#blames owner's conviction

[ginnsbaker]

All Of Your Pieces (18 - The Civil War)

Chapter Summary: “She shouldn’t feel like she’s a threat," you said. Natasha tilted her head slightly, considering you. “She doesn’t just feel it, Y/N. She’s been told it. Over and over. The Accords, Vision, everything. It’s going to take more than two weeks to undo all that.”

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Female Reader Chapter word count: 5k+ | Chapter Tags: Slight angst, hurt/comfort

A/N: Hell yeah I'm finally done with midterm week! So, as promised, here's an update for Sunday that I was supposed to post last Wednesday. Thank you all for waiting! // More author's notes here. GIF credits to the owner. Let me know is this is yours!

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

The debate over the Sokovia Accords had always seemed like a bureaucratic exercise to you—a lot of grandstanding and red tape, destined to drag on without anything concrete coming of it. But when it ended in literal casualties, moments after the UN summit in Vienna, you realized how naive that assumption had been.

The explosion dominated every news channel, every forum, for weeks. Footage of the carnage played on a relentless loop, like a ruthless reminder that refused to let the world move on. It stoked their anger and fear of the superpowered intensifying—further solidifying the need for a regulation of some sorts. 

And then there was Steve—Captain America—standing between the law and a man the world had already convicted in its collective mind. Protecting a criminal—or so it seemed at first glance. But if you squinted, if you dug beneath the hysteria, you could see the loopholes in the story.

You were taught to never take things at face value. To investigate, to question, to confirm. The video evidence of James Barnes near the scene of the bombing was damning, but not airtight. The timing was too perfect and the evidence too clean—as if it was designed to be found. And then there was the sheer improbability—someone like Barnes being sloppy enough to leave a clue, to incriminate himself by carrying out such large-scale destruction carelessly.

If it really was him, you figured, no one would know. The world wouldn’t have a name to blame or a face to crucify. 

Steve believed it too. He didn’t just think Barnes was innocent—he knew it. Or at least he believed in him enough to stake his own reputation on it. 

The manhunt for Barnes split the Avengers right down the middle. Tony and Natasha were working with the UN and the German authorities, pushing for Barnes’ immediate capture, while Steve enlisted Sam’s help to find him first and uncover the truth once and for all.

Which left you stuck at the compound with Wanda and Vision—because, of course, that’s just how your luck worked.

—

You’d been keeping to yourself, burying your head in books and doing whatever busywork you could find to keep from dwelling on it all. It wasn’t a peaceful kind of quiet, though—not even close. It was rife with tension, and you hated that your main orders were to stay put. 

You’d seen Vision and Wanda together more lately. They were spending time in the kitchen, of all places. Vision seemed to have developed a fascination with cooking, and Wanda, for reasons you didn’t entirely understand, had decided to humor him. 

That’s how you ended up at the world’s most uncomfortable dinner.

The table stretched long, built to fit the entire team, and you settled a few spots away from them. Vision had made something intricate, his approach to food as overly analytical as you’d expect. Wanda had contributed in small ways—chopping vegetables, stirring sauces—but it was clear who had taken the lead.

You sat across from them, awkwardly poking at the meal on your plate. It was good, technically. Perfectly seasoned, perfectly cooked. But the scene around the table made it hard to enjoy. Vision sat still, weirdly choosing this time not to participate in this human activity. He looked perfectly content watching his two eaters, wanting to see if he had earned their approval. Wanda wasn’t eating much. She was pushing her food around, her eyes darting toward him, then to you, then back to her plate.

“Is it to your liking?” Vision asked. 

“It’s fine,” you said, knowing full well it was much better than that but not feeling generous enough to say so.

“Wanda assisted with the preparation,” he added, almost as if he thought that might tip the scales.

You glanced at her. She gave a small, half-hearted smile and shrugged. “Just chopping and stuff,” she said.

After that, the conversation died again.

It had felt like a good time to disassociate, and you let your mind drift off somewhere else. More specifically, to the growing rift between Tony and Steve. The misunderstandings were no longer petty disagreements but fundamental divides. If push came to shove, you still hadn’t decided where you stood.

You used to joke about Tony and Steve acting like divorced husbands, bickering over every little thing. Now, the irony wasn’t so funny. They were barreling toward something that resembled a real divorce, and you could almost see them dividing the team like children—figuring out who got custody of whom.

But you? You were always the lone wolf. It seemed more likely you’d walk away from them both, let them fight their battles while you disappeared into the shadows. You’d done it before, and the thought of doing it again didn’t terrify you. And maybe that was the problem.

A sharp noise from outside yanked you out of your thoughts. The sound wasn’t loud, but it was enough to put everyone on edge. Vision’s head cocked slightly, as if concentrating to learn more about what they all just heard.

“Stay here,” he ordered calmly.

“Wait—” you started, but before you or Wanda could get another word out, he disappeared, phasing cleanly through the nearest wall and leaving you both sitting in uneasy silence.

For a moment, neither of you moved. You glanced at Wanda, her fork frozen midair, her eyes trained on the spot where Vision had disappeared. Finally, you exhaled and nudged your plate aside. “This is the best meal I’ve had in a long time,” you murmured.

Wanda’s head snapped up. Then, to your surprise, a laugh slipped out of her—short, almost involuntary, like it had been startled into existence. “I could tell,” she said, her lips curving into something that might’ve been a smile.

It was angelic and utterly contagious. You smiled back, soft and unplanned, like your body decided for you. It’s the most interaction you’d had with her for a while after bringing her to the orphanage weeks ago. 

God, you’d missed her. 

Out of the corner of your eye, something shifted. Without thinking, you were on your feet, moving to Wanda’s side, positioning yourself as a human shield. It was a ridiculous gesture—pathetic, even—considering what she could do versus what you could offer. But instinct doesn’t care about logic. The drive to protect her overrode everything else, propelling you forward before your brain could catch up.

Clint Barton strolled toward you, bow slung over his shoulder, every inch of him looking like he was prepped for a mission. And judging by the timing, it didn’t take a genius to figure out—you, Wanda, and Vision were the mission.

“Clint?” you uttered in disbelief. “What are you doing here?”

