#bench 2004

[hockeytown-gifs]

Hully & Stevie on the bench - Wings vs Coyotes - Feb. 18, 2004

[agaypanic]

Is this how you request a fic? I have no idea but I’ll try. I’m craving Regina George content. Can you please write something where reader is apart of the plastics but she’s not mean like the rest of them and that’s why Regina likes her. When Cady shows up and Regina has an interest in cady it’s too make reader jealous but instead cady ends up liking reader who distances herself from the plastics and then Regina gets jealous and admits her feelings so reader doesn’t end up with cady. If that makes sense? Thank you!

Craving Your Attention (Regina George X Plastic!Reader)

Masterlist

Request Something!

Summary: Regina George is the queen of North Shore High and she doesn’t like to share her toys, even if she doesn’t really play with them. 

A/N: kinda toxic!regina even tho thats not really a surprise. slight cady x reader, she likes you instead of aaron (also aaron doesn’t exist teehee). The girls arent homophobic bc cady tells gretchen she likes reader and regina ends up with reader (saying this bc idk if you’re gonna read this with 2004 regina or 2024 regina in mind, and obviously 2004 was a different time lmao) content warning for diet talk but it’s just part of one scene. Heavily relied on the mean girls (2004) script for this fic, so it's almost all written centered around Cady. all in third person which felt a lil weird to write because i usually write in second person lol idk if anyone’s gonna want a part 2 but imma lyk rn that im not planning on writing a part 2, mainly bc this took so painstakingly long

***

Everyone at North Shore High knew about Regina George. They’d be stupid not to. She was practically royalty. 

A queen bee was nothing without her little worker bees. First was Karen Smith. She seemed to give a whole new meaning to the word ‘clueless,’ but she was friendly. In more ways than one.

Then there’s Gretchen Wieners. She was Regina’s eyes and ears, whether it was wanted or not. All she wanted to do was please her leader.

And finally, there was Y/n L/n. If any of the plastics were to be deemed approachable, it was her. She was Regina’s right-hand girl, maybe even a bit more than that. But no one ever brought that up.

But then Cady Heron came to North Shore.

“Is he bothering you?” Regina tilted her head as she looked at the redheaded girl and the familiar boy who was talking to her. Y/n, who was sitting next to Regina, looked up from her food in curiosity. Regina didn’t usually talk to anyone outside of the table during lunch. The girl made a nondescript noise, so Regina turned her attention to the boy. “Jason, why are you such a skeez?”

Jason rolled his eyes, but tried to seem polite.

“I’m just being friendly.”

“You were supposed to call me last night,” Gretchen pouted, looking over her shoulder at Jason.

“Jason.” Attention was brought back to Regina with the simple call of his name. She wore a sweet smile, which meant that Jason was probably about to get a bite taken out of him. “You do not come to a party at my house with Gretchen and then scam on some poor, innocent girl right in front of us three days later. She’s not interested.” Regina then turned to the redheaded girl. “Do you wanna have sex with him?”

She looked shocked, giving an immediate no.

“Good. So it’s settled.”

“You can go shave your back now,” Y/n finished, and the four plastics waved him off. Jason walked away, but not before muttering an insult to the girls.

“Good one,” Regina said quietly to Y/n, who couldn’t help but smile a bit at the small praise. Before she could reply, Regina’s eyes followed after the red-haired girl, who was now starting to walk away. “Wait.” The single word made her stop in her tracks and look back. “Sit down.”

Regina moved her hands, signaling Gretchen and Karen to move to the sides of the lunch bench to make room for this mystery girl. After some more encouragement, she sat down.

“What’s your name?” Y/n asked sweetly, trying to ease the girl’s nerves.

“Cady.”

“Why don’t I know you?” Regina asked, looking at Cady curiously.

“I’m new,” Cady replied. “I just moved here from Africa.”

“What?”

“I used to be home-schooled.”

“Wait. What?”

Cady took a second, wondering why Regina kept saying ‘what.’ She didn’t think it was that confusing.

“My mom taught me at home-”

“No, no.” Regina laughed. “I know what ‘home-school’ is; I’m not stupid. So, you’ve actually never been to a real school before?”

As she spoke, Regina leaned more and more forward towards Cady. And as the conversation continued, Y/n wondered why Regina was taking such an interest in her. Regina never cared about anyone who passed by, too involved in the latest gossip session Gretchen had started or in Y/n’s appearance. Not that Y/n really noticed that; she was busy thinking about Regina to see that Regina was thinking about her. Either way, she didn’t understand why the blonde was suddenly so fascinated by this new girl.

“You’re like, really pretty.”

Oh… That must be why.

Y/n seemed to tune the rest of the conversation out, too wrapped up in Regina’s compliment towards Cady and the bright smile she wore while giving it. She didn’t know why it bothered her. It’s not like Regina belonged to her. If anything, Y/n, along with the rest of the Plastics, belonged to Regina.

Even when Regina brought Gretchen and Karen in close to speak to them and Y/n, leaving Cady awkwardly leaning back to give them more privacy, Y/n didn’t care much to listen. The gist of the conversation was that they wanted Cady to sit with them at lunch for a week, something they had never considered doing with anyone else in this school.

“Okay.” Regina started as Gretchen and Karen relaxed back into their seats, and Cady leaned back in. “You should just know that we don’t do this a lot, so this is, like, a really huge deal. We wanna invite you to have lunch with us every day for the rest of the week.” Regina wore a grin that meant she was up to something, but Cady didn’t seem to decipher that, and the rest of the girls didn’t know what it meant.

“Oh, it’s okay—” Cady’s tone seemed to indicate that she was about to decline, but Regina interrupted her before she could.

“Coolness.” The bell rang, and Regina’s eyes darted over to Y/n before going back to Cady. Her mischievous smile remained present as she, Gretchen, and Karen grabbed their trays. “So we’ll see you tomorrow.”

The three Plastics stood up and left the table, leaving Y/n in a slight daze and Cady confused about what had just happened. Y/n suddenly looked around, realizing that her friends had left without her, but the new girl was still with her. She figured that she should say something before leaving her alone. She didn’t have to be mean or unpleasant just because Regina seemed to like Cady.

“On Wednesdays, we wear pink.” Y/n said it with a timid but sweet smile, trying to get over the revelation that the girl she loved was setting her sights on someone else. Her hand patted Cady’s a few times before she stood up and picked up her tray. “Welcome to North Shore.”

As Cady watched Y/n leave, and as Janis and Damian dragged the redhead away to interrogate her about her interaction with Regina, she couldn’t help but feel warm. Maybe public school wouldn’t be so bad.

***

The next day, Cady was slightly nervous to sit with the Plastics. She felt like a double spy. Janis and Damian were under the impression that Cady was doing it for them, to listen in on Regina’s secrets and relay them back to her friends so they could laugh at the pathetic and superficial nature of it all. And sure, that was the main reason she was sitting with the girls. But Cady also returned to the table so she could bask in a new light, Y/n. 

But living in girl world came with a bunch of rules.

“You can’t wear a tank top two days in a row, and you can only wear your hair in a ponytail once a week. So…” Gretchen laughed lightly, seeming a little nervous for no reason as she looked at Cady, who was wearing her hair in a ponytail. “I guess you picked today. Oh! And we only wear jeans or track pants on Fridays.”

“Which totally blows in the winter,” Y/n muttered before sipping her Diet Coke.

“Now,” Gretchen started again, “if you break any of these rules, you can’t sit with us at lunch.” Cady seemed surprised, but Gretchen continued. “Not just you! Like, any of us. Okay, so, like, if I was wearing jeans today, I would be sitting over there with the art freaks.” She said it with a grimace, pointing over to a table a few feet away from the girls before looking back at Cady. “Oh, and we always vote before we ask someone to eat lunch with us, because you have to be considerate of the rest of the group. I mean, you wouldn’t buy a skirt without asking your friends first if it looks good on you.”

Everyone nodded except for Cady, who was processing all of these new rules she had to follow.

“I wouldn’t?”

“Right,” Gretchen said with a definitive nod. “And it’s the same with guys. Like, you may think you like someone, but you could be wrong.”

“One hundred twenty calories and forty-eight calories from fat,” Regina interrupted, reading a food bar that she had grabbed. She looked at her friends inquisitively. What percent is that?”

“Uh… forty-eight into one hundred and twenty?” Gretchen suggested, not really sure of herself.

“No, I don’t think so, Gretch,” Y/n said, trying to think of the correct answer.

“I’m only eating foods with less than thirty percent calories from fat.”

“It’s forty percent,” Cady said suddenly, proud that she was able to do the equation in her head. Everyone looked at her, expressions varying from impressed to confused. Cady suddenly felt the need to show her work. “Well, forty-eight over a hundred and twenty equals X over a hundred-”

“So then you cross multiply to get X!” Y/n finished off with a grin, thrilled that she knew what Cady was talking about. Cady smiled back at her with the same excited energy, although looking a little more subdued. Not only was this girl super pretty and friendly, but she also seemed decently smart. Maybe Janis was wrong about these girls.

“Whatever.” Regina looked at the two girls suspiciously. She tossed the food bar onto the table and stood up. “I’m getting cheese fries. Y/n, come with me.”

Taken back by the sudden command, Y/n stumbled out of her seat and followed Regina. Cady’s eyes followed her until she was out of sight, and she sighed quietly when she couldn’t catch a glimpse of the girl anymore. 

“So!” Gretchen startled Cady with her enthusiastic voice and a hand on her shoulder. As she turned to look at her, Cady realized that Karen was also gone from the table. She must’ve gone to the bathroom or somewhere else. “Have you seen anyone you think is cute yet?”

Cady didn’t know how to answer. There was definitely one person that came to mind, but she didn’t know if she should say the name. Gretchen might react badly if Cady told her, which would most likely lead to her getting kicked out of the Plastics.

But at the same time, she didn’t want to lie. 

“Well… there’s this one.. girl.” The last word was quiet and hesitant, but Gretchen picked up on it.

“Oh my gosh, who is it?” She asked excitedly. “Do you think it’s just like, a phase, or is it more serious?”

“I dunno.” Cady shrugged. “I haven’t known her too long to be sure.”

“Who is it?” Gretchen leaned forward in her seat, completely invested in Cady’s answer. It took the redhead a long moment of hesitancy to open her mouth.

“It’s Y/n…”

“No!” Gretchen straightened up, looking absolutely horrified. She looked around, ensuring none of the other girls were back yet. “You can’t like Y/n. Not only is she a part of the group, but… Okay, you didn’t hear this from me, and you’re, like, totally forbidden from ever bringing it up. But Regina is really possessive over Y/n. They’ve been best friends for, like, forever, and Regina chases off anyone who tries to so much as ask her out. And it’s not my place to say whether or not it’s more than friendship, but if I had to say something, there’s definitely something going on between them.” Gretchen took a much-needed breath, shaking her head slightly to clear her jumbled thoughts. “Look, the point is, you shouldn’t date friends. Especially Regina’s friends. But don’t worry, I’ll never tell Regina or Y/n what you said. It’ll be our little secret.”

Gretchen gave Cady a sweet smile, and that seemed to be the end of their little conversation. But for the next few days, Cady kept thinking about it.

She didn’t want to get on Regina’s bad side. That would mean no more things to tell Janis and Damian and no more seeing Y/n. And she also didn’t want to freak Y/n out. But just because Cady wasn’t allowed to like Y/n didn’t mean she wasn’t allowed to look at her. Or think about her. Or talk to her.

A few days later, when Cady was with Janis and Damian at the mall, Janis asked when Cady would see Regina next. She said it felt weird to spy on her and that she didn’t want to do it anymore. And sure, it being weird was part of why she wanted to stop. But mainly, it was because Cady had started getting so distracted by Y/n that it was difficult to focus on Regina. Which was strange, because the blonde girl was so alluring. But Janis reassured Cady that Regina would never find out about her double agent status, that it would be their little secret.

So many secrets.

***

“Hello?” Cady held the phone up to her ear, wondering who was calling her at this late hour.

“I know your secret.” Cady stiffened at Regina’s voice coming through the speaker. She internally panicked, trying to figure out what to do. How did Regina figure out about Cady’s spying?

“Secret?” She decided that playing it cool was the better move. “What secret?”

“Gretchen told me that you like Y/n.” Cady relaxed at the fact that Regina had learned about her other secret, before freezing again. Right now, she wondered if it would be better if Regina knew about the spying. “I mean, I don’t care, do whatever you want.” Regina didn’t sound like she didn’t care, but Cady didn’t bring it up. “But let me just tell you something about Y/n: She’s, like, never gone on a date before. It’s not that she’s not pretty or anything, but no one’s ever really been good enough for her.”

“Oh?” What did this mean? Did Regina deem Cady good enough for Y/n after so many others tried and failed? Or was this a set-up?

Honestly, Cady was so happy for Regina’s blessing that she didn’t really care.

“I could talk to her for you, if you want.”

“Really? You would do that?”

“We’ve been friends since like, pretty much birth. I know exactly how to play it.” There was a moment of silence, and Cady could picture Regina picking at her nails. “But wait. Aren’t you mad at Gretchen for telling me? Because if you are, you can tell me. It was a really bitchy thing for her to do.”

“Yeah, it was pretty bitchy, but I’m not mad.” Cady was a little mad, but she didn’t feel like saying that. “I mean, it’s better she told you instead of Y/n. I dunno, I guess she just likes the attention.” Cady didn’t know why she said that last part, but it had just spilled out of her mouth.

“See, Gretch? I told you she’s not mad at you.” Cady was a bit confused, but then another voice spoke.

“I can’t believe you think I like attention!” There was a click, and Cady assumed the Gretchen had hung up. She had no idea she was even listening.

“Okay, love you. See you tomorrow!” Cady could hear Regina’s smile, and then there was another click followed by a dial tone, showing that Cady was now the only one on the line. She then hung up herself, processing the three-way call she had just survived.

And then after that, Cady realized that she had gotten Regina’s blessing to try to pursue Y/n.

***

“What day is it?” Y/n asked, looking down at her worksheet. She didn’t usually do homework at lunch, but lately, some of her classes had been kicking her ass. 

“It’s October third,” Cady answered almost immediately, catching the suspicious eyes of Regina and Gretchen.

“Thanks, Cady,” Y/n said, looking up at the girl and giving her a sweet smile before returning to her paper.

“I dunno why you don’t just ask one of the Mathlete dorks to do it for you,” Regina said, looking over Y/n’s shoulder. “They’d probably even do it for free.”

“We’ve talked about this, Regina. If my teacher didn’t catch on, it would still totally bite me in the ass when I’d have to do a test all by myself.”

“You need help with math?” Cady asked, subtly leaning closer to Y/n. The girl looked at Cady, now completely distracted from her work.

“Yeah! I used to get it, but trig is crazy hard.” Y/n sighed, delicately rubbing at her tired eyes so she didn’t mess up her makeup. “I feel like I’m never gonna get it.”

