status, and his emotional and psychological wounds were only just beginning to heal. They had only been finding their footing for two weeks, and he wanted her to meet his parents tonight!? “Sherlock,” she began, but he was still rambling.

“…and I was hoping we could—“

“Sherlock!” Molly’s own jaw couldn’t help but drop in the slightest, as it was very rare for her to raise her voice at him. “I’m sorry, I just—this is all a bit much right now.” Sherlock looked as if he were a puppy who had been kicked.

It took a moment, but he finally spoke, though his voice was much softer, and less confident than before. “Do you mean to say this case is too much, or the bit about meeting my parents?” Molly opened her mouth to speak, but Sherlock added on one last thing. “Or is this,”—he took a breath—“about us?” He noticed a flicker of something in her eyes.

She avoided his gaze, unable to face him as she said, “I don’t know.” Her heart felt heavy. “Maybe.” In all honesty, she wasn’t sure what the issue was, and she told him as much. “I’m not sure.”

“Okay…” Sherlock remarked, looking around awkwardly. “We’re not breaking up…are we?” The worry he felt was written plainly on his face.

“N—no, of course not,” Molly assured him.

“And we’re still working the case together?” he asked out of curiosity.

“Yes, and I do need to finish my autopsy if I’m going to be of any help,” Molly pointed out.

Taking a cold, clinical tone, Sherlock replied, “Right, well, carry on, then.”

.

.

Sherlock arrived at Mycroft’s just barely in time before they were to leave for the restaurant, along with his parents. He was disappointed that Molly wouldn’t be joining them tonight. Even worse, he was going to have to explain why she wasn’t there. Peering his head around the corner, into the sitting room, he saw his parents sitting on the sofa whilst Mycroft remained upright. Taking a deep breath, he entered the room.

“Sherlock, dear, there you are!” Mrs. Holmes said sweetly, standing up to give her son a hug.

“Yes, and I am sorry, but I’m afraid Molly isn’t going to be able to make it. She’s come down with something,” he lied.

“What do you mean?” Mr. Holmes asked. “She’s upstairs.”

Sherlock scrunched up his face in bafflement. “She’s—?” He heard the soft tap of Molly’s flats hit the stairway. Looking up, he couldn’t help but stare. Molly was there, dressed in a vintage style cotton dress. It was a deep shade of purple with a sweetheart neckline, and puffed short sleeves. There were decorative buttons—five of them—going down the middle of the bodice. Her hair cascaded over her left shoulder, and had been styled in loose 1920s waves.

“Ready to go?” Molly asked once she finished her descent into the sitting room, and looping her arm through Sherlock’s. They walked a few paces behind everyone else in order to speak without an audience.

Sherlock was confused to say the least. “Molly?” he whispered. “Not that I’m not happy you’re here, but I thought you weren’t coming. Remember? The row we had?”

Molly, leaning closer to him replied softly, “I know, but I thought things over, and the important thing is that I’m sorry. I want to spend this time with you and your family. It’s important to not only you, but me too. I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that earlier.”

He stopped just before exiting through the front door, unknowing that his family had stopped to watch them from the town car. “We’ll talk tonight?” he asked, whispering in her ear. Molly smiled in response, fully aware of the eyes watching them. Sherlock hadn’t gotten the memo until after he softly kissed her on the cheek, when his mum spoke up.

“Oh, you two are just darling!”

This was going to be a long night...

[teamvnla]

Cutscene ; MKRL meets COAL

Jae nearly fell back from the weight of both Silverlight holstered on his back and the rabbit Faunus throwing herself into his arms. He wrapped his arms around her taking a step back as he managed not to fall over.

The other quickly caught up with Lye, Cinnamon looked frantically between the girl and Van for some kind of explanation.

Van felt same bitterness from when they had first seen Nava again, crawling up the back of his throat. A stark contrast to the cheerful aura from Lye and Jae.

"What are you doing here?" She asked pulling away from the embrace.

"I assume for the same reason you are." He responded gaze glancing away from Lye to the others around them.