“Disappointing my kids,” he replied dryly, stepping fully into view with that familiar half-grin you hadn’t seen in ages. “Cap needs our help. Come on.”

You let out a short laugh, shaking your head. “Well, I’m not disappointed.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Clint muttered, his eyes scanning the room, barely giving you a glance. “We need to move. Both of you. Now.”

You were on your feet before he could say anything else, your hand closing around Wanda’s wrist without a second thought. It wasn’t until you felt her skin warm under your grip that you realized what you were doing. You let go just as quickly, glancing back at her with a quiet apology in your eyes.

But Wanda wasn’t paying attention to you. She was giving Clint a hard look, her feet planted firmly on the ground.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Wanda said, surprising you both.

“Wanda, you can’t stay here,” Clint said. “After Lagos—”

“I’ve caused enough problems,” she whispered. “Maybe it’s better if I stay out of sight. Out of everyone’s way.”

“You gotta help me, Wanda. Look, you wanna mope, you can go to high school. You wanna make amends, you get off your ass. Y/N, help me out here.”

You glanced at Wanda, trying to decipher what she’s thinking but you came up empty-handed. You turned back to Clint. “You let her decide, Clint. You don’t drag her onto your side—or anyone’s. She chooses.”

Clint chuckled, eyeing you like he already expected your answer before you did. “And what about you? Which side are you on?” he asked.

You opened your mouth to answer, but hesitated, not because you didn’t know the answer—you did. You just weren’t ready to say it out loud.

Because the truth was simple: whichever side Wanda chose, that’s where you’d be.

You’d told yourself you could walk away from this. From the Avengers, from the divide, from the mess of it all. And maybe you could. Maybe you would have.

But Wanda—

You wanted to look after her. 

You were saved from answering altogether when Vision reappeared, phased through the far wall.

“Aw, hell,” Clint muttered, his hand twitching toward his bow.

“Clint Barton,” Vision said. “You are not authorized to be here. Step away from Wanda.”

“Yeah, see, the thing is,” he said, casually shifting his stance as he engaged an arrow, “I don’t really care about authorization.”

Clint didn’t wait for Vision’s retort. He released his arrows and triggered the traps he’d set—an electrified net sprung from the ceiling, enveloping Vision in crackling energy. For a split second, you thought it might actually work.

It didn’t.

Vision freed himself out of the net like it was tissue paper, the electricity harmlessly dissipating around him. 

“Yeah, well, worth a shot,” Clint muttered, already nocking an arrow. He let it fly, but Vision caught it midair with a speed that was almost unfair. 

Clint moved fast, dodging Vision’s strikes with a skill that came from years of experience. He didn’t try to overpower him—he wasn’t stupid—but he kept Vision moving, trying to distract him, to buy time. 

Vision held back, almost smug—you'd think he was waiting for Clint to tire himself out, running circles that led nowhere.

“Y/N, a little help?” Clint called, ducking under a swipe from Vision that could’ve caved his skull. Before you could even think to move, Vision had Clint in a chokehold, his vibranium arm coiling around Clint’s throat. Clint's attempts to break free looked almost pathetic, his fists thumping uselessly against Vision's arm.

You froze for a split second, looking at Wanda. Was this what she wanted? Her face gave you nothing, and in that moment of indecision, Clint’s choking gasps snapped you into action.

You rushed forward, grabbing onto Vision’s arm and hauling yourself up, trying to throw him off balance. He barely budged. Desperation took over as you reached behind your back, pulling a small blade from your pocket.

Vision caught the motion instantly. His free arm shot out, grabbing your wrist and twisting it sharply. Pain shot through your arm as the knife clattered to the floor.

You gritted your teeth, trying to fight through the pain. “Let him go, Vision!”

Clint’s face was red now, his struggles weakening. You kicked at Vision’s side, but it was like hitting a brick wall.

“Vision, that’s enough!”

Vision's grip loosened for just a moment, enough for you to catch your breath, before it cinched tighter. You bit back a whimper, already feeling the marks that would bloom across your skin.

"I said, that’s enough," Wanda commanded as red energy crackled menacingly at her fingertips. 

Vision moved to finish the job and the energy surged from Wanda’s hands, slamming into Vision and lifting him clean off the ground. The moment his hold broke, you and Clint crumpled like discarded ragdolls. 

“If you do this, they will never stop being afraid of you,” Vision said. You opened your mouth to argue, to tell Vision he was wrong, but Wanda spoke first.

“I can’t control their fear,” Wanda murmured. Her shoulders sagged as she sighed wearily, looking like she already regretted what she was about to do, knowing it would hurt Vision. “Only my own.”

The ground opened up like a wound, swallowing Vision whole. Wanda’s power didn’t just push him down—it buried him. The compound’s reinforced flooring crumbled like dry leaves, and the sound of his descent—steel on steel, concrete splitting apart—made your stomach churn.

You sat up, head pounding, ribs screaming. Clint was coughing beside you, dragging himself upright with a hand braced against the wall. Neither of you spoke. What could you say?

Wanda stood over the crater she’d made, her hands slack at her sides, red sparks still licking at her fingertips. Her face was blank, but you knew her well enough by now to see through it. Her breathing was too shallow, her shoulders too stiff. She wasn’t fine at all. 

It was a little jarring to think that just a few hours ago, they were cooking together in the kitchen.

“Wanda,” you started, still trying to catch your breath. “Is he—”

“He’ll survive,” she said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

Clint gave a weak chuckle, thoroughly impressed and a little horrified. “Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

—

Things happened dizzyingly fast after that. 

You’d only meant to get Wanda to Clint, to make sure she was safe, but everything spiraled at the airport. You hadn’t thought past that, hadn’t considered the bigger picture or the consequences of leaving the compound with her.

The fight was brutal—friends turning on friends—and you barely kept up, trying to shield Wanda when you could. You’d been hurt, subdued like a criminal, strapped into restraints that bit into your skin. But none of it mattered. Your entire focus was on Wanda—if she was okay, if she was hurt, if she blamed you for any of it.

When they threw you in The Raft, the humiliation of it barely registered. All you could see was Wanda, restrained in that awful straitjacket, her face pale and blank, her hands trembling. It must have been harder on her than anyone else—treated like a criminal with the weight of Lagos hanging over her head. In that moment, you made your choice—Steve had your loyalty now, no matter what came next. But even that didn’t compare to how fiercely you had Wanda’s back. That was something else entirely.