“I can help you!” Cady said, excited over this opportunity. She had always excelled in mathematics, and now Y/n needs help with that exact subject? It seemed like fate.

“Really?” Both Y/n and Cady missed the slight glare that Regina was giving them. 

“Oh right, Cady’s like, a total nerd.” They also chose to ignore Regina’s snide comment before sipping her Diet Coke.

“That would be amazing, Cady! Maybe I could come over after school today or something?”

Cady was about to say yes, a million times yes, but Regina butted in.

“Y/n, you’re coming over to my house today.” It didn’t really feel like Regina was reminding her of forgotten plans. Instead, it sounded like Regina was coming up with a reason for Y/n to be unavailable. Cady’s suspicions were confirmed by the confused look Y/n gave the blonde.

“I am?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh… Well, how about tomorrow?”

“Perfect!” Cady spoke quickly and enthusiastically before Regina could say another word.

***

Over the next month or so, Cady tutored Y/n a few days every week. It quickly became their favorite part of their days. After helping with a few problems Y/n was stuck on, the two girls would get distracted by conversations about whatever they wanted to talk about. Neither of them felt the need to filter themselves in fear of being made fun of by one of the other Plastics, mainly Regina. Topics ranged from the latest gossip to future plans to their favorite things in media. If Cady had never heard of something Y/n brought up, which was the case nine times out of ten, the tutoring session would turn into a movie night or music party.

“Oh my gosh, so…” Y/n and Cady were in the middle of watching a chick flick that Cady had never seen when Y/n suddenly spoke. “I’m having a Halloween party at my place. We usually do it at Regina’s, but for some reason, she didn’t feel like doing it this year. Are you gonna come?” 

“Yeah, sure.” Cady’s response made Y/n smile brightly, a sight that Cady could never get sick of.

“Awesome!” Y/n sat up from her slouched position, her excitement waking her up from her slightly tired state. “It’s a costume party, which’ll be a lot of fun. I can give you a flier with all the info tomorrow. Even though I know you’re invited, you need the flier to get in. It only admits one person, so don’t bring anyone else with you.”

“Grool.” Y/n blinked in slight confusion, and Cady realized what she had said. “I… I meant to say ‘cool,’ and then I started to say ‘great.’”

Y/n giggled, which made Cady’s cheeks heat up.

“Right. Well, grool.” The two laughed, and then Y/n looked down at her watch. “Oh my gosh, it’s so late. I should probably get going.” With the help of Cady, Y/n gathered her things. “See you tomorrow!” In a flash, Y/n kissed Cady’s cheek before walking out of the room and leaving Cady’s house. Cady’s cheeks felt like they were on fire, and she lightly touched the cheek Y/n had kissed.

***

One thing that no one told Cady was that on Halloween, many girls opted for very revealing costumes rather than actual costumes. So when she arrived at Y/n’s house, she stuck out like a sore thumb in her dead bride attire while her friends wore tight clothes and animal ears.

“Why are you so scary?” Gretchen asked with concern, looking at Cady’s appearance with wide eyes.

“It’s Halloween,” Cady said with a shrug, not knowing what the problem was.

Suddenly, a hand touched Cady’s arm, making her jump. But she quickly relaxed when she saw who was touching her.

“You came!” Y/n squealed, bringing Cady in for a hug. The redhead felt a bit flustered by the contact, plus seeing Y/n in her slightly revealing outfit. When they broke the embrace, Y/n held Cady by the shoulders, surveying her outfit. “And you’re a… zombie bride…?”

“An ‘ex-wife.’” Cady replied, using her fingers to air quote.

“Well, I love it.” Y/n finally let go of Cady, although she wouldn’t have been opposed if she kept holding onto her. “You want something to drink?”

“Sure.”

“I’ll be right back.” 

Y/n squeezed Cady’s arm for a quick moment before turning around. She weaved her way through the crowd to get to the kitchen, where a shit load of different drinks were scattered on the counters. She started mixing a drink for Cady when she felt a presence behind her.

“What the hell is Cady wearing?” Regina asked, squinting to see Cady from across the room.

“She’s a zombie bride!”

“She looks like a freak.”

“Regina!” Y/n set down the bottle she was pouring and looked at the blonde. “Be nice.”

“Whatever.” Regina rolled her eyes, pushing her hair off her shoulder before leaning on the kitchen counter. “You know, you should probably be careful around her. She has a giant crush on you.”

“What?” Y/n’s eyes snapped to Regina, immediately curious. “How do you know?”

“She told me. She tells everybody. It’s kinda cute, to be honest. She’s like a little girl.” Regina laughed, and Y/n tilted her head and raised her brows, silently asking for more details. “Like, she writes ‘Y/n plus Cady’ and stuff like that all over her notebook. And she made this shirt that says ‘I heart Y/n’ and she wears it under all of her clothes.

“Oh, come on.” Y/n sighed and rolled her eyes, figuring Regina had been joking. “That’s not funny, Regina.”

“I’m serious! She’s, like, obsessed with you. And who can blame her?” Regina’s hand reached out and brushed a stray lock of hair away from Y/n’s face. When Y/n looked at her friend, she was suddenly closer than before. “I mean, you’re gorgeous.”

“Regina.”

“If I’m being honest… I hate the way she looks at you.” Regina grabbed Y/n’s chin before she could look away, forcing them to maintain eye contact. “It makes me sick. She should know better than to think she has a chance with you.”

“What are you saying, Regina?” Y/n’s voice was barely a whisper, but the blonde heard her loud and clear despite being in a crowded room with blasting music and semi-drunk teenagers.

“I’m saying you’re mine, Y/n.” With every word, Regina inched closer and closer. “I don’t want you to be with Cady. Or with anyone else.” 

Regina closed the small gap between her and Y/n’s lips, wrapping her arms around Y/n’s body to keep her close. After the wave of shock washed over her, Y/n reciprocated the kiss. Neither of them cared about any of the people around them watching. Including Cady, who watched from across the room with watery eyes and a breaking heart. 

Cady had lost Y/n to a competition she didn’t even know she had. Y/n had finally gotten the girl she had been wanting for years after being kept at arm’s length away. And Regina had once again ruined someone else’s happiness for her own.

***

Regina George Taglist: @wedfan2 @pyro-les @natashamaximoff-69

[reiding-writing]

Are u willing to do a fic about an unsub!reader with early seasons Spencer? Like, the BAU has to team up with the unsub to catch another criminal with a similar M.O. to them and hijinks ensue (could be angsty hijinks or could be general scooby doo type situations) Idk!! I really like ur works and I've been thinking about this thing for days but my ass sucks at writing lol ;;

copycat—s.reid [1]

Summary:

The replication of a disturbing 2004 serial murder case calls for the BAU to get involved with the assistance of none other than the original killer themself. And whilst Spencer didn’t work the original case, he was eager to learn every detail about it, including its offender.

WARNINGS: made up murder case, graphic depictions of violence, implied suicide (actually murder), mentions of spencer’s addiction, sociopathic reader

s3!spencer/gn!unsub!reader || mystery || 4.5k || masterlist!!

part one !! , part two !!

unsub!reader masterlist!!

a/n: sorry to the person who requested this because tumblr deleted the actual ask but i did have it copied so at least it wasn’t completely lost 😭😭😭

left it here because people tend not to want to read really long fics. if people want a part two i will gladly oblige but otherwise its a decent stand alone to see how spencer would interact with an unsub like this

“James Harden, 23, was found two days ago on the bench of a public park in Los Flores, Orange County,”

The BAU team, barr Hotch, all settled in their seats as JJ arrived in the room.

JJ pressed a button on the small remote in her hand, two photos, one of each wrist of the victim, appearing on the screen behind her. “Both wrists had been slit, and the cause of death was concluded to be blood loss,”

“So, why are we being called in exactly?” Morgan raised an eyebrow, taking a sip from his coffee. The team was *tired*. They’d only gotten off a case three days before, and they were all in need of a break.

“Well, if you’d allow me to finish,” JJ shoots Morgan a pointed look to which he promptly raised his hands in surrender.

JJ presses the remote again, images of the victim’s wrists being replaced with images of his face.

There was a mix of reactions from the group, all of which perturbed, but some with more intent than others.

His head was laid limp over the back of the bench, his face pale and his lips white from the lack of blood flow to his head. Nothing they hadn’t seen before.

His eyes however, were a different story, covered up by a pair of red roses that had seemingly had their stems forcibly pierced into the victims eyeballs, leaving a trail of oxidised blood down his cheeks.

Morgan and Garcia shared a concerned glance that they simultaneously turned towards JJ, who matched their expression with her own.

“They didn’t-”

JJ shakes her head at the beginning of Morgan’s question, and Emily and Spencer share a confused glance that they turn towards their three teammates who seem to be locked in a silent conversation that only they understood.

“I feel like i’m back in high school again,” Rossi pipes up at the three from his seat, inadvertently calling them out on their exclusion of Emily, Spencer, and Rossi from their conversation.

JJ sighs as she adverts her eyes towards Rossi, her shoulders sagging slightly. “We worked a case in 2004…” She hesitates to elaborate any further about the details, and Spencer takes the opportunity to voice is own curiosity.

“You didn’t solve it?” He tucks his hair behind his ear, eyes glistening slightly as his eyebrows furrowed in JJ’s direction.

It’d been three years since 2004, and the idea that an UnSub could go postal for that long with an FBI target on their back was- something, to say the least.

“No, we did-” Garcia nods her head determinedly, her eyes lingering on the screen as if she was more focused on the images than the conversation.

“So, a copycat then?” Emily adds her part to the conversation, clearly concerned for her friend’s wellbeing.

“Most likely,” JJ nods her head sharply, looking back at the screen once more. “There’s only been one recorded victim so far, but we want to stop whoever is responsible before anything else happens,”

“Are you alright Garcia?” Emily’s eyes remain fixated on Garcia’s face, her usually upbeat persona dwindling into something more solemn.

“Hm? Oh, yes, of course my love bug, i’m alright,” Garcia shoots Emily a small smile as if to emphasise her point. “It was the first case I ever worked on is all, they just… stick with you ya know?”

Emily nods softly at her explanation. She knew what it felt like to have your first case stick in the back of your mind.

“Alright settle down everyone,” Hotch’s voice echoed through the conference room before he even stepped inside, and the team all diverted their attention towards him.

“I trust they’ve been briefed?” Hotch looks towards JJ, who gives him a nod before stepping aside so that he can take her place at the head of the table.

Hotch walks into the conference room with someone at his side. Someone who makes Morgan’s hand clench into fists and the small hint of optimism that Garcia had managed to keep fizzle from her eyes.

“You can’t be serious.” Morgan’s voice was stern and challenging as his eyes narrowed in Hotch’s direction. “Hotch-“

Hotch halts Morgan’s attempt at a rebuttal with his hand, raised in Morgan’s direction as he knits his eyebrows into a line. “They will be a valuable asset to the investigation.”

“You can’t bring a psychopath in here and expect us to just go along with it-” Morgan’s argument was interrupted by your voice from where you stood behind Hotch, hands clasped together behind your back.

“Sociopath.”

Morgan’s expression furrows further if that’s possible, eyes staring daggers at your face. “Close enough.”

“Actually, Psychopaths and Sociopaths are fundamentally different, with the only real similarity between the two being an extreme lack of human empathy,” Your eyes flicker towards Spencer as he corrects Morgan’s assessment, raising an eyebrow in his direction out of intrigue.

“Either way, you cannot expect me to be okay with working alongside a serial killer.” Morgan’s eyes don’t stray from Hotch’s as he speaks, not backing down from his standing.

“I don’t expect you to be. But that doesn’t change the fact that they will be joining us for this investigation.” Hotch’s tone marks the end of the debate, one that Morgan knew he’d lost before it even started.

Hotch gestures for you to take a seat at one of the empty chairs and you oblige, leaning the side of your left foot on top of your right thigh and relaxing back into the swivel chair as Morgan’s eyes bore holes into the back of your head.

The fact that you were even here was enough to spark the embers of rage in the back of his mind.

The fact that you were walking around freely with no restraints was even worse.

“For those of you who weren’t present, in 2004, the BAU team was called out to Malibu to investigate a series of murders that littered the city.” Hotch’s eyes flicker over to where Emily, Rossi, and Spencer were sitting.

“Eighteen people were killed over the span of ten days, crossing age, gender, and race boundaries typical of a normal M.O, with the only link being two roses in place of the victim’s eyes.”

Hotch’s eyes turn towards the images on the screen, yours following his own as you examine the photos with a small huff. “Are you sure that is person is copying me and that it’s not just a coincidence?”

“Putting roses in peoples’ eyes isn’t something we see in the field every day,” Hotch’s explanation is blunt and straight forward.

“My roses were white.” You tilt your head at him with a raised eyebrow. “That’s a pretty stark difference to just ignore.”

“Maybe he’s trying to make a name for himself,” Spencer throws the idea out into the air at your observation, seemingly undeterred by your criminal history now that his head was submerged in the case.

“Then be original.” You face furrows with a roll of your eyes. “Don’t copy somebody else’s idea, it’s not that hard,”

“That’s enough,” Hotch’s voice cuts through the conversation, his arms crossed over his chest. “We’ll discuss the details on the plane.”

Hotch picks up one of the open files on the table and tucks it under his arm. “Wheels up in thirty, i’ll meet you all there,”

A gesture of his head for you to follow him later, and he’s exiting the conference room with you on his tail.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

You walk right past Hotch’s seat as you board the jet, opting to take a seat directly opposite the genius doctor that had managed to capture your attention in the conference room.

He looks up awkwardly as you sit down, not exactly sure what he’s supposed to do. Should he start a conversation with you? Should he continue reading his file and pretend he can’t feel your eyes pouring over his features like you were sizing him up.

He doesn’t have to think for too long.

“What’s your name?” Your tone lacks any social grace, but he supposes he can’t blame you. It’s not like it’s your fault you don’t feel or express your emotions in the same way that the majority does.

“It’s- uh- Spe- Spencer,” His awkwardness really shines through his tone, left hand scratching at his right elbow as a self-soothing strategy.

Two seconds into a conversation and he already wants to dig himself a hole and hide in it for the rest of eternity.

“Spencer Reid- Doctor Spencer Reid,” He purses his lips into a line once he’s settled on his full title, but it doesn’t stop him from blurting out more in his effort to get all of his thoughts out of his head. “Spencer’s fine though…”

“Doctor? Of what?” You skirt past his awkward introduction in your pursuit to know more, and he’s grateful that his completely lack of social skills doesn’t scare you off like it would most people.

“Well- I have PhDs in Mathematics, Engineering, and Chemistry,” Spencer tucks his hair behind his ear, his file falling over the side of his lap into the gap between his leg and the arm of the chair. “But i also have bachelor’s degrees in Sociology and Psychology,”

He shuts himself off after his over-winded explanation with a purse of his lips in your direction.