"Mind introducing us to your little friend here?" Leo spoke up, cocking his head to the side as he looked over the four new faces.

"Lye and Van Marigold...." Opal muttered to herself, her gaze rolling over the twins. Her comment almost went unnoticed, almost. Van's eyes flicked to the women, he didn't recognize her yet she recognized them.

"This is Lye, we were on the same team at Beacon." Jae looked to Van. "And that is Van, he was our team leader." There was a tentive pause. "Its good to see you're well."

"Wish I could say the same." The response was blunt surprising Lye as well as Kash and Russ, there was an obvious tension as the pairs eyes met. Jae didn't appear to waver, almost as if he was expecting that reply.

Feeling the rising tension, Cinnamon spoke up. "Why don't we hurry to the briefing." Her ears shifted as she gestured for them to continue down the hall.

The two groups walked some of the tension dissipating as idle introductions were exchanged between the group, mainly through Lye, Jae, and Cherry.

"I thought there was only one group scheduled for the day." Slate commented not sparing a glance at Cinnamon.

"Well..." Cinnamon began, but paused trying to figure out an explanation.

"No need to worry, all our paperwork is in order and has already been handled through Cinnamon. Shes a pretty hard worker if you ask me." Van answer for her, patting her shoulder casually.

"Ri-right, I'm sorry I didn't let you know ahead of time."

Slate gave a small hum in response, he knew how bad of a last she was, but now wasn't the time to cause a scene he made the choice to trust her.

------

The meeting room was just as ornate as the rest of the building. Both groups opted to stand at opposite sides of the table, Leo stood back leaning against the wall. A work habit, it gave him the best view of the whole room and everyone in it.

"All the information from todays briefing will be sent to your scrolls upon them being set on the table." Slate mentioned, giving them a moment to do so before beginning the presentation.

There was a general overview of the sequence of event from the gala to the attack. The victims missing and access to any of the cameras around the estate. They went over the main pieces of footage.

Both Russet and Kashmere felt a sense of confusion wash over them upon seeing an array of White Fang mask. It's not like there had never been missions like what happened that night, but something didn't sit right. It felt off.

After the presentation the group were led to different areas that were shown in the footage they had reviewed.

As they were looking around the main ballroom, Jae noticed that they were down one rabbit Faunus. He quickly slipped out of the room just in time to see a flash of white slip around the corner, he followed after making an effort to remain quiet. Peeking around a corner he watched as Van slipped outside onto a balcony. He moved the curtain in time to see Van pick something up from the ground and slip it into his pocket.

"What was that?" Jae asked opening the door to the balcony.

"What was what?" Van responded turning to him casually.

"You put it into your pocket." He shifted as Van tried to step past him.

"A pebble, you satisfied?"

I"With the current situation, I'm not."

"What, you think that because the White Fang might be involved that I'm somehow involved in this? That I'm running amok crashing some uppercrust party?"

Jae pursed his lips, not because of Van sharp tone, but because that is what he was thinking. He didn't want to admit it, but upon seeing the White Fang was involved and Van's sudden appearance caused the thought the surface in his head.

"Show me." He stood his ground, not wavering under the piercing gaze of the rabbit.

"What's happening here?" Cherry voice came from behind Jae as the rest of the group caught up with them.

"He slipped off." Jae responded not breaking his gaze from Van. "I wanted to see why."

"Van? What is it?" Lye's brows quirked, maybe he had found something that could help.

With the gazes focused on him, Van sighed and pulled out the cigarette bud from his pocket. His cigarette from the night before.

Opal perked up. "That was on the balcony? There could still be traces of DNA left on it fr-" She was cut off as Van spoke up.

"No point, its not from any of the perpetrators."

"You don't mean..." Lye knew the cigarette looked familiar and she knew Nava didn't smoke and doubted to guest from last night smoked that brand.

"Its mine, I was here last night. Before you start pointing fingers, I left before all that shit went down." Van shoved his hands back in his pockets. "Check your cameras if you doubt me."