Now, two weeks later, Valencia felt like limbo. A place to breathe—

—with a target on your backs, well, not really.

—

Valencia might’ve been halfway around the globe, but you treated it like hostile territory all the same. Your face—along with the rest of those who backed Steve in his fierce objection to the Sokovia Accords—had hit every newsfeed, and you couldn’t afford to relax here or anywhere else, for that matter. You dressed down, stuck to side streets, and kept your head low. It was Spain, but it might as well have been home—just another place where you were never really safe.

“Have you heard from Clint?”

Natasha nodded before turning the page of the newspaper she’d been reading since this morning. “Yeah. He’s working out a deal with the government.”

You frowned. “What kind of deal?”

“Something about a plea bargain,” she said. “House arrest, probably. It’s the only way he gets to be with his family.”

Clint had fought for all of you, risked everything to stand with Steve, to break Wanda out. It hadn’t fully sunk in just how much he’d sacrificed until now—how much he put on the line for what he believed in.

“That’s messed up,” you muttered, mindlessly stirring the honey you’ve put in your tea a few minutes ago. You’d yet to take a sip.  “If Clint’s willing to sacrifice being with his family, how can Tony not see what we’re standing for?”

Natasha’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Tony sees it. He just sees something else too.”

“Like what?”

Natasha didn’t respond right away. She just looked at you, her gaze steady, like she was weighing her next words. “You weren’t there.”

For a moment, you were confused. “Where?”

“In the Battle of New York. When the sky opened up, and Earth faced the greatest threat it had ever seen—and wasn’t ready for.”

Natasha sighed and took her sunglasses off—a risky move as the cafe was in the middle of a crowded street—but she needed you to more than just hear the words out of her mouth, you needed to see how this wasn’t some trivial disagreement between two people who cared about the same thing. “Tony was at the front lines, throwing everything he had into the fight. There were so many casualties. We couldn’t save everyone, no matter how hard we tried. And the guilt of that... it doesn’t wash off, no matter how many victories come after.”

You frowned, gripping your mug a little tighter. “So his solution is what? Autocracy?”

Natasha laughed and put her glasses back on. “I wasn’t aware you knew what autocracy was,” she teased. “Though, if you really did, you’d know what Tony wants is far from it. This is an entirely different situation.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the faint smirk tugging at your own lips. “If you understand Tony so well, why are you here with us?”

“I’m not here because I switched sides,” she said simply. “I’m here because you need me more than Tony does.”

And she was right. You did. It was bad enough that Clint wasn’t here. You hadn’t realized how much they’d become your safety net until you were on your way and it hit you—you were on your own now. No longer celebrated as a hero but a renowned fugitive. Natasha’s grounding presence was the only thing keeping your nerves from unraveling completely.

“Are you going to drink that?” Natasha asked after a while.

You glanced down at your tea, still stirring the spoon aimlessly. It was cold by now. You shrugged. She waved to the waiter and asked for the bill.

“I tried to convince Wanda to go out today,” Natasha said casually, like she wasn’t sure how you’d take it. “Thought a walk might do her some good.”

You looked up from your tea, surprised. “And?”

“She passed.”

You sighed loudly. “It’s been two weeks.”

“It’s not enough time for some people.”

You didn’t say anything right away, not wanting to push or show how much that affected you. Two weeks felt like forever when you were going over everything in your head when you first got out of the country. For Wanda, it must’ve felt like a lifetime—and not in the way that healed anything.

“Did she say why?” you asked quietly. 

Natasha’s lips twitched, like she wasn’t sure whether to smile or sigh. “She didn’t have to. She thinks stepping outside is dangerous. For her, for everyone. And maybe she’s not wrong.”

“She shouldn’t feel like she’s a threat,” you said.

Natasha tilted her head slightly, considering you. “She doesn’t just feel it, Y/N. She’s been told it. Over and over. The Accords, Vision, everything. It’s going to take more than two weeks to undo all that.”

—

The hotel you’d been staying at for the past three nights was tucked away from the town center, far enough that the food you’d picked up for Wanda had gone cold by the time you got back. The isolation had its perks, though. This part of town had a quiet charm, with streets adorned in LED lights strung like Christmas was a permanent state of mind here.

The team had split up to stay under the radar. Steve accompanied Bucky to Wakanda, bartering a deal with T’Challa. Sam was stationed in a modest inn on the opposite side of the city, while you, Natasha, and Wanda ended up here, in a small, charming hotel surrounded by cobblestone streets and 15th-century architecture. With no mission except to stay hidden, it should’ve been the perfect chance to soak in the city like a tourist, to appreciate the timeless beauty around you.

But instead, you found yourself standing outside Wanda’s hotel room, the takeout bag dangling from your hand. You took a shaky breath, then another, willing your heartbeat to slow. It wasn’t working. Your fingers fidgeted with the strap of the bag, the cheap paper threatening to give out at any second.

Why were you so nervous? It wasn’t like this was the first time you’d seen Wanda since… everything. But things were different now. She felt different, like she was retreating into herself more and more each day.

Another deep breath. You adjusted your grip on the bag, smoothed down the front of your jacket, and gave yourself a silent pep talk. She needed you, just like you needed Natasha. Like you needed Clint.

Finally, you raised your hand, but before your knuckles met the wood, the door creaked open.

Wanda stood there, barefoot, her frame almost swallowed by an oversized shirt that hung loosely off one shoulder. It was frayed at the hem, the fabric softened by too many washes. Her pajama pants—faded plaid—looked like they’d seen better days, one cuff slightly torn where it dragged against the ground. She looked as worn as her clothes, her hair in a messy bun with stray strands framing her face.

For a moment, she just blinked at you.

“You knew it was me?” you asked, your voice coming out thinner than you'd intended. 

“I had a feeling,” Wanda said with a small, knowing smile. “You breathe a little too loud.”

An embarrassed chuckle escaped you, awkward and unsteady, and you suddenly remembered the takeout bag clutched in your hand. Her gaze followed yours, and she tilted her head slightly. 

“What’s that?”