“I have a bachelor’s degree in Psychology,” Spencer’s eyes practically light up at your words, completely forgetting that you’re a convicted serial killer and instead hyper-fixating on your academic interests.

“Really? Did you do a Bachelor of Arts or Science?” You can almost feel the enthusiasm radiating off of his body as he leans forward in his chair slightly.

“Science,” You tap the side of your head with your finger and Spencer thinks he understands. It’s the same reason he studied psychology himself.

Because he was different.

Because his brain worked in different ways than other people.

He couldn’t even imagine how much more severe it was for somebody like you.

“How do you know so much?” Your tone isn’t chastising. It’s not questioning his knowledge because he’s ’too young’ or ‘doesn’t look like someone who would be an expert’ in niche academic areas. You genuinely just wanted to know.

“Well- I have a 187 IQ and an eidetic memory,” You’re eyes followed his as he explained his intelligence to you, chasing them to ensure the two of you maintained eye contact. “And I have a reading speed of 20,000 words per minute,”

You hum at his answer, seemingly satisfied as you lean back in the jet seat.

The silence between you doesn’t have time to get awkward before Hotch is calling the team’s attention to go over the details of the case thus far.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Spencer spends most of his first night in Los Flores on a laptop.

Garcia almost has an aneurism when he asks her if he could borrow one of hers.

It takes him almost 30 minutes to figure out how to use it, face lit by the harsh white light of the screen and softened slightly by the warm yellow of the lamp on his hotel bed’s side table.

Once he manages to pull up the internet browser he spends the next multiple hours researching. Pouring over every news article and journalist report that he can about the 2004 Malibu case that had you in its centre.

The 2004 ‘Malibu Rose Killer’. One of the most prolific serial killers in California’s history.

Eighteen people dead in just ten days. An extremely rapid escalation that held no victim pattern of any kind.

A spree that only stopped when the police found both of your adoptive parents dead after a welfare check concerning your father not turning up to work. Your two first victims.

You’d told the courts that it was a manic breakdown. A symptom of your previously undiagnosed sociopathy. That you weren’t in your right mind when it happened.

It worked to a degree, swerving you of a death penalty, but the fact that your parents’ crime scene had shown signs of recognition for your actions halted your defence quite a bit.

Instead of slitting their radial artery and leaving them to bleed out, you’d severed their spines from the brain stem whilst they slept.

And instead of piercing their eyeballs with two roses, you’d instead chosen to lay one in between their two bodies instead.

That was enough for the prosecution to say you had at least some knowledge of the severity of your actions, and so instead of being carted off to a psychiatric prison you were left in a regular old high security prison to serve two consecutive life sentences for the murder of your parents with an annual mental assessment.

He assumes that’s why you agreed to be here. To gain a lenience on your sentence.

He didn’t know why he found your story so fascinating, but he knew that he’d only be able to refrain from asking you questions for so long.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Spit it out.” Your words snap Spencer out of his thought-filled dazed, blinking at you as he slowly regains his senses.

“Huh?”

“Spit it out. Whatever you have to say to me.” Your tone, as he’s come to expect over the last few days, is very flat and straight to the point, clearly agitated at his eyes lingering on you for what you’d deemed too long.

You walk around the small table at the Orange County’s Los Flores police station with your arms crossed, confined there for the majority of the case as to not possibly initiate any ‘aggressive urges’ that might spawn from seeing a replica of your past crimes.

Spencer’s left hand absentmindedly scratches at his right elbow at your glare, clearing his throat and averting eye contact with you, both out of embarrassment of his unintentional staring and self-preservation towards your proclivity to get angry without real aggravation. “I- It’s nothing really,”

Your head tilts at him, your eyes telling him enough that your patience was waining and that you would get whatever he was thinking about out of him.

“I uh- did some reading… about your case-” Your expression morphs into an emotion that he can’t quite place at his confession, and he feels an overwhelming pressure to keep explaining himself as well as to just sew his mouth shut so he can’t say anything.

“And?”

“And… um- there was a part about it that didn’t really make sense to me,” He’s thrown himself in the deep end now, any hope of changing the topic of conversation long gone as he watches your eyebrow quirk in curiosity.

“Your parents…” Spencer’s eyes scan your expression intently as he mutters out the words, gauging your reaction to his words before he dares to continue.

“What about them?” You remain indifferent if not mildly compelled by the line of thought running through his head, and he’s internally relieved that he hasn’t pressed any of the wrong buttons in your fragile emotional state.

“Why?” Spencer mirrors the short, straight to the point wording that you seemed to be so fond of, and he can see you blank expression waver slightly at the question, like you weren’t sure how to answer it.

He watches the wrinkle in your brow become more prominent, how your eyes seem to loose focus and flicker around the room, the way you subconsciously shift from one foot to the other.

He’s not entirely surprised by your reaction. Sociopaths were very capable of harbouring emotions like everyone else. Anger, happiness, sadness, love, and even fear. Even if the intensity of them and the way they were expressed was different.

Right now your expression read as confusion mixed with mild apprehension, like you were considering whether or not you wanted to answer his question.

You still didn’t seem angry, which he was grateful for. He might have been a qualified agent, but that was with the exception of him not having to pass a physical examination.

And he really didn’t want to risk having to physically defend himself against someone who managed to kill eighteen people in the span of ten days because he’d accidentally said the wrong thing.

“They didn’t deserve to live with the knowledge of what I was going to do,” You tone is a lot less apathetic as you come to your answer, stopping intravenously to collect your words.

Spencer’s eyebrows furrow at your answer, not quite sure what to make of it.

“My turn,” Your eyes scan Spencer’s facial features, watching how Spencer’s eyebrows raise as you don’t give him time to compute your answer. “Do your higher ups know you’re an addict?”

The question is blunt, clear, and lacks any subtlety whatsoever despite the two of you technically being in a public place, even if you were the only people in the room.

Spencer’s eyes snap towards yours, surprise written all over his face. “You- I- Uh-“ His mouth falls open and closed like a fish as he tries to string a coherent sentence together, blinking at you with wide eyes.

How did you know that?

He falls short of an answer to your question, his eyes questioning you silently.

“Does your team know?”

Spencer shakes his head slowly. “If they do no one’s ever mentioned it..” He doesn’t know why he’s exposing himself to you like this, but theirs something in the look your giving him that tells him that he can’t lie to you.

“What great friends.” Your voice is practically dripping in sarcasm, and Spencer can’t help but subconsciously agree with you.

He’d waited and waited for someone to recognise that something was off with him. That he wasn’t all there.

But instead of it being one of his coworkers, some of which he’d known for years, it was a sociopathic serial killer that he’d known for 37 hours and 16 minutes.

Lucky him.

“They have more important things to worry about,” His hand returns to scratching at his elbow through his shirt, clearly uncomfortable with the topic of conversation.

You raise your eyebrow at him, clearly intrigued by the misfortune riddling his life; Almost as if it was a private viewing of a feature film made solely for your entertainment.

“Stop doing that.”

Spencer raises his eyes towards yours once more at your words, wide and glossy and making him look like a pathetic little puppy who’d been told off for tearing up a couch cushion.

You wonder how deep that patheticness goes.

“Don’t scratch. It’s annoying to watch and it’ll make your withdrawals worse.” You depart from the room before he can give you an answer, shutting the door harshly behind you as you spot Hotch in the main foyer of the station.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“I’m bored.” You swing your legs over the edge of the table you were sat on. You’d spent the last four days confined either to the hotel room you were sharing with Hotch or the small meeting room the OCPD had reserved for the BAU during the case.

You wanted a change of scenery. Desperately. You could only deal with monotony for so long.

At least back in your cell you activities you could engage in.

Instead you were just stuck as a fact checker for the details of each victim.

Five people had died now. Following your victim pattern to a T.

The first a young white man. The second a middle aged white woman. The third a male black college student. The fourth and fifth a young gay couple.

It agitated you. What happened to originality? Get your own random victims.

“You can accompany Morgan and I to the coroner’s office,” Spencer offered you a pursed smile at his suggestion, partly because he knew you’d be able to see more differences between the originals and recreations in person than through photos and partly because he wanted to crack you open.

He wanted to know everything about you. He wanted to know what made you tick. How you rationalised your crimes. How your sociopathy developed.

He was in deep. And his brain wanted answers.

“Absolutely not.” Morgan shot down the idea immediately with a stern shake of his head. “There is no way in hell we are bringing them with us,”

“They might catch something that we won’t be able to,” Spencer’s rationalisation wasn’t exactly wrong. Even in copy cat murders the offender always left a piece of themself behind. Something of their own personality rather than the killer they were trying to replicate.

It could be so tiny that no one would recognise it. Apart from the original offender of course.

“They might catch the bright idea to try and attack somebody.”

“Oh please-“ You roll your eyes at Morgan. “If I was going to have another mental break at seeing a recreation of my past endeavours I would have had it already,”

Morgan narrows your eyes at you calling your murder spree your ‘past endeavours’. You hadn’t published a book or painted some mural. You’d killed eighteen people.

“Reid’s right,”

He doesn’t have time to get angry at you.

“Hotch-“ Morgan looks completely betrayed.

“There’s only so much they can do to help us from here. We want to stop this before anyone else gets hurt.” Hotch’s tone is stern, leaving no room for argument.

“And if they do spiral out of control,” Hotch’s eyes flicker between Morgan and yourself. “I trust you’ll be able to take care of it.”

Morgan mutters something under his breath about ‘stupid hierarchies’ and how much he hated your guts as he left the meeting room with a huff, although more composed than you thought he’d be.

“Are you ready to leave?” Spencer’s question snaps you out of your revelling over Morgan’s distaste for you, although your small smile of satisfaction doesn’t falter as your eyes meet Spencer’s.

“Let’s go Doctor. I’m ready to get out of this beige abomination.”

You push yourself off the table and leave out of the same door that Morgan had, Spencer following closely behind you.

He was oddly grateful about your decency to respect his title, and it only made him want to read you like a book even more.

- part two !!

[milksockets]

'bench press' by andy buck, 1999-2000 in corporal identity body language: 9th triennial for form + content, usa + germany - museum of arts + design (2004)

[livfastdieyoung69]

Don’t worry I don’t mind it at it.

Can you a 2004/05 Randy x reader: the reader is the wwe diva who Randy had a crush on despite her fellow divas warn her to stay away, it’s wasn’t until Randy the legend killer tells her that he is in love with her after the reader wins the women’s championship.

BIRDS OF A FEATHER

(Randy Orton x gn!reader, who’s kinda bitchy)

Considering you had just won quite the prestigious title during the last pay per view, you were finally given a bit of a break. You still had to show up for Raw the following Monday, just no wrestling. Obviously, you loved your job just as much as every other professional wrestler did, but some days you really wanted a break from the physical torture you put your body through.

After the camera greets you and the crowd cheers from the view of you on the jumbotron, Championship belt over your shoulder, you’re practically skipping to catering with pride. You rush to the line after picking out a table for you and your shiny, new belt which you gently place on the cheap folding table you’d chosen, much like the ones under the ring.

“Hey. Congrats on your win.” A calming voice, deep too, very deep, speaks from behind you after calling your name. Turning your head, you find a smirking Randy Orton, something you seem to find a lot these days.

“Hey, Randy! Thanks.” You responded, a smug grin covering your face before you turn back and grab a serving of the usual catering options. A little bland and boring, but it was full of protein and carbs, which is what the locker room needed. You would have invited him to sit with you if he didn’t have an entourage of snickering friends behind him, watching the two of you interact. “You did pretty great too.” You offered after a moment of silence, looking up to find him still gazing at you.

”Listen,” The way he said your name should be illegal. Really everything he says should be, somehow everything sounded good coming from him. If he told you he ran someone over you’d kiss him on the cheek and tell him you were sure it was an accident. “I was thinking, maybe later we could go-“

Suddenly your arm is grabbed, and you’re yanked away from Randy and out of the catering line with a yelp.

“I need to talk to you, it's urgent!” Trish Stratus speaks quickly as she speeds out of the catering room, you stumbling behind her.

”God, I’d hope so with the way you’re pulling me!” She shoves you into an empty locker room and follows you in.

”What the hell, Trish, my belts in there! I’m hungry and you totally made me leave my food in the catering line and someones gonna throw it away or something!” You yelled, a little harshly, but mostly just annoyed and unforgiving in your hunger.

“Just wait a second.” Your eyebrows raise and your mouth falls open in astonishment as she raises her hand in your direction, the other resting on her jutted hip. She’d pulled you away and acted like everything had to happen just this second, and now she was telling you to wait?

“Don’t tell me to wait a second-“

“Sorry, I’m here.” Stacy Kiebler pants, her back against the door she just pushed through.

“What the hell is this? Is this a fucking intervention from the blondes, cause if it is thats like the whole roster and I’m not waiting for all of you.” You get a laugh from Trish, but Stacy only rolls her eyes at you with a scoff. Not that you were joking anyways, you really did get bitchy when you were hungry. Well, bitchier.

”Only these blondes. We just wanted to tell you to stay away from Randy.” Trish starts, quickly getting to the point. Your eyebrows furrow, confusion taking over as you take a seat on the wooden locker bench behind you.

”Uh, what do you mean?” You trail off with a small laugh, finding their reasoning for this pretty ridiculous. Stacy calls your name from the side of Trish as if it were obvious why.

”He follows you around like a little puppy dog. But like ripped, and really hot,” Trish glares at her. “Anyways, he's totally into you, and you should be worried.”

“What am I supposed to be worried about? He’s been way nicer to me than, like, basically everyone here.” You lean back into one of the lockers, over the conversation. Considering the company you worked for, and your high up position, you’d think it’d be obvious you can take care of yourself.

”Okay, well, you’re kind of a bitch and he's a douchebag so I think you naturally get along.” It was true, but Trish still loved you. She was just about the only person who could deal with your attitude. “All we’re trying to say is he's not the best guy out there. Randy’s RKO’d both of us, we’re prime examples of his bad behavior!” You stand with an aggravated sigh and roll your eyes.

”Well, I don't know what to tell you, he's never RKO’d me,” You start making your way to the door. “And if he tries I’ll rip his eyes out or something.” You mumble as you pass the two of them and slam the door on your way out, rushing back to catering in hopes to find not only your title still there but also your food.

Thankfully, your title was fine. Your plate, not so much. And your favorite option was gone thanks to Trish and Stacy taking so long with their dumb ‘intervention’ so you grabbed what was left and tried to swallow it down, which wasn’t going so well considering you were pouting and doing nothing but sitting and staring at your new paper plate.

The seat next to you slides out, the one to your right, the one on the left holds your title. Randy slides in it with a grunt and plops the plate you had made earlier right in front of himself.

“Ohmygod, Randy! You saved my food for me, that's so sweet!” All thoughts of your conversation in the empty locker room leave you as the thought of a full stomach comes forward. The way he was looking at you didn’t help either. Before you can take your plate though, he scoots it to the other side of the table with a smug grin.