Russet opened the other door to the balcony stepping out along with Kash, he took a look around. His gaze shifted to Slate and Cinnamon faces that paled at the mention of cameras. "They can't." He commented, the groups attention shifting to him. "This balcony is a blind spot isn't it?"

"That would explain how this was missed, unless cracked panels are a Mistrali aesthetic." Kash pointed out tracing his finger over the crack in the wall, his finger caught something. Taking hold he pulled a piece of brunette hair from the crack. "Was this here last night?" He asked looking to Van.

"No, that's new." Van responded, still processing the new information of the balcony being a blindspot.

"She was taken from here, that's why there was no footage of her."

"We-we're still going through it, we ass-assumed you would find something when you went through it." Cinnamon explained, everything was happening so fast that she could hardly keep track.

"Send me the list of the estates blind spots immediately, that is critical information." Opal order as Slate quickly pulled out his tablet to do so.

"Satisfied?" Van spoke directly to Jae, shoulder checking him as he walked past into the hall.

------

The rest of the walkthrough went rather calmly, despite the underlying tension. There was far less chatter compared to when the two groups first met. The groups were led to a back exit to avoid and unwanted attention bu leaving through the front.

"We will provide any other information as we receive it, if you have any other question please feel free to contact me at any time." Slate informed with a polite bow, very formal and straightforward as expected.

Cinnamon gave a bit of a strained smile to the younger of the two groups, paired with a small nod. She didn't say anything, the four Faunus seemed to understand what she meant.

The two groups began to walk drifting their sepparate ways, until Leo halted suddenly his attention having been occupied by something on his scroll.

"Y'know you kids shouldn't be meddlin' with adult business." He commented turning to the group of young hunters, he held up his scroll which displayed Van's student ID.

"They offer jobs like this to fourth years, we're practically about to graduate." Van replied a lazy smirk cross his lips as he turned to face the older man.

"Theres no information on your other friends."

"Students records can't be transferred across continents right now, we go to Shade."

"Yet yours and your sisters came up no problem."

"Says Beacon? Old records my guess."

"So if I were to bring this to light you have no worries?" He pressed with a slight tilt of his head.

"Nothing to worry about."

"You bluff well, but..."

"But?" He repeated maintaining his confidence.

"She doesn't." Despite there only being one person Leo could be talking about Van's gaze follows where hes pointing to the paled expression on his sisters face.

"Leo, leave the kids alone."

"Hey, I'm trying to help us out here. Less competition, though you'd appreciate it."

"Or less competition and new allies." Tarragon spoke up from the back of the group.

"What?" Jae was audibly surprised, brows furrowed as she walked past him. She walked passed and brushed Leo to the side from where he was sizing up Van.

"Allies are always good to have, especially in something like this where information is limited. Theres a chance the White Fang could be involved or that those apart of it are being coaxed in it, but as you can see none of us are Faunus." She gestures behind her to Leo, Opal, and Jae.

"Ah so, you want to use us to get information?"

"No, not use. I'd actually like to partner up." She smiled, a genuine smile. Feeling his uneasiness she decided to continue. "I actually saw your teams work at the Vytal festival, I guess you could consider me a fan." She glanced over to Lye.

"If we were to partner with you, you would just let us help find Nava without reporting our situation?" Lye's ears began to lower towards her head, Tarragin felt very maternal that it made Lye comfortable and she didn't quite know if she should trust it or not.

"I can sign you lot off as my students, it's what I'm doing for Jae." Another pause. "I can do it right away if they will make you feel better." She offered her hand.

Everything Van was reading from her told him she wasn't lying to him, after so long of no one ever being so genuine with him he felt a bit thrown off. He looked over his shoulder to the others.

"We'll follow your lead." Russ stated as Kash gave a nod in agreement.

His gaze fell to Lye who had brought her hand up to grasp the top button of her blouse, she was trying to ground herself. The mention of the Vytal festival was the likely cause, she met Van's gaze and gave a nod.

"We're in your care then." He turned back to Tarragon and shook her hand, she had a much firmer hand shake than he expected.