“Oh, right,” you said, your face heating up as you held it up like a peace offering. “It’s for you. Some kind of beef stew—I, uh, forgot the actual name. It’s probably cold now, though. You should—”

Before you could ramble any further, Wanda reached out and took the bag from your hands. Her fingers brushed yours briefly, and the simple touch sent you into a headspin. “Thank you,” she murmured, looking into the bag.

You swallowed hard and gave a quick nod. “You’re welcome, Maximoff.” It felt like the right moment to leave, like you’d done your part, but your feet refused to move. You stood there like a fool, heart hammering, until Wanda—thankfully—broke the silence.

“Would you like to come in, Y/N?” she asked, her voice faltering slightly, as if she wasn’t entirely sure of herself either.

Too nervous to speak, you merely nodded.

—

The room was a bit of a mess—not filthy, but definitely in disarray. Books and papers were scattered across the coffee table, a pair of shoes lay haphazardly near the door, and a jacket was draped over the back of a chair. Wanda must have noticed your gaze drifting across the space because she quickly began tidying up. She grabbed a bundle of clothes from various corners—sweatshirts, a scarf, what looked like a pair of mismatched socks—and folded them into a neat pile. With an almost embarrassed smile, she placed them on the small sofa tucked beneath the room’s single window.

“Sorry,” Wanda murmured, “I wasn’t exactly expecting company.”

“It’s fine,” you said quickly, though your eyes darted back to the room despite yourself. There was something endearing about the lived-in clutter, a reminder that Wanda, for all her power and grace, for all that had happened in recent weeks—was still human in moments like these.

She gestured awkwardly toward the sofa. “You can sit, if you want. Sorry again for the mess.”

“You really don’t have to apologize. My place is worse,” you said. It wasn’t.

Wanda offered you a half-smile as she moved to the kitchenette, pulling open a drawer to grab some utensils. “I find that hard to believe,” she teased lightly.

Busted. Your room at the compound had been practically bare. Your hotel room now was even emptier. You missed your own apartment, but could only assume it had already been raided by the feds.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” you shot back, and she laughed softly, the sound settling something nervous and fluttering in your chest.

Wanda set the bowl on the counter and turned on the stove. You watched as she poured the stew into a small saucepan and stirred it absently. 

“You should eat some too,” she said over her shoulder. “It’ll taste better warm.”

“I already had dinner, actually.”

Wanda glanced back at you, her brow lifting in question. “With Nat?”

You nodded, feeling oddly exposed under her gaze. “Yeah.”

Her lips quirked, but the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “How’s she doing?”

It wasn’t the kind of question that invited much of an answer—it felt more like something to say, just to fill the space. You gave a half-shrug, unsure what else to do with it. “She’s fine.”

Wanda didn’t push for more. She settled onto the sofa beside you, tucking her legs beneath her and taking a small bite of the stew.

You wanted to ask how she was. How she was holding up after everything. But you couldn’t get any word out. You didn’t know how to ask without making it sound like pity, and you didn’t want to do that to her. Still, the question burned at the edge of your thoughts.

It had to be hard, being in the middle of all this again, being wanted—hunted—just like she was when she aligned with Hydra. You couldn’t stop thinking about how Vision was on the other side now, the person who should’ve stood with her through it all, standing with the people determined to stop her. That kind of fracture would break anyone.

You glanced at her out of the corner of your eye. She was focused on her food, but the energy radiating off her couldn’t talk you out of asking her if she was okay.

“Wanda?” you started, “Are you—”

“I’m okay,” she said, cutting you off gently, as though she knew what you were going to ask. For a moment you considered if she was reading your mind at the moment. 

She set the bowl down and offered you a faint smile. “Really.”

You nodded, though you didn’t really believe her. The room fell quiet again, and you looked away, legs starting to bounce a little as you thought of what to say next. 

“Has Steve come up with the next plan yet?” Wanda asked.

Her question confused you for a moment, making you feel like you’ve missed something. “Plan? Plan for what?”

She shrugged, chewing her food thoughtfully. “To come back. To clear our names. To return to…” She trailed off. To return to our normal lives.

Oh. The thought hadn’t even crossed your mind. Being an Avenger never felt anything close to normal, so you weren’t sure you ever really knew what normal was.

You wanted to assure her that Steve’s working on it, but you couldn’t lie to her either. From what you heard from Nat, Steve was preoccupied with helping Bucky’s asylum in Wakanda. And that could take a while. “I don’t think that’s possible anytime soon.”

“Why not?”

“Steve and Tony…” You exhaled slowly, trying to find the right way to explain. “Their misunderstanding—it’s serious this time. It’s not something that’s going to blow over.”

“Right,” Wanda said curtly, then fell silent, turning her attention back to her food.

Without thinking, you blurted, “Do you miss Vision?”

Her head jerked up, her eyes wide like she hadn’t been expecting you to mention Vision at any point in this conversation.

“I…” Wanda deliberated. “I do.”

You forced your jealousy down your dry throat. Of course she did. What were you thinking, even asking? Vision was her lover. They were clearly going through something, and here you were, dredging it up. You should’ve left right after giving her the food—that would’ve been the perfect time to go.

“I regret what I did to him,” Wanda said suddenly, breaking through your thoughts. “Burying him w-with…with my powers.” Her hand tightened around the spoon, the metal scraping against the edge of the bowl. “I didn’t think—I just reacted. And it wasn’t just him. I hurt the others too. At the airport.”

Your breath hitched. This wasn’t what you expected. “Wanda—”

She shook her head quickly, cutting you off. “I didn’t mean to lose control. I thought I was doing the right thing. Fighting for the right side. But after everything… I don’t know if there is a right side anymore.”

Her honesty floored you. You’d spent so much time blaming Tony for losing control, for going after Bucky, that you never stopped to turn the lens on yourself. You’d had your careless moments, caused your share of injuries to civilians on missions. You were just as responsible for how things unraveled—just like Steve, Tony, and the rest of the team.

“I want to believe we’re all still on the same side,” you muttered, resting your elbows on your knees as you searched for the right words. “That we’re still fighting for the same things—for justice, to protect people, to make things better. We’ve just… messed up how we’re going about it. But that doesn’t mean it’s over. We just need to figure out how to sort it all out.”