”Magic word?”

”I take my compliments back. You suck.” You gave him a glare but he only put his hand up to his ear. “Ugh, c’mon!” He still gave no response so you finally gave in. “Please, Randy?” That was probably the sweetest you could be. Fake, but the sweetest you could be, and luckily it worked. He slides it all the way to you and you're quick to start eating. He even grabbed you one of the cheap, plastic sporks. He watches you dig in and the two of you hold awkward conversation for some time, enough time that you’re almost done eating.

“Anyways, earlier, I was gonna ask if you wanted to go out and have dinner? Offer still stands.” You stop chewing for a second and look up at him, before leaning back in your chair with a smug grin and finishing your bite.

”Y’know,” You started before taking another bite. Its always fun to keep a man on his toes. “My friends all hate you.” Friend, technically, just Trish. As mentioned, you didn’t get along with very many people and you were pretty sure Trish had recruited Stacy because they had both been RKO’d. “‘Cause you, y’know, RKO’d them.”

“Is that a no?” He sounded pretty disappointed. Looked it too.

”Oh, no, we can go to dinner. You’re hot and sort of considerate to me atleast, so.” You take your final bite with a shrug. “I just wanted you to know what you’re getting yourself into.”

He watches you stand from your chair and grab your title, quickly throwing your plates away. Suddenly you stop right before you leave catering and look at him over your shoulder.

“And you’re paying!”

ive found the secret to writing, its instrumental music with no words i just listened to the daredevil soundtrack on repeat

this was fun to write, i love writing bitchy reader if you couldn’t tell from my mjf stuff plus i feel like it really fits with this time period of randy. really any time period randy, someone get him a bitchy s/o, it just makes so much sense to me

PLEASE REMEMBER, I ONLY WRITE GN!!!!!!!! I’LL STILL WRITE A REQUEST IF IT SAYS FEM, I’M JUST GOING TO WRITE IT GN!!!!

[xxsabitoxx]

Satoru's Discovery (Pale Blue)

Read Pale Blue Part 1 HERE

~This is just a fun little glimpse back into the lives of 1st-year students Satoru, Suguru, Shoko, and Reader. This is told from Satoru's perspective but still written in 2nd person format.

Warnings: Underage smoking, everyone in this implied to be 15, aka they are in their first year at jujutsu tech so there is obviously no explicit content.

Drip divider is from the wonderful @benkeibear

WORD COUNT: 1.5k

October 2004 

He’s not focusing on anything but you, glasses sliding down his nose just a bit as he observes you eat. You’re talking so animatedly to Shoko, chopsticks dangling hazardously between your fingers as you use your hands to talk. You’ve always been a bit more hyper, especially when you’re eating a good meal. Satoru has only known you since April but he’s got some of your mannerisms down pat. Beside you, Suguru has his fist pressed to his cheek, elbow on the table and food forgotten as he watches you intently. There is a gentle smile on his face, perhaps this was the first time Satoru had noticed that level of focus in Suguru when it came to you. 

Though, Shoko would later claim it’s been obvious from the start. 

“You claim to have good eyes, yet you seem to miss the most obvious things, Gojo.” 

“And then… oh, Gojo? You okay?” he hadn’t realized it, but his glasses had slipped off of his face all together and clattered to the table amidst his daydream. Now, he could feel warmth flooding his face as he scrambled to grab them, trying to ignore three sets of eyes boring into him. “Y-yeah I’m fine I was just so engulfed in your story that I..uh… I…” he couldn’t find the words to save himself, mildly thankful when you and Shoko had begun to laugh. Quickly, Satoru’s eyes had shot up to meet Suguru’s, the other man staring at him with a quirked brow. To say the two boys had clicked right away would be a false statement. It wasn’t until after their first mission that the two became close. At first, Suguru couldn’t even stand him. 

Now, they were stuck together like glue, where one went, so did the other. Maybe that’s why it was so jarring to see Suguru looking at him like that, he hadn’t looked at him like that since their first mission together. It was a look of… “Jealousy? Why would I be jealous?” It had been three days since that incident at dinner and now the two were sitting on a park bench while you and Shoko were in the convenience store. Satoru shook his head, rubbing the back of his neck. “You were just looking at me funny dude, it was weird.” Satoru couldn’t stand the awkwardness, eyes averting to the opposite direction despite his sunglasses covering his eyes. 

“Well, if I was looking at you funny, I apologize.” Suguru shrugged it all off, head turning the moment you and Shoko emerged from the small store. “Geto, Gojo!” You called, bouncing happily towards them with a lollipop pressed into your cheek. “These are for you!” You smiled as you handed Satoru a matching lollipop and Suguru a bag of chips. “I know you don’t like sweet things, so I figured you might like these.” Behind you, Shoko was lighting up a cigarette. “Thank you!” Satoru chimed happily, plucking the blue pop from your hand and unwrapping it excitedly. “Thanks.” Suguru responded as well, sharing a smile with you before tilting his head and asking Shoko for a cigarette from her stash. That feeling was creeping up Satoru’s spine again, the feeling that he was missing something but he couldn’t figure out what it was.

He watched from his spot on the bench, observing the way you laughed as Shoko begrudgingly handed Suguru one of her cigs and a lighter. He pressed the lollipop to his tongue, smiling along when it felt right but he truly wasn’t paying attention. Instead, Satoru had focused on the way you and Suguru interacted with each other. He observed a little more diligently than before, picking up on the small interactions  and quick glances, the smiles you both shared when you must have figured neither him or Shoko were looking. “You coming?” He jumped a bit, noticing Suguru was standing and looking at him with an amused smirk. “Hu-oh uh yeah…” Satoru stammered, cheeks burning again as he was caught mid-daydream. 

“You must be staying up late, Gojo. You’ve been pretty spaced out the last few days.” He fell into step beside you, choking out a laugh as he tried to play things off. “Yeah, I’ve been pretty invested in some of my studies.” which also wasn’t technically a lie. He had been reading and researching various physics formulas and equations and all the boring but technical stuff that would help him better understand his curse technique. “I always forget you’re actually pretty studious.” You chuckle, hand reaching out to push him playfully. Usually Satoru was on guard, not stumbling when you pushed him. Today, however, he found himself falling into Suguru’s side. 

“Woah there, go easy on him.” 

You had a grin on your face as you spoke, head turning upwards a bit to make eye contact with Suguru. The boy was smiling back at you, eyes shining as he spoke. “Shall we tell them? It’s really not a huge deal.” He laughed a bit as you slapped his shoulder. “Tell us what?” Shoko chimed, oblivious to the way Satoru’s world was starting to crack around him. “Well, Suguru and I…” and for a moment Satoru couldn’t hear anything other than the ringing in his ears. “No way! I fucking knew it!” Shoko had laughed, pulling her third cigarette from her lips to point at you. “You’re both terrible liars… I figured you two have been dating for like two months now.” 

Satoru’s hearing returned to him just in time to hear that, his stomach twisting in knots as his worst fears were met. You and Suguru had been dating for months now. That was the very answer he couldn’t grasp, only because it was the answer he didn’t want. “Satoru, you okay?” Your brows had knitted together in concern, once again he was met with three sets of eyes boring into his own. “I-uh-yeah I’m fine just… just surprised is all.” He recovered but it wasn’t as smooth as he wanted it to be, and once again he was met with an odd look from Suguru. 

But it passed, the brown eyes of his best friend had returned to you, looking at you like you were his entire universe. It made his stomach tighten even more, mouth so dry he was certain he would choke if he tried to speak again. “I’ll spare you all the mushy details, but yeah. We’ve been dating for what feels like forever now.” You laughed a bit, deciding it was best to just move on from Satoru’s clear shellshock in order to not make things awkward for him. Just like always, you could read the white-haired sorcerer better than he could read himself sometimes. 

Somewhere, deep down, you knew you were witnessing his heart breaking. 

But for his sake, you would try and ignore it. 

[catgirlcalling]

Potential dialogue prompt:

"What did I do? Was i too much for you?"

"Oh god no Evan, it's me. I'm the one who's not enough, you're perfect."

We have a winner folks, you got me! Thank you so much for the prompt, because I just wrote my first little fanficlet since I was in the LOTR fandom back in 2004 😅 Here you go:

"What did I do? Was I too much for you?"

"Oh god no Evan, it's me. I'm the one who's not enough, you're perfect."

I’m not, is on the tip of Bucks’ tongue, and he knows Tommy can see it on his face when he presses on before the protest forms.

“The way you just accepted yourself, you agreed to a date with a man with no hesitation when you’d only realised it was an option a minute before,” a sad smile crosses Tommy’s face that Buck feels himself mirroring. “The way you didn’t question it until we ran into Eddie, and even then you were more worried you’d hurt me and lied to him than you were about coming out. You came out at your sisters’ wedding without a care in the world,”

Tommy pauses and looks up at the high ceiling of the loft. Buck watches his fingers clench and unclench in his lap as he tries to find the words, soot from the four alarm fire staining his nails still. Both the 118 and the 217 had been called to the warehouse fire and by luck, or serendipity or another damn curse they’d run into each other on site.

After an awkward minutes silence staring at each other between the firetrucks, something in Buck had finally snapped. He needed answers, but mostly he wanted…needed to talk to Tommy. But not here.

“Uhm, h-hi,” he stammers, then steels himself, tries to think what his therapist would tell him to do. “There’s a lot I want to say, a-and I think we need to talk, but we’re working. Call me, when we’re done?”

He swallows hard, and moves to walk past Tommy when he gets no answer after a beat. Before he makes it past the end of the truck, he hears Tommy’s voice, low and sad. “Yeah, ok.”

Which was how they ended up here, seated at the kitchen counter in Bucks loft, the deja vu from the last time they sat here not lost on either of them.

Tommy’s eyes finally fall and return to Buck’s, with a gentle sigh, “You said you admired me, and the way you talked about me…I don’t deserve any of that praise. I’m not perfect, Evan. I’ve done and said some awful things just to save my own skin, I was ashamed of who I am for so long, and I’m even a little jealous of you for how easily you accepted yourself and how you stood up for others. The way you see me, it’s amazing, it is…but it’s not me. And I won’t be able to take it the day you see me for the mess I really am. You deserve better than me, Evan. You’re perfect, and I’m so far from it. I didn’t do it just to protect my own heart, but yours too.”

Buck feels the tears sting his eyes as he stares Tommy down, weighing up his words. Then with a sniffle, and to Tommy’s surprise- a chuckle, he gives him a watery grin.

“The day you kissed me, what was I teasing you for?” Buck asked, making Tommy duck his head and give his own sniffly chuckle.

“You have the worst fake mouth static, and you’re a terrible liar- not as bad as Chim but you’re up there. Your taste in coffee is just weird, that amount of sugar is insane. You and my best friend made fun of me for believing in curses. I know you’re not perfect, Tommy. But I was an absolute brat the entire time I was cursed, whining and insecure and needy and too much and….” He pauses and takes a breath, leaning over and reaching for Tommy’s hand, hoping he doesn’t pull away.

“And you saw all of that, and looked after me anyway. You cared even when I was being my worst. Even when you dumped me, even right now I care about you. I know you’re not perfect Tommy…but I-I think you are perfect for me. We can work this out together. Please?”

Buck’s fingers brush against his across the kitchen bench, and they tangle together. Tommy doesn’t pull away.

X

[juniperskye]

Like I Talk To Myself.

Sneak Peek:  Being the new kid in school has Jason and his asshat friends saying some horrible shit to you. In attempt of being your white knight, Eddie finds out that it’s not Jason and his goons who you need to be saved from. Eddie’s POV. Indented section is a phone call (italics are Eddie and bold is Wayne)

Eddie Munson x Fem Reader

Hurt/Comfort

Word count: 2004

REQUESTS ARE OPEN - not edited - please be kind. Feedback is welcome if it's constructive!

Warnings: My blog is 18+, minors DNI, language, reader is clinically depressed, mentions of abusive home life, description of injuries from abuse, bad medication management, self-deprecation, suicidal thoughts, mention of self-harm, description of injuries related to self-harm. PLEASE DO NOT READ IF THESE THEMES ARE TRIGGERING TO YOU!!! If I missed any, let me know!  

That being said I do not own the characters portrayed in this story.

The new girl had been here for nearly two months now. I had tried really hard to hide how into her I was, but the guys pretty much guessed it the second they saw me checking her out. She was different than the girls here in Hawkins, she kept to herself, not pursuing the usual popular guys. Truthfully he hadn’t seen you attempt to pursue anyone in your time here.

She was in my math class and every day she would come in with her head down, hood up, and quickly find a seat in the back. She’d end up doodling most of the class, like she was right now. The bell ringing startled her, I really wanted to reach out and comfort her, she seemed like she needed it.

I exited the classroom right behind her, only to watch Andy slam right into her. Her books went flying all over the hallway and Andy started yelling at her.

“Watch where you’re going you stupid bitch.” Andy roared.

“Woah Andy, back off. You ran into her!” I had no idea why I was interjecting.

“Oooh I get it! The freak found himself a freakette.” Jason chimed in.

“No, that’s not…” I stuttered.

“I don’t give a shit. Just keep that bitch on a leash, or next time, I’ll kick your ass.” Andy barked.

I looked back to see her scrambling to grab her things and make her way out the doors that lead to the football field. Jason and his idiot friends had been treating her like this since she arrived. They had initially tried to get in her pants and when she refused they called her things like prude, virgin Mary, but then it escalated to slut and whore. And now their name of choice had been bitch.

I made quick haste of following her, something in me just needed to make sure she was okay. As I moved to trail her, my foot made contact with something. I glanced and recognized it immediately as the notebook she’s always carrying. I picked it up and a few pages fell out, leaning over to grab them, my breath escaped me. The words and images scrawled on these pages were dark.

I picked up the pace and saw that she was headed to the picnic table in the clearing. I wasn’t far behind, and I wanted to make sure I didn’t startle her, so I called after her, just as she was sitting down.

“Hey!”

“What do you want?” She snapped.

“I uh, I wanted to make sure you were okay. Plus, I wanted to give this back to you.” I explained.

“Did you go through this?” She accused.

“No, but some of the pages fell out and I did see them…you’re not gonna go through with it are you?” I asked.

“Dude, that is none of your business. It’s not like anyone would miss me anyway.”

“I would.” I mumbled.

“You don’t know me.” She said.

I moved to sit next to her on the bench, sure to leave her enough space. Being this close to her, I could see how her skin looks dull, her cheeks sunken in, her hair looked brittle. In front of me was a girl who was going through a really hard time, and I wanted to do anything in my power to lift some of her burden.

“I don’t know much about you, but I’d really like to. I know what it’s like to be on the receiving end of Jason’s torture.”

“Eddie, if they think that they can make me cry more than me, they’re wrong. It’s my voice in my head telling me I’m better off dead. Not Jason’s, not Andy’s, mine.” She explained.