[whatwedowithknives]

(TW: sexual harassment, sexual assault, pedophilia)

I am, in general, not up to date on Vic Mignogna. Whatever he's been cast in, what cons he's been to recently, whether he updates his Twitter account that I'm assuming he has... I know the bare minimum there is to know about him because I make an effort to avoid him and any of his fans. Last I heard him he was in Ouran. Why?

The first anime convention I attended was in, hmmm... 2008? (give or take a year) which I realize is only about a decade ago, but here's the thing: even back then, I'd heard about what a creep he was. In forums and fan-groups, girls my age and just a bit older (I was 12-13 at the time) were talking about how he'd grope them during photoshoots, how he'd hug or kiss them without consent, how he'd call them "babe", how he'd flirt with them shamelessly, and even how he would slip them a copy of his room key.

When it came to my attention now that cons are banning him, that even some employers are firing him, I couldn't help but think:

It took this long?

This has been going on for over a decade. I think it's obvious that it has only been addressed because now we have more immediate forms of social media, and corporations can be publicly held responsible for the actions they do or do not take. The safety of young women and underage girls has never been a concern of any corporations; it is only now that they face consequences that conventions are acting.

But it's a sign times are changing for the better, even if progress is slow and not propelled by concern for the victims. In an ideal world, Vic would be out of a job by now, his roles recast with other far more talented actors, to prevent him from ever having a chance to harass or assault anyone ever again. We're not there yet, but Funimation should be taking notes.

And to everyone who insists nothing has been proven, that we shouldn't burn him at the stake: you are saying you believe one man over the literal hundreds of women that have come forward. You are saying every single one of these women are lying. I hope you understand just how incredibly unlikely that is.

[davidgenisfirmca]

Common myths about sexual assault

One of the biggest myths about sexual assault is that a victim can consent to sex. In fact, it is illegal to have sex without the expressed permission of the victim. If a person is the victim of an assault and is able to consent to sex, there is usually no reason for the victim to file a lawsuit. This means that if you are the victim of a sexual assault, you do not have the right to seek damages or an apology from the assailant.

Another myth surrounding sexual assault in Canada is that only women may be accused of such crimes. This is completely untrue. In fact, men can be accused of sexual assault as well. A man who is the victim of a non-consensual sexual encounter may find himself facing a sexual assault charge. The first step is to consult now for sexual assault lawyer.

Another popular myth surrounding assault claims is that the person committing the crime actually feels guilty. Unfortunately, this is true only in the minds of the jury. In real life, a person does not feel guilty after being accused of a crime. In order to determine whether the person commits a crime or not, a court needs all of the evidence.

A third myth concerns how sexual assault claims differ from other traumatic experience claims. Often, sexual violence claims involve a history of abuse. This means that the victim suffered more than just a traumatic experience when she was raped. While sexual violence may leave physical and psychological scars, the trauma that was caused can often be mitigated if the attacker served time in jail for his crime.

Another myth surrounds what the definition of consent is. Some people believe that they are not consenting when they are engaging in sexual activity with someone. The truth is that every person has the right to say No. Saying "No" does not mean that you agree to or agree with the sexual act. 

If you are engaged in a sexual act and someone stops you from saying "No," then that individual is committing a crime. In addition to serving time in jail, a judge can revoke your license to be a nurse after you've been convicted of this crime.

A fourth myth concerns how victims can fight back against their attackers. Many individuals assume that victims who have been raped can just let the assailant walk away and leave them. 

The fact is that victims must fight back. They must fight back against their attacker because fighting back ensures that they will not suffer further attacks. In addition to fighting back against an assault, the victim should also seek out legal representation.

These are only a few of the most common myths. Sexual assault is a very serious issue that requires serious attention. However, victims need to know that these misconceptions are simply false. There is nothing more harmful to their rights than lying about being assaulted.

If a person suspects that they have been the victim of a sexual assault, they should seek out legal counsel. Victims should not feel that they have been victimized. Rather, they should seek out the help of an experienced rape lawyer who has experience representing victims of this crime. 