You swallowed hard, gathering the courage to speak. “I’m sure Vision forgives you for what happened. He… he loves you. And you two? You’re going to be okay.”

Her head snapped up at that. “What do you mean, ‘we’re going to be okay?’”

You winced, awkwardly scratching the back of your neck as you tried to clarify. “I just mean, yeah, sure, it might be a deal breaker for some people—getting buried alive and all—but Vision… he’s not like that. I don’t think he’d break up with you for—”

“We already broke up.”

You froze, staring at her. “What?” was all you managed to say.

Wanda sighed, setting the bowl on the coffee table with a soft clink. “We broke up. Before Clint came to get me from the compound.”

“Why?” you found yourself asking. You thought you'd feel happy, or at least relieved, but the truth left a bad taste in your mouth. Two people you cared about—yes, you’d finally admitted to yourself that you cared more than you wanted to—had ended their relationship, and somehow, that didn’t sit right with you. “I thought… I thought you two…”

“It wasn’t working,” Wanda explained. “We wanted it to, but things between us were always… complicated. And after the Accords, after everything that happened in Lagos…” She trailed off, shaking her head. “It became clear that we were too different. He wanted peace. I wanted… freedom. And I guess we couldn’t find a way to have both.”

Wanting different things has a way of pulling two people off the same path. You wanted freedom too—but until you stopped chasing it, how could you want anything else? How could you want what Wanda wanted? But then, you’ve never aligned your interests with someone just to stay by their side, so why start now?

“I’m sorry,” you said finally, the words feeling small but all you had to give.

She gave you a small, tired smile. “Don’t be. It was mutual, even if it still hurts.”

You wanted to say something—to comfort her, to remind her she wasn’t alone—but it didn’t feel like the right time. Maybe this was a moment to sit with it, to let everything settle. So instead, you reached out, your hand finding hers, giving it a gentle squeeze. A quiet way of saying, I’m here.

It was the first time in weeks you’d touched her.

Wanda looked down at your hand, then back at you. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Your heart slowed, like it wanted to stretch this moment out, to hold onto the feeling of her hand beneath yours forever.

You gave her a small nod. “Always.”

[bucketofchum]

Okay as I'm wrapping up The Three Musketeers, I am even more strongly pro Milady than ever.

From my perspective:

A young teen girl elopes with an adult Priest man, who 1) should have known better and 2) should bear the responsibility of his own actions and 3) is honestly a predator. Then the two lovers flee and need to scrounge for money. The priest steals from his own church, and they run off. (In the book, this is considered her crime bc apparently she seduced the priest into a life of crime). But then they are caught and she has to escape (in the book, this is considered another one of her crimes as she seduces the jailer). The Priest is caught and tried and sentenced to branding. Then, taking the law into his own hands, the executioner hunts Milady down and brands her as well, with no trial, marking her as a convicted criminal even if she never faced trial. (The priest was the executioner's brother and the executioner, who had to brand his own brother for crimes, blamed Milady for it, so he enacted his own justice upon her.) Then, the priest and Milady run off to the countryside and pretend to be brother and sister, where Athos falls in love with her, and claims her for his own, being rich and powerful and the owner of these lands. (this is somehow considered another of her crimes for seducing Athos). He marries her and then finds she has a mark on her body, at which point he poses no question and murders her by hanging her on a tree. (This is another one of her crimes bc she allegedly deceived him by hiding the brand on her shoulder, which would have marked her as a criminal. But instead of asking her anything about it, Athos just fucking hangs her.)

She somehow survives this ordeal and has to make her way through the world, trying to escape all the traumas of her past. She is fortunate in remarrying a man of power and fortune (Lord de Winter), and has been trying to carve a place out for herself in the world ever since. Her future alleged crimes include thus the eventual death of the new husband Lord de Winter and marrying again when she was still officially married to Athos.

Also, the priest was the one who married her off to Athos, which could be perceived as him pimping her out, considering she was only 16 years old when Athos married her.

She's basically just constantly accused of being an evil seductress and stealing, but if we read the story from the perspective of a teen girl who elopes with an adult Priest and is then repeatedly taken advantage by half a dozen men, then maybe she's not so horrible and is just trying to survive in this world.

I'm Team Milady and I need to read a version of the events of this book told in the perspective of the Most Maligned Female Character(tm).

[deepermadness]

For those not in the know, the Republicans are blaming Democrats because an (in)famous social media squirrel called Peanut was euthanised after it bit its owner.

For context, the squirrel was being illegally kept as a pet in NY, something that is prohibited, and after being bitten it is suitably precautionary to test for rabies. Euthanasia is part of this procedure. However, it's being treated as another conspiracy, and spread as part of the "They're eating the dogs!" lie that convicted felon Donald Trump and his campaign are pushing.

JD Vance has been quoted as saying: “Democrats murdered the Elon Musk of squirrels”.

And all I can this about is how The Simpsons predicted this inanity too.

Man, we should be so lucky that the “Elon Musk of squirrels” is gone. Maybe they'll do the “Elon Musk of humanity” next?

[justyouraverageficwriter]

Orange ~

Sana X M Reader

Genre: Fluff, Angst (for the most part)

WC: 4.1K Words

Chapter 9: Keep Me in your Heart

A/N: Wrapping up Orange's story. No smut tho.

Reader –

“Now tell me, what are you planning to do?”

Sana was so serious in her tone, nothing of that respectful daughter demeanor, business-like and ready to hear the terms of a very unfavorable circumstance. The atmosphere was heavy inside your office, tension was high, thick and palpable. Both you and Sana have not been on good terms with her father, and then there was the hospital director, caught in the crossfire. You look at your girlfriend and admire her resolve, although it doesn’t come as a surprise now, she has been a fighter ever since you knew her, and it is clear she’ll fight this one too, even though you are doomed to lose. However, it is also clear that there is also vulnerability in her voice.

“I advise you to be calm, my dear daughter.”

You can already tell it’s not going to be easy, her father sounded too confident on the card he is holding. He cleared his throat, and took a seat on the couch, not in a hurry whatsoever. He is taking his time, maybe even enjoying the agony written all over your faces. He may be the father of the girl who means the world to you but you can’t help but curse him under your breath, he is giving you all the reasons to hate him, and probably also a little more. As it stands, it's you and Sana against the world.