I was speechless, I truly couldn’t believe that she felt this horrible. I had seen this girl and the amazing things she was capable of; she had silently helped others in her time here. She would loan out a pencil if it was needed, she had given her lunch to a kid who couldn’t afford it, hell, she had pulled a kid out of the way of Andy in the hall just last week so they wouldn’t have to endure what she did today. She was such a good person and he wished she could see it.

“Can I ask you a personal question?” I asked her.

“I guess…you already know way too much about me.” She shrugged.

“In your notebook, I saw something about you hurting yourself…is that true?”

She looked down at her hands, resting in her lap. I was fully expecting her to tell me off and walk away, I had clearly pushed a boundary. But instead, she reached for her zipper, pulled it down and slid her jacket off her shoulders. She folded it neatly and placed it on the table, revealing her arms to me. A choked noise escaped my throat as my eyes roamed over the number of scars that littered her arms. There were scars that were clearly from cigarettes, other burn type scars and a bunch of neat parallel lines that varied in color. Some were white and obviously healed, some were raised scars from the depth, and some were red and recently scabbed over.

“It’s bad. I know.” She shook her head, a tear falling and landing on her jeans.

“Hey, there is no judgement. I just, I am curious to know why.” I replied.

“Why? I don’t…I’ve never been asked that before. I mean my parents treat me like shit, my dad likes to fight when he’s drunk. And my mom, she belittles me every chance she gets…she thinks depression is a joke and that I am making things up. Even after being diagnosed, she still thinks I am trying to get attention, she withholds my prescription from me sometimes.” She paused, she looked surprised at herself that she’d been able to vent freely.

“Honestly Eddie…by inflicting physical pain, I am able to shift my focus to that instead of the emotional pain. It allows me this release of all the horrible shit I am feeling after dealing with school or home.”

I looked at her, gently reached up to brush a strand of her hair back and then grabbed her hand. I locked eyes with her again, to make sure she was okay with this, and when she nodded subtly, I brought her wrist to my lips and placed a light kiss there.

“I just want the pain to end Eddie.” She sniffled.

“I know that things are really shitty right now, and I’m not going to sit here and tell you that it’ll get better, but I do know that there are steps we can take to improve it little by little and I want to help you do that if you will let me.”

*Two Months Later*

I had just gotten to school and made my way to her locker and waited, just as I had done every day for the last two months. I had promised her that I would be by her side in any way I could, and I wasn’t about to break that promise. Only, today she didn’t show. Maybe she was running late…right? I headed off to English and hoped I would see her in third period for math. When she wasn’t there, I knew I had to find her.

I left the school and drove straight to her house; I couldn’t stomach the thought of what I might find. I didn’t want to drive without knowing if she was okay, but I also couldn’t waste any more time.

I didn’t take the time to park, leaving the van diagonally in her driveway. Rushing over to the door and throwing it open.

“Hey peach, you here?” I called out, hoping she’d be sick on the couch, but when I was met with silence I made my way to the stairs, taking them two at a time. “Peach?”

I heard a quiet sob come from the bathroom and began knocking.

“Hey peach, it’s me. Can I come in?”

“No Eddie, go away, please.” She cried.

“You know I can’t do that, not until I see you’re okay.” I pleaded.

The lock to the door clicked after a moment and I quickly opened the door. The sight I was met with was one I never wish to see again. She was sat on the bathroom floor in a tank top and shorts, drops of blood were pooling on the tiles below her. Only it wasn’t of her own doing, she had a black eye, split lip and eyebrow, a sizeable cut across her cheek, and bruises littering her arms and legs.

“Peach. Who did this to you?”

“Eddie…”

“Peach. Who. Did. This.”

“My dad.” She sobbed, dropping her head into her hands.

I had to take a deep breath to calm myself. My vision was tinted in crimson, rage filling my being. I knew I needed to keep my cool though, I didn’t want to upset her anymore than she already was.

I looked at her and asked her if I could help clean up those cuts. She nodded and let me lift her to the countertop. I cleaned and bandaged her cuts and helped her to her room, I told her to lie down and went to grab her a water and some Tylenol. Once in the kitchen I grabbed the phone, dialing home.

Hey Wayne…I need a favor. My friend, That girl you call peach?  yeah peach. Are you with her now? Tell her I said hi! I will Wayne. She uh, she needs a place to stay. Eds we shouldn’t get into other people’s business…plus she’d have to stay in your room…and I don’t want any funny business under my roof. No, I know. Wayne it’s bad. She can stay here. Okay, thank you.

I made my way back to her room and handed her the water and Tylenol. I didn’t know how to suggest to her that we pack all her stuff and get her out of here, but I know I needed to. She deserved to be in a home where people loved and cared about her…not stuck here in this hell her parents have created for her.

“Hey peach…”

“Eddie…”

“You go first.” I suggested.

“I um, I know it’s a big ask…but do you think maybe I could…you know what never mind.” She shook her head.

“I called Wayne when I was downstairs. I asked him if you could stay with us, and he said yes.” I explained.

“Really? Thank you Eddie!” She sniffled and pulled me into a hug.

“Let’s get you packed!”

After gathering her things, we made our way out to the van. She left a note for her parents explaining that they didn’t need to worry about her, not that they had before. And we headed back to the trailer. Wayne came outside to help bring her things in as we pulled up, when he saw her face, he glanced at me and gave me a short nod. We got her things inside, and I helped her unpack some of her stuff.

Wayne ordered us a pizza and bid us goodnight as he left for work. I let her shower first and then after we’d both showered and brushed our teeth, we got into bed. Only after she told me it was unacceptable for me to sleep on the floor.

“I gave him the finger.” She whispered.

“What?” I asked, confused.

“He was yelling at me and calling me names. I uh, I gave him the finger and told him to go to hell.” She explained.

“You did?”

“Yeah.” She chuckled “I’m not going to tolerate being called useless, stupid, or being told I am too hard to love. Not by them and not by me. Not anymore.” She turned over and smiled at me.

I couldn’t help but smile back. She was so easy to love, and I couldn’t wait to show her that.

[the-fiction-witch]

His Golden Car

Media - House Of The Dragon AU Character - Aegon Targaryen Couple - Aegon X Reader Reader - Y/n Rating - 18+ Non con / fingering/ blow jobs/ 'slut'/ unprotected sex/ forced orgasms Word Count - 2004

WARNING- Non Consensual Smut!

Aegon stood on the dusty dirt, everyone enjoying the drinking and flirting going on after the Friday night game.

Y/n stayed out of the celebrations, she was only a journalist for the school paper so didn’t really want to involve herself in the clicks. But she needed a ride home with her cheerleader sister. So she sat sheepishly in the corner near the changing rooms her notebook clutched to her chest,

Aegon spotted Y/n sitting alone in the corner, looking a bit out of place among the rowdy crowd. He walked over to her, his arrogance evident in his stride, and plopped down beside her on the bench. “Hey gorgeous,” he said with a charming smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “What's wrong, don't wanna party with us?”

"ohh I uhh I don't really drink" she admitted

Aegon chuckled and nudged her playfully with his elbow. “A teetotaler, huh?” He glanced around the group, making sure no one was paying attention to them. “You know, I've got my car parked nearby. If you want to get outta here, I can give you a lift home.” His eyes locked onto hers, sparkling with amusement. “We could even grab some ice cream on the way. My treat.”

"oh thank you Aegon but you don't have to do that" she smiled,

Aegon grinned, pleased that she'd accepted his offer. “Don't worry about it, I'm happy to help out,” he said as he pulled her up with him, “So, what's your favorite flavor of ice cream?” he tossed his solo cup and put an arm around her tugging her to his golden car,

"Ohh I uhh I like strawberry" she Blushed as he took her bag and tossed her bag and books on the backseat holding the door open for her,

As she slid into the passenger seat, Aegon closed the door behind her and made his way around to the driver's side. He slipped into the driver's seat, his eyes meeting hers in the rearview mirror.

“I've got a sweet tooth for strawberries too,” he said, his voice low and husky, as he started the engine and pulled out of the parking lot. “But I think there's something sweeter than strawberry ice cream,” his gaze drifted to her lips, his expression softening. He drove his car trying to hide his smirk, biting his bottom lip a little as he looks at the hem of her skirt and the way the sheer tights stretch over her thighs. He drives to a old vacant lot on the edge of town parking up and turning on the radio just as he locked his doors,

"I uhh I thought you said we were going for ice cream?" She asked

Aegon's smirk grew wider his eyes never leaving hers “Ice cream can wait,” he said, his voice dripping with suggestion, as he reached across the console and gently brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “The view is much better here,” Aegons hand slipped down her hair stroking her side until his hand took a firm grip on her thigh

"Aegon!" She gasped in shock,

Aegon's grip tightened, his thumb pressing into the sensitive flesh of her inner thigh, “Shh, beautiful,” he whispered, his voice low and husky, as he leaned in close, his breath caressing her ear.

"Aegon- please what are you doing!" She protests and complaints trying desperately to get out his car

Aegon made a show of putting the key down his jeans and into his boxers “Ah-ah, don't bother trying to escape, gorgeous,” Aegon chuckled, his eyes glinting with amusement as he shifted in his seat, the movement causing the key to rub against his erection. “You're not going anywhere until I'm done with you,” his hand slid higher on her thigh, his fingers spreading wide to cup her pussy through her clothes. “Might as well relax and enjoy it, I’ve never had a complain so far,”

Y/n screamed trying get away from him

Aegon ripped her tights and pulled down her little cotton pink and yellow striped panties Aegon's face twisted into a feral grin as he yanked them down, exposing her to the cool evening air. His eyes roved over her exposed form, drinking in every inch of her skin “Oh, Y/n,” he breathed, his voice low and husky with desire. “You look perfect like this.” He reached out, his fingers closing around her wrist like a vice as he dragged her back towards him. Aegon's gaze locked onto hers, his eyes burning with intensity as he pulled her closer. His lips crashed down on hers, the kiss hot and demanding “Y/n,” he muttered against her mouth, his tongue probing deep into her throat. His hands roamed over her body, claiming every inch of her skin as his own. He palmed her breasts, teasing the nipples until they were hard and aching.

Aegon’s hands worked hard as he forcefully made out with her tossing her jumper, shirt and skirt, ripping the remains of her tights off her body revealing her pussy and her bra, Aegon's fingers dug deep into her hips, holding her in place as he ravaged her mouth. Aegon's eyes raked over her, drinking in the sight of her bare skin. He didn't care about anyone watching all that mattered was claiming her, making her his. With a grunt, Aegon tore off her bra, sending hooks flying as he bared her breasts to the night air. His thumbs brushed against her nipples,

She whimpered, trying to push him away, but Aegon held fast, his grip unyielding. Y/n desperately tries to stop him but Aegon is far bigger and stronger then her able to overpower her little body with ease, she squaled as he tugged on her nipples

Aegon's chuckle grew louder, his eyes glinting with amusement as he toyed with her nipples. He squeezed them gently, then released them, only to tug on them again, sending shivers down her spine. As she struggled beneath him, Aegon leaned in close, his lips brushing against her ear. “Don't fight it, Y/n,” he whispered, his breath sending goosebumps down her neck. “You know you want this.” he forced his fingers inside her making her scream as he thrusted them hard into her tight virgin cunt

Aegon's eyes flashed with triumph as he felt her tightness give way to his invasion. He pumped his fingers in and out of her, the friction building to a crescendo as she screamed beneath him. Her body arched upward, desperate to escape the sensation, but Aegon held firm, his grip like a vice on her hips. He added another finger, stretching her further, and Y/n's screams turned to whimpers as she struggled to accommodate him. But Aegon was relentless, driving deeper and harder until she was writhing beneath him, her body begging for release. As he thrust his fingers faster, Aegon's breathing grew ragged, his face inches from hers as he watched her succumb to the pleasure-pain. “You're so wet,” he muttered, his voice barely audible over the sound of their labored breathing. “And so tight.”

Aegon's fingers continued to pump in and out of her, the friction building to a fever pitch. He could feel her walls clamping down around him, milking his fingers for every last drop of pleasure. Suddenly, Aegon's movements became more urgent, his strokes growing shorter and more insistent.

Y/n's screams turned to moans, her body tensing up as she teetered on the brink of orgasm. Aegon's eyes locked onto hers, his gaze burning with intensity as he drove home one final time.

Aegon's fingers froze, buried deep within her trembling body. He gazed down at Y/n, his eyes blazing with a fierce possessiveness. “No longer gentle, no longer tender,” Aegon's expression had hardened into something primal and raw. With those words, Aegon withdrew his fingers, leaving Y/n gasping in shock and arousal. he licked his fingers clean and leaned back in his seat undoing his jeans and pulling out his hard cock, "Come on Y/n, suck."

"No!" She protests

"I wasn't asking." He growled pulling on her hair "suck little slut cause I'm not letting you put until you do" Aegon's grip on her hair tightened, his fingers digging deep into her scalp as he pulled her head toward his cock. His eyes blazed with a fierce dominance, daring her to resist. “Open your mouth,” he growled, his voice dripping with command.

As she hesitated, Aegon's hand closed around her jaw, forcing her lips apart.

His cock pressed against her tongue, and Y/n felt a surge of disgust She gagged on the first thrust, but Aegon didn't relent.

He pushed deeper, his hips pumping forward in a brutal rhythm. “Suck it, little slut,” he hissed, his breath hot against her face. Aegon's grip on her jaw relaxed slightly, allowing Y/n to breathe. But only for a moment. Then, his fingers tightened once more, holding her in place as he began to move his hips in a slow, deliberate rhythm “Take it all,” he whispered, his voice husky with desire.

Y/n's eyes watered as she struggled to accommodate him, but Aegon didn't care.

He was too far gone, lost in the pleasure of dominating her. He held her hair and forced her to move up and down his cock as he groaned and moaned until suddenly, he stopped moving, his cock still lodged deep within her mouth. he pushed her away and growled "get out." He climbed out the car leaving the headlights on, he pulled her out of his car still naked by her hair and laid her over the hood of his car bend over. He slapped her ass and spread her cheeks "Now scream little slut cause I wanna hear every detail. I want to hear you loose your virginity. I want to hear you as you submit. I wanna hear you cum. So be a good slut and open that cute little cunt for your daddy." He growled pushing inside her making her scream

Aegon's hands grasped her hips, holding her in place as he thrust deep within her. The sound of her screams filled the air, mingling with the crickets and the distant hum of traffic. “Yes, yes, yes,” he growled, his voice a low rumble of satisfaction. As he pounded into her, Aegon's fingers dug deep into her skin, leaving red marks that would linger long after this night was over.

Y/n's cries grew louder, more intense, as she felt herself being consumed by the pain and pleasure. She was losing control, surrendering to the primal urge that drove Aegon forward. And yet, despite the agony, she couldn't help but feel a twisted sense of excitement.