This lawyer will inform the victim of their rights and advise them on how to proceed. If the victim feels as though they have been victimized, they should immediately contact an experienced rape lawyer.

Another myth surrounding sexual assault involves consent. It is believed that if a person drinks alcohol, they have given permission for someone else to have sex with them. 

This is not true. If a person consents to sexual intercourse with someone else, they have actually consented. Therefore, if someone drinks too much or takes drugs prior to having sex, they have no idea what they are actually giving permission for.

Perpetrator myths are prevalent among victims as well. These are the types of stories that play in the news. For example, a man was walking home from the club and was attacked by a stranger. 

He suffered several scratches and bruises and did not call the police out of fear that he would not be believed. This is often the story that plays in the media, perpetuating the victim's insecurities.

False claims of rape are a problem in our society. We have a high rate of women reporting sexual assault, and most of these allegations are false. False claims of rape can have severe consequences. False claims of rape lead to the dismissal or suspension of a rape case, the loss of a perpetrator's legal license, and the stigma of the accused being labeled a potential sex offender. 

Because many of these situations could be avoided, it is vital that we teach our young women about consent and how to avoid situations that can put their safety in jeopardy.

[monkeyspawnskydiamond]

Don’t ask me to feel sorry for my rapist - Nina Funnell

Nine years ago I threatened to kill a man. I did not know his name or anything about him. And yet when I threatened to kill him, I meant it.

To this day I still wonder what would have happened if, by some fluke, the box-cutter had made its way into my own hand.

I wonder if I would have pressed the cold blade against his throat, as he had done to me just moments prior. I wonder if I would have found it in me to stab him as he lay there on top of me, strangling me, bashing me, indecently sexually assaulting me.

I still don’t know.

What I do know is that by threatening to end his life, I saved my own.

I know that if I hadn’t wrestled him for the box-cutter, if I hadn’t screamed and kicked and thrashed about like a wounded animal, I might not have survived the night.

I do not say this to imply that women who have acted any differently in sexual assault situations have done the wrong thing. On the contrary, a different perpetrator might have killed me on the spot for fighting.

So my story is neither cautionary nor instructive. It’s just my story and there is no way to tell it without including certain details.

I was 23-years-old and an honours student at the University of Sydney. I’d woken up that morning and showered like I would have on any other day. The only thing that was different about this particular morning was that it was the day of my honours presentation — a day I had been working towards for months. It should have ended in celebration and elation.

Instead it ended with me at a police station.

I’d gone out for some drinks after class had finished (yes, I was drinking, as women are permitted to do from time to time) and I was making the 20 minute walk home to my parent’s place in Sydney’s lower north shore.

I was a few hundred metres from my front door when I was suddenly attacked from behind.

A solid-built man I had never seen before had seized me. He held a box-cutter blade to my throat and began dragging me into an adjacent park.

I didn’t see or hear him coming as I was listening to music from earphones. (Later I would be told that this was just one of the many reasons why I was to blame for his decision to attack.)

He then said point blank: “I am going to kill you”.

He punched me in the face and the force of the blow was so powerful that it knocked me off my feet and onto my back.

I lay in the dirt, immobilised by fear, as he moved on top of me. They call this the “freeze response” and I have since learnt that most sexual assault victims experience this sort of shock and paralysis.

Then I felt the life being choked out of me. His hand was on my throat, my trachea was being crushed, and I could taste blood in my mouth. I was also vaguely aware of a deep pain beginning to grow in my shoulders and back.

Hours later at Gladesville police station I’d be photographed and swabbed. I’d be asked to go into a small room and remove my top. Once in there, I would examine my body in the mirror and find what would soon become dark bruising across my back — bruising that was apparently caused by large, protruding tree roots that had been grinding into my back while the weight of my attacker’s body pushed my flesh into them.

During the assault though, I didn’t process that sort of detail. All I could think was “How can this be happening to me? Is this for real?”

Then my mind went somewhere else altogether. I shut my eyes tight and an old, forgotten memory played like a video before my eyes. I remembered being a young girl, maybe six or seven years in age. I was standing in that same park and I was watching my older brother play soccer on the field. I remembered how at half time, I’d eaten quartered oranges with him and it had made me feel special that he’d included me and talked to me with his older friends around.