“So I heard that the owner of the place you are staying needs a heart transplant. You know I can help you with that, Sana." Her father started his spiel with a smug face. He knew his gambit would finally pay off.  "You see, this should not have been your problem, but you have so much love to give and you can't help but care." The grin on his face grew wider which made you clinch on your fist tighter. But deep inside you can't argue his logic. You view care and connections as unnecessary. It's one of the reasons why you opt to keep to yourself; before this orange haired girl changed your life at least.

 "You know what you need to do, come home with me to Japan, and I'll make sure she'll have her new heart as soon as possible."

He acted so calm, so cool when he laid out his terms. Sana's father thought he had you both on a checkmate, a chokehold; and maybe he probably did. If you didn't hate him, you would for sure admire the man, respect his composure by not laughing hysterically because he had the upper hand. Although you think you didn't expect less from her father, it's really hard to run a hospital, especially if it's controlled by three big families. Well perhaps you do, you already do sound like it.

At that moment, you noticed your girlfriend sob. You've been focused on your own feelings to not be aware that tears are now falling on her face. Instinctively you wrapped your arms around her, she cried enough for the night. You hate her father for doing all this, but even more so you hate yourself for not being able to think of a solution; a way out. You just want to dig deep and find something inside the big brain of yours you always seem so confident about, but somehow the well just ran dry. It can't keep on giving it seems.

There was a brief pause inside your office, the kind that you could not be blamed for thinking the world stood still, and somehow time stops moving forward. It's not a moment of respite however, it's full of dread and uncertainties. Sana knows it, you know it, the odds are not in your favor. "I'll give you time to think, but remember time is of the essence if you want that landlady saved." Sana's father broke that silence with absolute conviction in his voice. He left the office with his shoulders high, and so was his spirit; he knew he had won. You and Mr. Cho's eyes met, and you could see that he is emphatic to your situation, but it's out of his hands too and there's nothing he can do about it. You gave him a smile of acknowledgement as he tapped you gently in the back, and he went out as well after that.

Your focus went back to Sana, and she's crying as she leans on your shoulders. But what more can you do? You just wrapped your arms around her and rubbed her back. "It's all going to be alright." Inside your head you are thinking, asking, do you really mean those words? Maybe not since you yourself are afraid of what will happen next, but it's all you can think of for now. And maybe she knows you are just spewing out words and not meaning them, because she cried even harder when she heard it.

–

Morning came, and you are still occupied with things that need sorting out. You notice your girlfriend roll over and wake up, making a mess of her orange hair. Normally, you would have found it cute but right now you feel a sinking feeling in your stomach. It's a completely different circumstance. "Did you have any sleep, Doc?" Her eyes puffed and her voice hoarse, as she asked you the minute her eyes found yours. It is clear she worries for you too.

"I'm fine, baby." You managed a weak smile. You've been up all night, trying to find answers, but all you could produce was the name of Mrs. Kang's nearest relative using hospital records. You also tried to find ways and cases that a patient was given the priority to receive a heart but that proved to be all for naught. Absent a personal donor pledging their hearts when they die to a specific person, given that the receiver is compatible with the organ; the only recourse is to sign up and be included in the waitlist. 

Then you felt your girlfriend sitting on your lap, you realized your attention was never really on her but on your computer, on the things that addled your mind because you did not notice her walk towards you. Sana wrapped her arms around your neck and rested her head on your shoulders; and you always feel at peace when she does that. But there's a feeling of sorrow in her embrace, the kind that screams goodbye, the kind that is making the most out of the remaining time. Anyone can walk in your office and see the both of you and be called unprofessional but those things don't bother you now, the world will understand.

"I already found a relative who can help us with the paper works of the operation." You are just hoping she will see it as good news, praying silently that she will not see it as you are already giving up by thinking about the operation already. Sana tightened her arms around you and you already knew that she understood what it meant. "We don't have any other options, do we?" Her voice trailed off as she tried to finish her sentence. For the first time today, you shifted your attention fully to your girlfriend. "I want to be selfish, you know. I just want to run with you and escape all these." You pat the back of her head and run your fingers through her orange locks. You mean those words, but you know as well that it's impossible.

Sana immediately removes her head from your shoulders to look at you straight into your eyes. "Then let's go, hmm?" There's pleading in her teary gaze, she's desperate just like you that she'll take any alternative without really thinking.

"We can't, baby. I know you can't. You're not capable of leaving the ones you care about." You hate to be the bearer of the grounding news, but you have to; even if it means putting an end to your selfish desires. "We will just go back immediately the moment we try to leave because of our conscience.” You fixed her messy hair, it has become your habit. After a long pause, of just both of you staring at each other, Sana went back to lean on your shoulders, vulnerable, defeated, devastated for the lack of choices. And your heart goes out with her.

Sana –

Sana is in a state of trance, her eyes are fixed on the face of her still unconscious landlady. In the background is a beeping noise of the electronic vital sign monitors, constantly reminding her that she too still exists, even though she thinks her mind has stopped functioning. As she holds the hands of the woman that serves as her guardian in a foreign country, Sana came to terms with what you said earlier. She really could not just run and leave it all behind. Unbeknownst to her, a pool of tears starts to accumulate again in her eyes. Perhaps, the choice is crystal clear now even if it means you two being away from each other. Sana resigns herself to let it all out again and cry but is stopped by the sound of the opening door. She immediately wiped her tears with her bare hands and tried to fix herself before turning to see who the visitor was.

“Unnie.” Dahyun’s head peeked on the small opening of the door, with her signature smile. “Doc said you haven’t eaten yet. Do you want to join us? Your boyfriend and Doc Jun Han still have a doctors meeting, and Sang Hun has a lecture to attend so it’s just us with Jihyo-unnie.” The anesthetist smiled brightly as she completed her invitation, obviously trying to exude positivity. Sana finishes to wipe her eyes dry and continues to fix herself, she can’t say no and frankly speaking she craves some company too.