Aegon's pace quickened, his thrusts becoming more savage as he reached the peak of his passion.

Y/n's screams grew hoarse, her body shaking beneath him as she teetered on the brink of collapse. Suddenly, Aegon's grip on her hips tightened, and he slammed into her with a ferocity that made her cry out in ecstasy.

The world around them melted away, leaving only the two of them, lost in a vortex of pleasure and pain. As they climaxed together, Aegon's roar echoed through the night air, mingling with Y/n's shattered whispers. Y/n shivered and trembled feeling aegon’s seed shoot of inside her, When it was over, Aegon collapsed against her back, his chest heaving with exertion.

Aegon's chest still heaved with exertion as he wrapped his arms around Y/n's waist, holding her in place. His face buried in the crook of her neck, he breathed deeply, savoring the scent of their combined sweat and musk. For a moment, they lay there, entwined in a tangled mess of limbs and clothes. The only sound was the distant hum of insects and the soft creaking of the car's hood beneath them. Then, Aegon's grip on her waist tightened, and he spoke in a low, husky tone. “We're not done yet,” he whispered, his lips brushing against her ear. "your coming home with me little slut. You can be my little groupie and I'll drop you off at class on Monday when I'm done with your little cunt" he growled forcing her back into the car with him.

[mlleclaudine]

Au procès de Christophe Ruggia, Adèle Haenel veut « rendre justice à l’enfant que personne n’a protégée »

by Sophie Boutboul - Mediapart, December 10, 2024

On Monday, the first day of the director's trial for sexual assault of a minor against the actress, the latter explained that she was speaking «to shatter the isolation of children» who are victims of pedophiles.  [Ruggia] continued to deny the facts.

«Adèle, we believe you», «victims, we believe you», shouted the forty or so people on the steps of the Paris courthouse, present to support actress Adèle Haenel, who filed a complaint against director Christophe Ruggia five years ago, after testifying in Mediapart.

Contrast this with the silence of the courtroom, where for two days Christophe Ruggia has been on trial for sexual assaults on a minor, committed in Paris between September 1, 2001 and February 10, 2004, with the aggravating circumstance of having been a person in authority over the victim.  Adèle Haenel was between 12 and 14 years old at the time.  According to the examining magistrate, these assaults took place on a «weekly» basis.  Christophe Ruggia does not deny these meetings.  He denies what took place.

Many of the actress's friends and family came to support her, including director Céline Sciamma in the front row.  For over an hour, presiding judge Gilles Fonrouge summarized the main points of the investigation, while Adèle Haenel took notes, seated in the front row of the civil parties' bench, looking straight ahead and often in the direction of Christophe Ruggia, who was fully turned toward the judge, motionless.

At the end of the hourlong summary of the case, the judge, at the request of the civil parties, screened seven clips from the film Les Diables, in which Adèle Haenel as a child is seen undressed or naked most of the time, in moments of caressing and kissing between herself and the actor Vincent Rottiers, who play a supposedly abandoned brother and sister but in fact turn out to have no blood ties.

On the stand for over three hours, slightly stooped in his black jacket, Christophe Ruggia sometimes digressed, often answering by avoiding the point of the court's questions.  He continued to deny all [allegations of] sexual assault.  According to him, Adèle Haenel wanted to «launch #MeToo in France» and «it landed» on him.

The presiding judge attempted to understand the context.  He questioned [Ruggia] about the relationship between his characters played by Adèle Haenel and Vincent Rottiers, «a relationship that could be perceived as incestuous at the start, which he has very young children enacting».

«Overwhelmingly sensual»

The filmmaker conceded that it «doesn't seem impossible to him that Adèle Haenel might have imagined» that he was in love with her, given that he was «fascinated» by her and «loved the actress».  The judge asked: «When you write to her that your love is absolutely sincere, how is a very young woman to interpret that if it coincides with actual tactile physical closeness?»  Once again, the director's response was a little evasive, arguing that it was a matter of expressing his «love that was too much to bear», as he put it.  Despite his writings at the time, he insisted that he was never «in love» with the young actress.

Referring to Adèle Haenel's mother, who may have found the relationship between a 36-year-old man and a 12-year-old child «disturbing», the judge asked Ruggia if he had «considered the accuracy» of her attitude.  The director repeatedly replied in the negative.  The judge finally concluded: «We’re not going to make any progress on this issue.»  The same goes for the sexualization of Adèle Haenel, which he continued to deny, despite his words describing her as «overwhelmingly sensual» and his Google search for «Adèle Haenel hot» in 2011.

To explain why he denied the facts, he told the court that, in his opinion, the actress lied based on the version she gave to the police:

«Why is this young woman lying?» asked one of the assessors.

- Because between the time of the Mediapart article and the suit, she figured that she had to go further, she hadn't planned to go to court at first...

- Why would she want to hurt you so much? asked the assessor.

- I think she's been radicalized with #MeToo [...]  Look at her trajectory over the last five years, it started with me, then it was the César awards with Roman Polanski, then her support for Adama Traoré, then her involvement with Révolution Permanente, her attacks on cinema as a whole and on ministers...» he concluded.

Regarding the context of the revelations, the judge recalled that, according to Ruggia, there had been «no influence» in his relationship with Adèle Haenel, but that, according to him, «an influence would instead be exerted» by Céline Sciamma, the actress's former partner.  «However, said the judge, since the end of that relationship, they have remained close and good friends, whereas yours led to a brutal and definitive break-up.  Do you still maintain the notion of influence?»  Christophe Ruggia replied, «That's my interpretation, and I do indeed think she's still under Céline Sciamma's sway.»  Laughter erupted in the courtroom.  The judge called the spectators to order for the «dignity of the proceedings».

At times, Ruggia seemed to half-heartedly acknowledge certain things: «I wasn't aware at the time that she was traumatized by the film, I realized that the fact that we saw each other often was too much for her.»

Asked about the «boundaries» he didn't set, notably in a scene that only he remembers - he describes her «licking his ear» in front of her parents, and his blowing in her ear in response - he again avoided answering. «What should an adult's response be to a child licking your ear?» asked the assessor.  «It's something that couldn't happen these days», he replied. «Who set the boundaries at that moment?  Let's imagine this scene had existed, which everyone but you denies.  Who set the boundaries?» insisted the assessor, without getting a clear answer.

A rally in support of the actress

«We support her, we believe her, we see her.  It's important to show the justice system that we're united, given the tiny number of suits that aren’t dismissed», says Cami, 25, holding a small sign reading «Adèle, you are not alone».  She was one of around forty people who came to support Adèle Haenel on the courthouse steps on Monday, December 9.  The young woman mentions that she herself filed a suit for rape of a minor four years ago, and that she still hasn't heard anything.

Arnaud Gallais, co-founder of the Mouv'Enfants association and former member of la Commission indépendante sur l’inceste et les violences sexuelles faites aux enfants (Ciivise) [the Independent Commission on Incest and Sexual Violence against Children], points out: «When 97% of men assault 81% of young female victims, you can see that for the most part, it's men who rape children.  These are the statistics of impunity, for permission to rape and re-offend, so being here today is also political.»

Vanina, 54, who works in the film industry and wears a «Support Ciivise, I believe in you, I protect you» sticker on her coat, said it was «important for Adèle Haenel to know that we are grateful for her»: «I don't expect much from this trial, but there’s always hope.  As a child of incest myself, my suit was dismissed.»  Colombe, a visual artist, hopes that this trial will not be «another violation» for the actress.

Prosecutor Camille Poch referred again to the «semantic field of sex» that he uses when talking about Adèle Haenel or in his Google searches.  In this context, he noted: «When [Bertrand] Bonello's film was released, if you searched it in Google, it would bring up “Adèle Haenel hot”, so I clicked on it [...]  Yes, she's sensual, that's the heart of the film, she's going to show her body.  Yes, Adèle Haenel had an overwhelming sensuality, which she still has today», he even dared to say.

«He destroyed everything»

Around 7pm, Adèle Haenel was called to the stand.  She approached with a firm, determined step, and delivered testimony that alternated between emotion and anger, pleading for the protection of the child she used to be, and for all child victims of pedophiles.

She would be questioned for a long time about her choice to speak in a press article and not to take her case to court first.  «At the time I spoke in 2019, there were so many dismissals, I'm not telling you anything you don’t already know, I didn't want to add violence to violence.»

Speaking about the film Les Diables, she recounted the «confusion Christophe Ruggia fostered between the love of acting and the love for himself, a shifting of reality»: «There was no longer any demarcation for intimacy, for sexuality, and I found myself being directed to touch myself like in the film [...]  Mr. Ruggia became the main adult in my life, I had a normal life, friends, a brother, and he destroyed everything.»

Asked by the judge about the impact these assaults have had on her, she described how «devastating» it has been, particularly with respect to «disparagement and self-hatred».  She talks about her «depression», the work she has done on herself since 2016.  «These days, things are getting better.»

The judge then asked her again about not referring her case to court. The actress replied simply: «The truth is, I didn't even think about it, I thought the courts would never be interested in my story, what I’d been through in those years, nobody cared about what happened to me.» 

The assessor then asked her about the Saturdays during which she described the assaults, Saturdays on which he bought her snacks: Cadbury Finger blanc cookies and Orangina, her «favorite».

«Can you explain why a 12-year-old child would keep going back?» the judge asked the actress.

- It's horrible, I thought I owed it to him, that it was my fault.  When he drove me home, he told me that the others wouldn't understand, he made the situation seem normal, and I felt obliged to go [...]  I felt indebted to him.»

Adèle Haenel then talked about her response to the assaults that she is denouncing.  She described in detail, speaking more and more rapidly, about what she remembers: «In his living room, it's a half-normalized conversation, thanks to a joke or a laugh, for example, he would come and sit down right next to me, and “you’re too funny my little whale, my baby girl”, I tighen up, I'm on the sofa, I get tense, my body tenses up, he goes on, interjecting a few words as if it were normal, his hand partly on my thigh, “ah là là your top is really cute”, sliding his hand part of the way under my collar, I'm so tense, I curl up as much as possible in the corner of the sofa...  If he thinks I'm resisting too much, he'll stop for a moment, look at me like, “what the hell?” and starts again.»

Adèle Haenel responded to his saying that none of these things ever happened: «He’s a big liar, you’re a big liar, Mr. Ruggia», she said, turning to him.

The actress also told the court about the moment when she said to stop.  «I got up from the sofa, went over to the window and said “this has gone too far, this has to stop”, he was still next to the imprint of my body on the sofa, I said it again, then he brought me back, [...] he was trying to use his film [a project in progress - ed. note] as a reason to keep me because he said I couldn't do that to him.»

Asked by one of her lawyers, M Michelin, about the preparation of the film and the sex scenes in particular, Adèle Haenel explained: «That child should have been protected, it was possible to do so.  I don't think I said much, no one tried very hard to break the silence.»

As her testimony went on, her words became louder, more raw: «Today, I'm an adult, but back then, I was a child.  He says: “You're the one who jumped on my lap, you're the one who touched yourself.”  But who was the adult?  Who was supposed to set boundaries?  I felt disgusting and it was never his fault, all these nasty people around me and he's the nice guy who gave me Cadbury Finger blanc cookies!  I'm sorry I'm getting upset, we're talking about at least a hundred Saturdays... »

As Adèle Haenel spoke, she went back over the details of the assaults and apologized to the court at times: «I'm so sorry, it's stressful to talk about this, he says my statements have changed but no, I’ve always tried to tell it as best I could with the words I had, the shame I had.»

At one point, she returned to one of the court's first questions, namely whether she had thought about the consequences for Christophe Ruggia when she spoke out in Mediapart.  «All I did was protect him when I was a kid, I didn't even think that I had the right to defend myself, that it wasn't okay to be touched like that [...]  There was a total inversion of the meaning of things.  This guy, he pretends there was an equality with a 12- and 13-year-old child, he’s never stopped sexualizing me, saying “she jumped on me, she looked at me with pornographic eyes”, is that even real?  It disgusts me, I'm sorry to get upset but frankly...»

In response to Ruggia's defense that she wants revenge, Adèle Haenel stated: «I'm not driven by revenge, I want justice for this child whom no one protected, who got through it all on her own.»

Her lawyer Yann Le Bras referred to the «rather unusual judicial treatment» his client received, for example a twelve-hour police hearing. «Totally unusual» said the actress, who continued: «I spoke out thinking of the children, thinking about all those who are told “don’t destroy the family” [...]  I spoke out hoping to ease a little of the isolation of all these children, because I've lived this isolation, and I know how it made me want to die.  It's the most important thing I've done in my life, trying to shatter the isolation of children in my situation.»

Adèle Haenel talked about her «shame» and the fact that at first she found it hard to put into words what had happened to her.  To Véronique Ruggia, Christophe Ruggia's sister, who will be heard on Tuesday December 10, she explained that she spoke «half-heartedly»: «I always used the term “second base” with her, I was in a very raw emotional state, so I scratched my head until it bled, and I've never stopped since.  I've always tried to take care of the people I talk to...»

At the end of her testimony, Adèle Haenel explained that when she received the order to refer her case to the correctional court - a document written by the examining magistrate to support her decision to go to trial - she felt very emotional: «Seeing it in black and white, the “consistency” of my words, the “massive psychological repercussions”, wow, it had an effect on me, this recognition, so much isolation around it, I'm proud to have managed to hold it together throughout this process and life that have been so painful.»

[Please don’t repost this anywhere, in part or in whole.  Feel free to reblog, or at least cite your source and provide a link back here.  Asking permission would be nice in an ideal world, but I’m a realist – I know far too well how easy it is to appropriate stuff on Tumblr.  I would be the first to admit that my translations are not perfect – there are some words and phrases that simply do not drop neatly into an equivalent in English, and I constantly fix typos and make changes or corrections in older posts – but they do take a lot of work and time.  Thanks for understanding. - C.]

h/t to @thexfridax for the article! Thank you, Ros!

[hockeytown-gifs]

Post-goal Brett - Wings vs Coyotes - Feb. 18, 2004

[zahri-melitor]

Okay, I just finished The Victim Syndicate in Detective Comics #943-947, and I was struck by a few things when reading this storyline.

I've heard people claim that Steph is not particularly well-written by James Tynion IV. I'm not actually sure that's the case. What I think the major complaint might actually be is "Steph's characterisation in Tynion's 'Tec does not match Batgirl 2009" in terms of what I've read so far.

Because what I saw on the page? That characterisation looked an awful lot like pre-War Games characterisation of Stephanie Brown. In fact, I'd take a gamble and say it's the most in-character writing for Steph I've read since 2004 where 'in-character' means in accord with what the Bat Bible under Dennis O'Neil had for Steph. (And whatever you want to say about Batgirl 2009, it is undoubtedly true that it departs from pre-2004 characterisation for a number of Doylist reasons, due to the multitude of out-of-book issues).

Steph's relationships with Harper and Cass from Batman Eternal and Batman & Robin Eternal and Batgirl 2011 are preserved.