That was it. That was the simple memory that I shut my eyes and held on to. It seems odd, doesn’t it? That a man is trying to rape and kill you and you think about eating quartered oranges with your big brother.

I’ve since been told that my brain was valiantly trying to protect me from the trauma of what was occurring to me. In transporting me to another time and place — a safer time and place — it was trying to shield me from what was happening.

And yet, just as quickly as I’d slipped into that dissociative state, I slipped back out of it again. And when I did, I found myself looking directly into my attacker’s face which was only inches away from my own.

His grasp was still on my throat. I couldn’t breathe and couldn’t move. I felt a sharp pain across my body and I remember thinking: “I don’t want to die. Not like this”.

****

When it comes to sexual assault, women are forever being asked “why didn’t you say no?” or “why didn’t you fight back?”

As though a rapist would ever listen.

As though victims are the ones who should be responsible for preventing the violence we experience.

If you really want to know why most women don’t fight back, it’s because of one of two things: we are either immobilised by fear, or we assume that fighting back will make things worse. This is, after all, something that has been drummed in to us all from a very tender age.

But that night I did fight back, not at first, and not because I am courageous. The only reason I fought was because adrenaline took over and I had nothing to lose.

My mind had eventually caught up and computed that I was in a kill-or-be-killed situation. And if I was going to die anyway, why not fight the f***er? Get his DNA if nothing else.

I began thrashing and resisting, and then I exploded yelling “I’m going to kill you first”.

In for a penny, in for a pound.

I’ll never forget the look of shock and surprise on his face when I said that. What I don’t remember, is exactly what happened in the next few moments.

Again, this is not uncommon. The nature of trauma means that survivors often have memory gaps or recollections that don’t add up. One counsellor explained that if your memory is like a filing cabinet system, a traumatic event will effectively toss all the files onto the floor, mess them around, and then shove them back in.

Some files get lost. Others get out of order.

She also told me that she’s never once met a sexual assault survivor who had perfect, chronological recall.

Such is the nature of trauma.

And yet I’ve also been told that if I ever do go to court, defence lawyers will almost certainly try to use my memory gaps against me.

I can look forward to some smug lawyer arrogantly trying to discredit me by painting me as an “unreliable witness”. The fact that I’m even classified as a “witness” frustrates me to tears. I wasn’t sitting outside my body, eating popcorn watching this happen from the sidelines. It was painful. It hurt. I didn’t “witness” violence, I endured it.

I’ve also been advised that in addition to my memory gaps, the fact that I had been drinking that night will almost certainly be used against me.

I’ll be painted as licentious. As slutty. As stupid. As a liar.

But to be very clear, my memory gaps are not evidence that I am lying. To the contrary, they are evidence of the traumatic nature of the violence I have experienced.

So here is what I do remember from that point on. I remember a sudden feeling of lightness on my chest and an awareness that there wasn’t a heavy body on me anymore. I have no recollection of climbing to my feet but I do remember being in a standing position and noticing a small amount of blood on my hand. I remember wondering if it was my blood or his (this would later turn out to be a defensive wound.) Then I remember picking up my bag and reaching for my mobile and dialling triple 0.

****

I wasn’t technically raped that night. And boy do people love to remind me of that.

“I know what happened is bad and all, but he didn’t actually, you know, get it up you, did he?”

This was the question put to me by a male manager at my casual job, a week after the assault took place. My bruises hadn’t even disappeared but the implication was clear: if there’s no P-in-V, it’s not so bad, is it?

Sure, I’d been indecently sexually assaulted, physically assaulted, strangled, told I would be killed, and held at blade point. But in a phallocentric world, sexual violence isn’t measured by the trauma the victim experiences, but by the perpetrator’s assessment of the event: and if the penis didn’t get its way? Then what right should I have to expect the same supports and police resourcing that a “real rape victim” would get?

This wasn’t the only insensitive comment people made.