Sana noticed that the two ladies tried to talk normally to her as the three of them settled on a table, careful to not bring up the topics related to the things that happened. No one seems to be giving her some weird looks in the hospital so she is thankful that the news didn’t really go out. Yet she could not shake off the feeling that it was a bit strange, normally Sana expected to be bombarded with inquiries but both of them talked about completely random things. "Did Doc tell the both of you not to ask me questions?" She just had to make sure, to confirm her suspicions. Both Dahyun and Jihyo awkwardly looked at each other but ultimately smiled in defeat and admitted that it was indeed the case.

"Are we that obvious, Sana?" Jihyo asked in defeat to which she nodded in response. "It's just highly unusual. You two don't want to be late with the news." Dahyun's mouth dropped in shock when Sana just casually calls them nosy but in a more sophisticated way. Then her lips formed a small smile in amusement, it's the first time she did for the day. It's just friendly banter, and the three just laugh about it.

"Did Doc fill you in with the details?" Sana considered both women more than just colleagues now so she decided to talk about the situation even though it is hard at the moment. Jihyo shaked her head."I only know about your landlady's situation, that she needs a new heart." Dahyun echoed Jihyo's response, also saying that she only knew the same information. "Doc seems to be avoiding the topic entirely so I didn't really pry and ask more." Dahyun added.  Sana immediately thought about you. Of course it's hard for you too, you just act tough because being a doctor requires you to be, and as a boyfriend it requires you even more. 

"This is basically saying goodbye." Sana tried to hold back her tears as she felt like a hand grips her heart again. It is heavy and it keeps on getting heavier that she closed her eyes and the flood gates of tears are now open. Concerned, both women at the table with her scoots closer. Jihyo sitting on the same side gently rubs her back while Dahyun offers tissue. However Sana gathered herself and proceeded to fill them in with the specifics, of how her father wants her to go back to Japan in exchange of securing a heart, of how there is no other choice, of how you two will be apart.

---

Sana looked at you, deep asleep. Probably the only place of peace amidst all the chaos. She examined every single line on your face and she was sure she memorized them all by now. The road to this very moment has not been easy, and Sana thought you deserve the rest you are currently enjoying. It has been your first taste of sleep ever since all of these ensued. She has been itching to touch your face and kiss your lips, but she was also afraid she might wake you up. 

She looked back on the long day you both had, on the emotions and struggles. You both wanted to spend the remaining time together. Even though both of you avoided talking about it, not wanting to make it hard while you are still together. But somehow Sana knew that you also knew that it is just a matter of time, that you need to do what is needed to save a life. She involuntarily sniffs as her nose and eyes swelled again, for which she panicked a bit thinking that might wake you up but fortunately didn’t. Sana then took the chance to slowly get off the bed, careful to not disturb you in the slightest. She fetched a letter from the pocket of her coat, and placed it on your lone bedside table making sure you would see it. Then she took an all look around your room, a bittersweet smile. So many great memories she will forever cherish. And lastly, her eyes landed on you and God knows how much she wants to go back to your side. The few inches apart has been such a torture already.

Reader (Three weeks later) --

You opened the door to see Mrs. Kang sitting up looking outside the window. This is the first time ever since the operation that she has been strong enough to do so. You know she is deep in thought and you hesitated to interrupt her, but you need to make your rounds to your patients and it is her turn. You carefully knocked on the open door to not surprise her, and as she slowly turned around you gave her your best effort for a warm smile.

“It’s much better that you stay lying down, Mrs. Kang. Recover as much strength as possible. The more you do that, the faster you can get out of the hospital.” Normally it takes an average of two to three weeks to recover from a heart transplant. But given her age, you decided to monitor her more than that. She also showed signs of slow recovery so you couldn’t take the risk.

You quickly assisted her in lying back down and proceeded to check on her vitals. “How are you feeling, Mrs. Kang? Not feeling any more discomfort in your chest area?” The old lady slowly shook her head in response. “Your vital signs are well within expected now so I am happy to say we are getting good results. Give it like a week and I can consider releasing you. Sounds good, Ms. Kang?”

“Thank you, Doc.”

“Alright, and don’t forget you can always tell your attending nurse if ever you feel or need something.” You take a final look and give instructions to her own nurse since no relative has even taken the initiative to care, really tragic. You gave her a smile again as you were getting ready to leave when she held your hand to stop you. “Would you allow me a couple of questions, Doctor?”

“Of course.” You obliged after much thought, you were debating internally if it was the right time to let her in on the news. But with her determined eyes, you knew it would just be wrong to not let her know, to deny her of the truth.

You pulled a vacant chair and sat in front of the frail woman, thinking that the conversation would not end that quickly. She looks so much better than before her operation, visibly pain free and presumably getting quite adjusted to her new heart. The heart that has so much weight for you and a particular someone. You immediately remembered how you cried your own heart and eyes out after the successful operation, given how much it meant to you. The hospital director voiced his concern to you, suggesting that you should let other doctors perform the operation because emotions can get in the way, but you have to do it. You just have to make sure that it’s gonna be all worth it, and besides it’s the very last wish she said to you. And today, somehow sitting across her landlady, you realized you did just that. But as for the question if it was worth it, your heart is not that professional after all.

“You are Sana’s boyfriend, right? She always talks about you.” Mrs. Kang reaches out to hold your hand again, soft and gentle.

“Yes, her boyfriend.” It’s technically true, you did not separate that night; in fact not much was really said aside from a couple of lines. Yet you still hesitated, it has been almost a month that you haven’t seen her, not in any shape or form of conversation wahtsoever too.

“I haven’t seen her visit, she told me she works in the same hospital as you. I would very much like to see her.” There is a certain anticipation in her expression, you can clearly see how Sana means to her as well. However, you hate to be the bearer of the disappointing news.

“Sana-” you paused to clear your throat, you once again feel the grip that very fact holds upon your heart. Just her name solicits so much emotion from you. Yet you have to gather yourself and persevere, keep a straight face as much as possible. You have to soften the news to her, she is your patient after all. “Sana is back in Japan, Mrs. Kang. But don’t worry she already knew that you had a successful operation.” The last sentence was a lie. In truth, you don’t have an inkling of news about her, none whatsoever. Not even knowing if she safely arrived. Although, you thought it’s safe to assume that she does, you want to assume. And besides you really could use that particular white lie.