She’s written as stubborn and determined and angry and raging at a wrong she sees. She IS very wrapped up in Tim but to her eye her BOYFRIEND JUST DIED, and Steph's always been fairly obsessive about Tim and measured herself against him, going all the way back to their first meeting. So many of her actions over the years have either been to spite her father, or to get a reaction from Tim.

And she gets her hands on Tim’s protocols from a program Tim wrote and then uses them on her allies, a classic Spoiler move where she's disrupting an authority-figure's plan (in this case Batman) as she doesn't feel she's being listened to, with a move that is reminiscent of you guessed it, the lead into War Games.

Like that SURE IS some Stephanie Brown like behaviour. Mad at Bruce and yelling at him. Feeling hurt and doing something inadvised with specialised information. Determined that SHE knows better than people with more training and experience than she has.

I dunno. It feels like pretty in-character Steph to me. And circular "Steph gets told she's not good enough, Steph tries to prove herself, Steph screws up, repeat" is a classic, CLASSIC storyline for her all the way back to her first appearance.

And here what is happening? Bruce is telling her to take a break due to her emotions over Tim, the situation goes wrong and Steph steps in to help anyway as she's there, Steph gets benched, Steph STILL gets called in after a villain shows up to talk to her, Steph thinks she knows better than everyone else and arrives with a threat in hand to try resolve the situation, including using PROTOCOLS on ALLIES, Steph gets people to stand down but ends up hurt and told off.

...That's a Steph story. That's always been the shape of a Steph story and the sort of actions she takes.

[sissa-arrows]

The imam of the Great Mosque of Paris asked for proof of the 1200 antisemitic attacks since October 7th. The same day he was summoned back on TV to apologize for saying that… because asking for proof is denying the existence of antisemitism.

Except this is complete bullshit. Without denying antisemitism this is 100% legitimate for a simple reason. They keep on mentioning 1200 attacks since October 7th but they count Free Palestine tags as an attack. Fuck apartheid is also counted as an attack. And somehow writing “Fuck antisemitism” is antisemitic. They also count blue David stars tagged in Paris to support Israel (Zionist are paying people to do it) as antisemitic attacks. A comedian joking about Netanyahu being “Hitler without foreskin” is also an antisemitic attack in France.

The ONLY thing that was broadcasted and would qualify as an attack was a Jewish woman who got stabbed except it’s starting to look like the RER D 2004 “attack”. The Police and doctors are suspecting that it was a self inflicted wound and that the woman is lying.

In a country that refuse to count attacking an older North African man and telling him “Dirty Arab I’m going to cut you into pieces and send you to Jerusalem” as racist but count “Fuck antisemitism” as antisemitic it is 100% legitimate to want to know what are the 1200 attacks they keep mentioning. Especially when those attacks are weaponized to make targeting North Africans legitimate and when we are blamed for every attack without proof (Zionists paying a white non muslim couple to tag blue David star was pinned in Muslims for days even AFTER the couple was caught)

Note: The 2004 RER D “attack” is something I will never forget. It’s one of my earliest memories of “oh so they hate me because I’m Algerian and Muslim”

January 2004 a woman is found crying on a bench with cuts on her body, antisemitic slurs and Nazis symbols written on her belly and arms as well as her hair cut. She explains that she is Jewish and that she was attacked in the subway by a group of North African men. She says they tried to steal her stroller for one of their sisters that they took her handbag and when they saw where she lived they said “An Ashkenazi Jew? You guys are rich…” All politicians and medias immediately jumped on it hated on North Africans for the rise of antisemitism. Started claiming that North African/Algerians were bringing the “conflict between Palestine and Israel” in France. I was 9 and it was really horrific because I knew that what happened was unacceptable but I also felt that they were using it to hate on us Muslims. Then the media kinda stopped talking about it and this story stayed in the back of my mind for years just a memory. A couple months ago a song from a French Algerian rapper was suggested to me. I listened to it and it was about this story. Except the song said it was fake… so I looked it up and found out that the reason the story died down in the media is that 2-3 days after it came out the investigation proved that it was all fake. The surveillance camera showed that the woman never got in the subway neither did any group looking like the one she described, they found the knife and pen that were used on the woman’s body in her own apartment and when faced with the evidences she admitted that the story was fake she did the cuts and writing herself with the help of her partner… like 29 years old me learning that one of the things that made 9 years old me realize how much the country where I was born hates me was based on a white woman lying and because in her lie Arabs were antisemitic savages people believed her and went with it…

[tgmsunmontue]

Saga of Solitude 7/21

Nepo!Baby Bradley and his life at USNA and afterwards. DADT fully in force. IceMav AU. (Begun prior to 'It's not who you know' - the non-angsty version). (Side Hangster, which is ALSO angsty).

PROLOGUE (He remembers)

HANGSTER FIRST MEETING (Lonely Nights - set 2009)

Updating ~weekly (longer chapters).

PREVIOUS CHAPTERS

ONE (2000) TWO (2001) THREE (2002) FOUR (2003) FIVE (2004) SIX (2005)

CHAPTER SEVEN – 2006

                It takes some adjusting, having each other there all the time. He admits to himself that Maverick is likely more flexible when it comes accommodating others in his space, but Tom has had small children and Sarah, even if they’ve been divorced for over six years, feels he should be more accommodating when he wants Maverick there in his space so badly. It’s when Maverick is deployed and Tom misses him like a limb, that he realizes not only did he make the right call, but that he’s adjusted to having Maverick there just fine.

                “Ice! I can’t find the oil.”

                Tom sighs, pushes himself back from his desk and heads for the yelling voice coming from the direction of the garage. Because he knows exactly where it is, however if he ever needs to hide something from Maverick on purpose all he’s ever going to have to do is put it about eighteen inches above his sight-line and he’ll be golden. He reaches up and picks up the bottle easily, handing it to Pete and giving him a quick kiss while he has him there, pressed up against the work bench. Pete in jeans, white t-shirt, hot, sweaty and streaked with grease is definitely up there with views he likes to appreciate. And it’s finally where it belongs.

                “What’s it doing all the way up there?”

                “Because I have children who are curious and it’s easier to keep it up there than put child-locks on all my cupboards.”

                “Oh. Yeah that makes sense. Thanks.”

                Tom turns around and his eyebrows go up.

                “Are you changing my oil too?”

                “Yeah, of course. Only made sense to do everything at once. You said you didn’t have any plans to go out.”

                “No, no, I don’t, it’s fine. Just… thank you.”

                “You’re welcome.”

                It’s small things like that which make him appreciate how Maverick just envelopes Tom into his life, like the way he has a hot drink waiting for him at ten every weekend morning. How his uniform now gets to and from the drycleaners without him actually doing it. The first time he’d worried it had been lost, but instead Pete had just said he’d dropped it off. Then he’d picked up groceries. Now they either cook together, or he comes home to a cooked meal, or he cooks when Mav is running late and it’s so domestic and novel and he never thought he’d get to have this. Not with someone he loves as much as he loves Maverick.

                He goes back to his study, still has too much paperwork to read through but his car is getting its needed oil change, a cup of coffee will appear at ten without him doing anything, the girls will be here before lunch and to spend the night and he feels so lucky, that he’s somehow managed the impossible. The doorbell rings and he stands to go and answer it, opens it to find Admiral Paul Dawkinson standing there and he smiles blandly. There goes his good mood.

                “Paul, hello. Can I help you?”

                “Tom. Sorry to bother you at home,” Paul says, and Tom knows he’s not sorry at all. “I was wondering if you had the folder about the Iranian and Russian uranium deal?”

                “Yes. Finished reading it last night actually. Come in and I’ll get it for you,” Tom says, wondering if he has to offer him a drink as Paul follows him back to his office. He’ll give him the file and then offer, see if he really wants to linger. Of course that’s when Maverick walks in with his cup of coffee, his face going from soft to brittle as he takes in Dawkinson and Tom can’t even roll his eyes, just keeps his expression impassive as he thanks Mav for the cup of coffee.

                “Did you want a cup Admiral Dawkinson?”

                “No, thank you. I just came for a file.”

                Maverick leaves and Tom wishes he could follow him, instead fishes out the file from his locked briefcase and passes it over.

                “Captain Mitchell is here.”

                Tom’s immediate response is to stiffen, which is probably the worst thing he can do and he forces himself to relax and remain indifferent.

                “Yes, he’s currently tinkering away in the garage on his bike and my car. Was there something I could help you with?” Tom asks, because he is not at work right now, is not in uniform, and he doesn’t actually respect Admiral Dawkinson as much as people likely think he does.

                “Is Captain Mitchell here often?”

                “Maverick has a house he shares with his godson, however with both of them often away they both prefer to stay here, rather than stay alone,” Tom states, which is a slight stretch, because this is Bradley’s home, maybe more than the other house. “He does stay here most nights. Easier to cook for two,” Tom states. He will outright lie if he has to, but he’s also been making contingency plans and collecting his own information for years. He knows exactly what he can and cannot say around this subject.

                “Hmm. Interesting.”

                “Daddy!”

                Oh thank fuck. He doesn’t say the words out loud of course, but he feels the little body of Petra collide with his side, followed by the much taller body of Tamsin, both hugging him tightly and he places kisses to the tops of both their heads.

            ��   “Is Papa here?” Petra asks and Tom smiles and nods.

                Oh fuck. Dawkinson is watching everything with a shrewd eye, and Tom has to admit it is pretty damning right now. But he cannot snap at his daughter, not for something which is not her fault in the slightest.

                “He’s out in the garage making a mess.”

                Petra runs off, whereas Tamsin makes a beeline for the piano, immediately starting to pluck out a tune because she wants to impress Bradley next time he’s home.

                “Tom? The door was open… Oh, hello.”

                “Hi. Sarah, this is Admiral Dawkinson. Paul, my ex-wife Sarah Kazansky.”

                “Mrs Kazansky.”

                “Sarah, please. Nice to meet you Admiral. Did I hear you say that Pete’s here? That’ll save me a trip to his place if he is. I have some of his and Bradley’s things in the trunk of the car.”

                He loves his ex-wife so much right now, her reading of the situation and immediate improvisation. He needs to send her and Melissa out for a romantic dinner.

                “Do you want a hand? Pete can take them home later.”

                “Yes please. I stupidly offered to fix one shirt of Bradley’s. That somehow ended up changing to hemming four pairs of pants for Pete and seven shirts. I think Bradley chews his buttons.”

                “Bradley is twenty-three. He should be fixing his own damn shirts.”

                “And Pete should probably be hemming his own pants. But it’s a fair trade if I never have to pay someone to change my oil.”

                He starts following Sarah back out to her car, and Dawkinson follows.

                “Sorry Paul. Family. You know how it is. Was there anything else I could help you with?”

                “No. Nothing else. Thank you Tom.”

                Unease prickles in his gut, but he has contingency plans in place, and he has friends in high places, friends who he is pretty sure know exactly the nature of his relationship with Maverick and simply do not give a fuck.

…             …             …

                Sure enough Monday morning he’s called into Admiral Austin’s office and he looks resigned but also a little annoyed.

                “Tom, have a seat. I just wanted to run something by you. As a hypothetical situation.”

                Okay, so that’s how it’s going to play out. He forces himself to relax and unbuttons the bottom button of his jacket before he sits down. The fact that David has called him Tom makes him feel a little more confident that while he’s effectively been called into the principal’s office, the principal is actually on his side. Dawkinson is sitting there looking very fucking smug and Tom keeps his expression completely impassive and uncaring.

                “How can I help sir?”

                “Just seeking your guidance on what you would do if you found out, or suspected, that someone in the Navy was homosexual.”

                “Sir?”

                “Just humor me. Run me through what you would do.”

                “Well, I’d have to be very certain sir. I’d either have to have had them admit it outright, or caught them in a situation that was irrefutable to my own eyes.”

                “And if someone came to you with such a belief?”

                “Well sir, it’s a very serious allegation to throw around. I would be very hesitant to take anyone else’s word. I would need to see the evidence myself, not second hand at all.”

                “Go on.”

                “This is because it will be a case of he said, she said,” Tom states calmly, but there is ice in his veins as he talks. People talk about burning bridges and salting the earth, but he knows his approach can be just as terrifying. “You need to consider what evidence you have. Years of service of the person concerned, who you’re going to accuse. Credible information needs to be ironclad, otherwise you’re in danger of reprisal. Or a court case.”

                “The policy is not just don’t ask, don’t tell. But also don’t harass and don’t pursue. If I were to attempt to gather information I would be in breach of that policy. I would also be asking myself if I have all the information at hand. Are there extenuating circumstances which might be going on which I have no knowledge of? If the information has been brought to me second hand I would also need to consider if there was a personal vendetta between the accused and the person accusing them. Also I’d want to know if the person identified is doing irreparable damage to the Navy. Because for me the reputation and protection of the people are paramount.”

                “Interesting points. Anything else?”

                “While considering their years of service I would also consider the potential possibility that their commanding officers have been or are aware and have simply ignored it due to how the person does their job. Or other people higher up in the chain of command might have knowledge. Then it would be my own job on the line if they were deemed more important than me.” He takes a quick chance then to glance across at Dawkinson and the man is staring at him, looking paler than he was and Tom settles into his chair a little.

                “Do they do their job well, Admiral Austin?”

                “Exemplary.”

                “Have they ever acted in a way which would bring the Navy into disrepute?”

                “No. Never.”

                “Do you trust their judgement?”

                “With regards to everything for the Navy and United States? Yes.”

                “Now, after you have taken all of that into consideration and still wish to move forward, then you need to consider your own situation. Often when someone starts casting stones, they themselves are then looked at more closely. And gambling debts or extra-marital affairs need to be… carefully hidden from view to ensure that you yourself aren’t dragged into anything. Hypothetically of course, sir.”

                “Of course,” Admiral Austin says, and his face is calm and unmoving but Tom has known him for years and the slight twitch of his eye tells him he’s hiding his amusement very well. “Well Admiral Dawkinson, I hope you found that helpful getting a third set of eyes on the issue.”

                “Yes sir.”

                “You’re both dismissed.”

…             …             …

                “Hey, you’re quieter than usual. Everything okay?”

                “Yeah, just a really rough day at work. I love you.”

                “Love you too.”

…             …             …

                Bradley graduates from flight school and he can’t help smiling every time he glances down and sees the wings. Which is pretty often, because he can’t believe that they’re finally there. Like when he graduate from USNA, there are a handful of people there to watch him, all in uniform and with them are also Ice and Maverick, and he introduces them to the friends he’s made, the very small handful who he’s let into his inner circle. Natasha, Sandy, Callie and Billy. They either don’t care about who Bradley’s family is, or they care and it just doesn’t factor into how they treat Bradley.