“You’re a pretty girl, you know. You could take it as a compliment that he selected you.” (This piece of unsolicited advice was kindly offered by a female journalist working for a women’s magazine).

“You have to admit Nina, you were pretty stupid for walking home alone”. (This gem was offered by an old friend I went to school with.)

One woman asked in all seriousness: “Do you ever think this might not have happened if you had a closer relationship with God?”

Another woman took the time and trouble to email me to inform me that she had real pity for me until, that was, she learnt that I had been “doing all the wrong things”.

Since then, I’ve been told it’s my fault for drinking. My fault for listening to music. My fault for travelling alone (as though women should only ever venture out in public if they are in the company of a chaperone).

People have called me a liar and an attention seeker.

I’ve had one stranger persistently request that I share the police photos taken that night with him.

I’ve had other strange men send me messages of sympathy, immediately followed up with a sunny little dick-pic. For condolence, I guess. (No, I do not want to commiserate with your boner).

I’ve had schools ask me if I will come speak to their female students about the “risky situations” that women put themselves in (no, I won’t, don’t ask me again).

I’ve been asked whether the problem lies in girls “not respecting themselves” (and here I was thinking that my assault happened because my attacker has no respect for women, for me, or for my right to live a life free of sexual violence.)

I’ve also had someone suggest that the poor guy probably “just had no money, otherwise he would have gone to a prostitute”. As though sexual violence isn’t about power and control at all, but a man’s simple desire to have certain sexual needs met.

Over and over I have been asked the questions that so many other survivors have also been asked: “What were you wearing? How much did you have to drink? Don’t you know how stupid you were being?”

And each and every one of these questions (and so many more) serve to silence women. They do this by deflecting attention away from the actions and choices of perpetrators, and by insinuating that women are responsible for the violence we have experienced.

And finally there was this remark made by some clever chap who wanted to discuss my attack online:

“What a conceited bitch for thinking she’s even worthy of rape. The guy just probably wanted to give her a good bashing in which case job well done.”

Charming stuff, isn’t it?

Of course, this is only a fraction of what women deal with when we speak out publicly about sexual violence. And in many ways my own assault was easier to speak out about than many others. That’s because I was assaulted by a stranger and there was physical violence involved. But most victims aren’t assaulted by strangers and rarely are there physical signs of violence, and this makes it even harder to be believed.

And this is why so women stay silent. Why so many choose not to report.

It’s also why perpetrators feel so entitled to keep on offending: because our society continually affirms for them that women are in the wrong. That women are untrustworthy. That stranger-danger rape is the only “legitimate rape”. That women make-up sexual abuse in order to assuage sexual regret. That the word of a man is worth far more than the word of woman.

Over the last week I, along with so many others, have read the extraordinary victim impact statement made by the young woman who was raped by Brock Turner behind a dumpster at Stanford University.

Her words resonate deeply.

In addition to exposing the systemic victim-blaming that occurs when survivors disclose, she has also elucidated all the ways that perpetrators attempt to minimise responsibility, shift blame and discredit victims.

Her analysis of how some media will humanise perpetrators (by including references to their skills, hobbies or interests) while reducing victims to nothing more than invisible, silent “others” is equally compelling.

And in her words so many survivors the world over have found recognition and comfort. They’ve also found the courage to speak out and own their status as survivor.

I suspect this is because she is radically rewriting ideas about victimhood.

In the cultural conscience, victims are often presented as broken, voiceless and downtrodden. At best, we are pitied. At worst, we are despised and devalued as “damaged goods”.

Yet though her victim impact statement she has debunked those stereotypes and advanced a new image of a survivor who is intelligent, articulate, analytical, insightful, bold, brave, reflective and persuasive.

Her words are resilient, strong, and hopeful. She reminds me that even though my assailant has never been caught, and even though I am yet to have my day in court, recovery and hope is possible, and above all, I am not alone.

https://www.dailytelegraph.com.au/rendezview/dont-ask-me-to-feel-sorry-for-my-rapist/news-story/36d4af5f0cc287ba53eeb163bbe28841