                By share luck of the draw he’s home for Tamsin’s tenth birthday. She’s opinionated and serious with it, she despairs of her parents and he wonders if she’s hitting the teenage years early or if she’s going to become even more despairing and rebellious. He loves it, the conversations he can have with her now, because she at least thinks that he’s cool and worth her time. Sometimes Maverick falls into that category, but at twenty-four Bradley is definitely the cool older brother. He drops her and Petra off at school, walks them in and introduces himself to the teachers. Petra has started copying Tamsin, saying she’s old enough to do certain things by herself, and sometimes Bradley has to wonder if it’s just Mav’s blood running true because she is an absolute firecracker, to put it nicely. Hellion would be another word. He’s very glad he’s not got any desire to have kids, although Ice’s lips twitch when he voices that opinion out loud.

                He enjoys every moment with them though, he has his first deployment at the beginning of December and he won’t be home for Christmas and he will never take his loved ones fore granted when he knows how easily they can be taken from him. Or him from them he realizes, and he thinks back to the conversation he had with Mav and Ice, about how his mom didn’t want him to become a pilot and…

                Oh shit…

                If he dies then he’s going to leave behind Mav, and Ice, and Tamsin and Petra.

                The people he wants to protect but will hurt the most if he fails.

CHAPTER EIGHT

[ladylynse]

Part 3 of this untitled Doctor Who fic post Waters of Mars where 10 meets up with Grace Holloway again. (Well, I say untitled, and then I realized that when I posted the first bit to tumblr, I used the working title Saving Grace when linking it in this post, so let's go with that for now, shall we? It's better than my document title.) Posted for @gentildonna.

(Previous)

The Doctor made sure he was disconnected from all the machines before he set to work starting up his second heart. It wasn’t easy, not by himself. He would’ve liked to have someone else to help him. But he doubted the hospital staff would give him a good walloping on the back without what they deemed to be good reason, even if he specifically requested it. Not that he would, of course, because that would require explaining himself.

And when explaining himself didn’t work, he tended to run.

That would be slightly harder to do, given the conditions his clothes were in.

He’d started mending them, just a bit, so that he could get by. He could do a bit with the sonic screwdriver, mending fibres here and resonating dried blood off there. He was a bit surprised that, considering he had all manner of things in his pockets, he didn’t have a needle and thread. He made a mental note to put some in there in case anything like this ever happened again.

Though, if and when it did, he probably wouldn’t be wearing this suit anymore. Or this jacket.

Still. He’d worked quickly. Enough so that he’d finished before his scheduled appointment with the good Dr. Holloway. He doubted she’d be particularly disappointed, what with how she felt about him now.

He wished she hadn’t thought he was teasing her, poking fun at her stories. That hadn’t been his intention at all. He should have just come out and said it, but he hadn’t. He had such a gob on him in this regeneration, but did he open his mouth when he should? Of course not.

And now he’d missed his opportunity.

It was just as well. He shouldn’t have come. He managed to ruin them all, somehow, one way or another. This was simply proof that he was making more mistakes, not trying to compensate for his last one. How could he, when he ruined everything—everyone—he’d touched?

No shoes, but at least he was dressed in his suit again. Not that it fit quite as well as it ought to. Bit lumpy. He wasn’t the greatest at stitching. Never had liked all that domestic stuff. But it would do.

It wasn’t as conspicuous as a certain coat he’d worn in the past, one that would put the biblical Joseph’s to shame.

He’d get by.

Though he would like to find his trainers first.

Shouldn’t be too hard.

And then he could slip away to the TARDIS, no worse for the wear, and leave before he ruined Grace’s life any more than he already had.

-|-

The TARDIS refused to let him in.

Even when he claimed it would just be to get a change of clothes.

But she knew better, and he hadn’t been able to win an argument with her yet.

So he went back.

Not back to his hospital bed, no. No, he could do without that. He’d be fine. He’d only lost a bit of blood. Nothing serious. No broken bones, nothing lodged in his body, both hearts fully functioning, memory intact—not much more he could ask for.

He waited outside instead. It was, he thought, perhaps 2004, 2005. Grace may still be in San Francisco, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t moved. And, really, last time he’d been at her place, she hadn’t even had a couch, so she’d either have needed to buy quite a lot of furniture or move to a smaller place. And her place had been a bit of a hike from the hospital, if he remembered correctly. Not normally something that would bother him, but he was, perhaps just a little bit, under the weather.

The Doctor winced as he tried straightening up. Not quite healed up yet. Shouldn’t’ve tried running, really. That probably hadn’t helped. But he was sore enough that he figured pacing probably wasn’t the best way to pass the time, so he found a bench and sat down, waiting.

He was very quickly reminded why he rarely sat down with only his thoughts for company.

Ignoring the pain and his fatigue, he started walking, slowly, around and around and around the hospital grounds.

When he noticed someone watching him, he stopped that and sat down again.

But the itch to be moving remained, gnawing at him.

He wondered why he was doing this.

It wasn’t like he had a lot of time left, as far as he could tell.

His song was ending.

And here he was, waiting, doing nothing except thinking, rehashing everything he’d thought before, when there were worlds to see and places to explore and people to meet and—

Lives to ruin.

That kept him in place, that single thought.

The Doctor waited, deciding what to say the next time he saw Grace.

Because as far as he could tell, he’d only have one shot to get it right. And if he didn’t—if he started off on the wrong foot again—well, then, he wouldn’t get what he needed out of it. Not that he was entirely sure what he would get, or did need, precisely. Not closure. Not peace of mind. More…understanding. So that he would know for the future. So that, perhaps, once he regenerated—if the circumstances were such that he could regenerate—he might be able to see it, in the future. And if he could see it, he could avoid it.

And then he’d never, ever—ever—make that mistake again.

The fact that he’d done it once still scared him.

Almost as much as what would have happened, had someone else not taken it upon herself to correct it, even knowing what that correction would cost.

-|-

Dr. Grace Holloway was not happy to learn that their patient, the self-proclaimed Dr. John Smith, had somehow managed to escape the hospital and that not a single security camera had seen him leave. She hadn’t been particularly pleased with him, pulling the stunt that he had, but he wasn’t in good health, and if he really was a doctor—something she was strongly doubting—then he ought to at least acknowledge the foolishness of his actions. It was something too few people did, thinking they’d just pull through something on their own when they needed some sort of medical care.

Then again, if she were in another country without a passport or so much as a cent to her name, she might have run off, too.

Still, that didn’t explain why he’d singled her out, nor why he’d tried pulling that cruel joke. There was no reason for it. She’d learned, very quickly, to make the entire thing out as a story. And she’d told it, time and again, when she visited the children’s ward. She told other stories, too, but somehow, she always went back to that particular one.

Perhaps because that particular one wasn’t just any story—or just a story at all.

But the amount of detail she’d put into her retellings of it had some people questioning her. Perhaps because the details never changed, as the details of invented stories tended to do. She’d been shocked by the first remark she’d gotten, and even by all the ones that followed, despite knowing better by then. Not that anyone ever meant anything by it, really, as far as she could tell. They were only joking about it—with her, in their eyes. But the comments still stung.

To have snippets of the story repeated back to her, in a manner that hid the joke a little bit too well…. It felt cruel. Uncalled for. And it wasn’t even April Fool’s Day.

Perhaps it wouldn’t bother her so much if she hadn’t spent so much time thinking about it. Wondering, for the most part, what she had missed out on. Whether she’d made the right choice. Whether she’d change her mind, given the chance to. Whether it really had all been just a story or a dream.

The hospital records of that particular John Doe had been destroyed. Explaining away a dead man walking was a bit more difficult than simply burning a couple of x-rays and covering up the death in the first place, but it could be done. Rationalized. It had been late. The orderly had been confused, half-asleep, mixing up reality with that blasted movie he’d been watching. The door hadn’t been closed properly and had been loose on its hinges. It had been battered during normal use but had functioned well enough to not be reported, but its evident failure of function had ultimately required its immediate replacement, holiday or no holiday.

And things had simply fallen into place, logically, rationally, and everything that hadn’t fit had been shoved under the rug and had become unmentionable.

She’d even tried to find Chang Lee, once, when it was all said and done. She hadn’t been successful. She suspected it was because of the two bulging bags he’d held the last time she’d seen him. She still didn’t know what had been in them, but she knew they were from the Doctor. And that…that meant that they could have held anything within them from trinkets to cash to something as outrageous as gold dust.

Grace laughed, a bit bitterly. Oh, look at her now. Pining away after a forgotten possibility. All because some skinny idiot who had no idea what he was doing, how much he was hurting her, was dredging up her memories and shoving them in her face. Someone would have had to put him up to it, she was sure. They’d gone to a lot of trouble, telling someone all her stories. Perhaps he was a friend or relative of someone, thinking he’d have a go at her and have a laugh at her expense.

Although the wounds had been all too real. And the heart trouble wouldn’t have been faked, either. She wondered if they still had those x-rays. She’d be able to tell if his heart was overworked, as he’d kept insisting, by its size.

Grace put her coffee cup down. It was cold anyhow, though the brew had barely been lukewarm to begin with when she’d gone on her break.

Still. John Smith. Doctor. She should have seen through it immediately. The lack of ID, the odd things in the pockets, no money. And then the jelly babies. Oh, it had been planned, all right. Carefully. Not the stabbing, though she expected he’d have come up with one reason or another to see her. It was quite understandable that they didn’t replicate circumstances too much—and it wasn’t easy to fake a gunshot wound, not unless the entire hospital staff was in on it except her. The heart trouble may have been unexpected, or it may have been the reason he’d been the one to try it. She couldn’t be sure. X-rays inconclusive her foot. Perhaps they hadn’t even been taken.

Pursuing that thought, she went to check. But when she got there, she was informed that they had already been disposed of. She demanded to know why, without her even seeing them, particularly before they’d had a chance to take more, and had simply been told that it was out of their hands.

She cornered the newest addition to the staff. She didn’t know the man very well, and she wasn’t good at intimidating people, so she didn’t even try it. She merely pulled him aside and asked for the truth. What they had looked like.

Double exposure.

Double exposure. Yeah, right. As if she’d buy that after all this. Apologetic tone or not, even if he had been the one to take the blasted things— That didn’t matter. They were all in on it. What was this for? There was no rhyme, no reason. Who was trying to make her life hell?

She needed a break. And not just a measly five minutes. She wasn’t the only cardiologist in the hospital. They could cover for her. Oh, not easily, but they’d make do. She might lose her job, but, given the circumstances, she wasn’t so sure that wouldn’t be a bad thing. She’d thought about leaving after that first time, back in 1999. She hadn’t. She’d hung on, clinging to normality after her life had spun out of control. She’d used it as an anchor.

But some things you couldn’t bury so easily.

Given time, it would resurface.

Time.

She’d seen it backtrack, loop around, and play again. Just the once. But that experience had changed everything.

They always say that if it doesn’t matter in five, ten years, it doesn’t matter now, not really. Well, it had been five years. And it was still affecting her. And she was fairly sure another five wouldn’t change that.

She didn’t head to the parking lot, to her car. She knew she’d come back. But now…she needed to walk, now. Just to work off some of her frustration, expend her energy. She needed some time to think, where other things weren’t crowding her thoughts.

She nearly didn’t see him, sprawled on the bench as he was, fast asleep.

“Dr. John Smith,” she said, looking him over. She frowned as she studied him further. She’d seen the condition his clothes had been in, bloodied and torn. And while they were a bit raggedy, there were no gaping holes, no dark red stains stretching across large portions of the shirt. But she knew it had to be the same, because there were smaller spots of blood still there. Only, when she moved closer to get a better look at the material, she couldn’t tell that it had ever been ripped. The holes had closed up as if they had never been there.

How the hell had he managed that?

She shook him, intending to wake him up. He didn’t stir.

She felt for a pulse and yanked her hand back. He was cold. How long had he been out here? She pried open his eyelids, wishing she had a flashlight to better test pupil reactions, and then tried checking for a pulse again. She couldn’t find it, but his pupils had contracted slightly in the light when she stopped shading them with her hand. He wasn’t dead.

He really was in trouble after all.

It was all a bit more serious than she’d been led to believe, then.

“I’ve got to get you back inside,” she said. She looked dubiously at the lanky body splayed over the bench. He’d be heavy enough if she had to carry him. She’d be better off going inside and getting a wheelchair or someone to help her than struggle with him alone.

“And here I only wanted some time to think,” she muttered as she arranged the unconscious man into the recovery position.

She’d just finished making sure his head was tilted at the right angle when his eyes snapped open.

It was a bit hard not to shriek at that.

A grin spread across his face. “Hello, Grace,” he said as he pulled himself into a sitting position. “Just the person I wanted to talk to.”

“You need medical help,” she hissed, too angry with herself for losing her self-control earlier and for letting her emotions interfere with how she’d treated a patient than to wonder about how quickly he’d woken up, let alone how he’d woken up at all.

“Nah, better now. Had a bit of a rest. Didn’t expect to. Well, didn’t mean to. I did expect it would sneak up on me. Haven’t had much the last few days, and then, what with getting stabbed and all, well, I do need to replenish my energy now and then. Even I can’t run full-out forever.”

She grabbed his arm and only just stopped herself from pulling him roughly to his feet. “Come with me,” she said, her tone not allowing for argument.

“I don’t need to check back into the hospital if that’s what you’re thinking. If I need anything, I ought to see if I’ve got another zero room hiding out in the TARDIS somewhere. Listen, please. I just…. I think I need to talk to someone.”

Oh, and he was still at it. TARDIS indeed. Not that she knew where he got that bit about a zero room from, but that was beside the point. “I’ll make sure someone will be there to listen to you.”

He frowned, carefully extracting his arm from her grip. “I don’t need a visit from psychiatric,” he groused. But then his expression fell again. “Or perhaps I do, by your terms. But it wouldn’t help. Well, not me. I don’t need to end up in a padded room, thank you very much. Plenty to do without having to deal with that.” He sucked in a breath. “Please. You have to listen to me. I….” He trailed off. “It’s different now,” he said, starting again. “I’m alone now. Gallifrey’s gone.”

“Why do you insist on doing this?” Grace demanded, but she was uncertain now. There was something in his eyes….

“I can regenerate twelve times. But don’t worry; you’re the only one to kill me by punching a hole through my second heart. I’m not about to make that mistake again. Not that it was working earlier. Sign that I wasn’t doing so well, that. But she’s pumping now.” He caught her hands and placed one on either side of his chest before she could think to fight him—maybe because she didn’t want to. Maybe because she wanted it to be true.

A near-impossible duality of rhythm beat beneath her palms.

“There, see?” he asked, giving her a lopsided grin. “I’m easy to find. I’m the guy with two hearts.”

[pearl-kite]

So there's this professional training for the school district today, and it's at the school I graduated from, right.

Back during school I was in Art Club (surprise) and in 2004 we all decorated tiles and made a bench for that hallway. I thought hey, this is a good opportunity to get a photo for memory's sake:

And then I noticed...

Mine is the only one broken :c