You saw the change in expression in Mrs. Kang's face. From hopeful anticipation to visible sadness. You didn’t do a great job of what you intended to do. "But you don't have to worry, all expenses have been taken care of too already." You tried to distract her with positive news. Yet you know, just like your heart, only a certain someone can fill that void. 

“Can I talk to her at least?” That request was full of desperation, somehow it reflects your heart's desire. You would give the world to just have the chance to hear her sweet bright voice.

“I’ll make sure to let you talk to her once she calls, I’m sure she’ll be glad to hear you well and healthy. But right now, you just need to think about one thing, and that is recovering.” You immediately stood up, desperately wanting to get out of the conversation. You don’t want to lie anymore, but most of all of you just couldn’t hold on to your tears if you keep on talking about Sana. So with the last bit of perseverance, you remained professional. Telling her that you have to go to check on other patients, it’s the last lie you will tell her today.

–

You head to your office after completing your afternoon rounds, you just want to be alone. Unknowingly, you started to go back to your old self, loner, grumpy and unapproachable. And you realized that when you opened the door of your office hearing some laughter but it completely went silent when they saw you walk in the door, well except for one person who was confused about the situation. For the first time in what feels like forever, there was some semblance of joy in the corners of your office; the office that was once a well of happiness when Sana shared it with you and made it her own. Somehow in your heart, you wish she was one of the visitors you have but that is just wishful thinking of course.

“Are you this strict on them that they can’t laugh when you’re around, Oppa?” Your sister was ready to scold you. Jihyo and Dahyun immediately react that it was not the case but Tzuyu’s eyes were fixed on you. 

“What are you doing here?” You disregard your sister’s question. However she was not having it.

“My sister can be a bit feisty.” You smiled at your colleagues. The two of them laughed again, looking more relaxed. They already understood you are a man of a few words. “It’s the first time I saw someone you can square up to you aside from–” Dahyun stopped on her sentence and looked away, conscious about what she almost did. Of course you picked up on it, in fact everyone did as Jihyo was shooting some lethal side eye to the anesthetist. However, you decided to let it go, nothing really good will happen if you mind it. “Will you excuse us, ladies?”

Both Jihyo and Dahyun of course obliged and immediately headed out the door after taking their leave. You sat down on your chair, legs gave out as soon as you reached it. Perhaps you are now done acting tough, you are with someone again where you are not afraid of showing vulnerability. “You didn’t answer my question, little sis. What brought you here?”

“Just checking on you. Anything wrong with that?” Tzuyu took a seat on the chair in front of your table. There was a pause after, yet somehow you know she didn’t expect any kind of answer. “You should stay with us for the meantime, you know. It will do you good to have company.” Ever since Tzuyu and your father met, they have been catching up so fast with each other’s life up to the point that she now lives in his house. You can see that your sister is happy so you are just as happy for her. Her happiness should not be hindered just because you still have your wounds.

“I’m doing fine, Tzuyu-ya.”

“Fine, I brought some food by the way. You should eat it. I won’t linger long, I still need to visit my shop.” She immediately ran to your side and gave you a hug.

“You can tell your father, I might invite him for some drinks.” You told her after the hug.

“He will be happy to hear that.”

–

The next morning rolled around and you woke up as the sunlight from your windows slowly creeped up on your eyes. Every morning has been pretty much the same ever since that night. Just like as you recalled, the first thing that grabbed your attention is the letter waiting for you to be read. And without fail ever since that morning, you reached out for it and unfolded the piece of paper that brings you both hope and sadness; the piece of paper that she left her heart with. Then you start to read again, each line somehow feels like it's the first time you ever read it:

You know I love you, and I will always do.

I’m such a coward for choosing to do it this way. But I know I wouldn’t be able to do this with proper goodbyes. I know it would be impossible for me to go seeing you cry the moment I leave. So allow me to go like this, while you are peacefully asleep.

This is not goodbye. Keep me in your heart until the day that we will see each other again. Promise me that I will still be your Orange.

Lastly, I will go because it is the right thing to do. Because you and I both know we can’t live if we took the selfish path. So let us make it worth it, promise me you will save her. Do all you can, I know you will.

I have so many things to say, but let’s just talk about them when we see each other again.

You know I love you, and I will always do.

Yours,

Orange

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

Fin.

[santae-salt]

When asked why my post was and still is hidden entirely this is what was said:

And my response:

And Tea's message to me/my response for context (note I've gotten no other mail from them):

It feels like they're trying to convict me post mortem to everyone else when I literally have not been told I broke a rule by an admin. I dont know if it's to save face or what, but if a user breaks a rule, they should know first, shouldnt they? And they should know what rule was broken for sure.

I'm wary of the idea that people are taking my expression of discomfort with someone as an outright attack. It's a very immature/insecure mindset and a huge red flag imo. I've been working on a Santae review and holding off to see how they're handling things now that they've outright okay'd censorship of whatever hurts Cj's feelings.

And to say very plainly, I dont blame the mods for any of this or even most of the staff. This is on Cj to handle and he continues to fumble. How can the mods do their job if they're at the whim of vague rules dictated by a mercurial owner? Players in a game are not your friends or your diehard fans, they have every right to voice discomfort and opinions if they're constructive and I maintain that all of my feedback had actionable suggestions-even saying that Cj made me uncomfortable.

-Haven

☁️

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

... And Back: Final Part

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.9k

Summary: Knowing the Turner Brothers killed nearly one hundred people, the FBI, Detroit police, and the Canadian police work hard to figure out three things: Where is Kelly, who has been murdered here, and what will happen when Lucas is caught? That’s not the only thing you have to worry about as a nightmare is about to come your way.

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there are any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them. If you’ve seen the show, then it’s the same level of angst unless otherwise stated

x

Derek and Emily are working with the Bloodhounds and walking around the property trying to find Kelly and Lucas. It's weird to think you've been with the team for over four years, working nonstop, and these two brothers were out here killing eighty-nine people without you even knowing.

Well, you know now and it's going to stop. However, no matter what you do, how hard you work, or how good at your job you are, there will always be someone out there hurting people for fun. Your job is never going to end.

Some of the Bloodhounds found scent markings on some trees but lost them when they reach a small stream of water that runs in the back of the property. If the dogs lose the scent for good, it's going to be like searching for a needle in a stack of needles.

Meanwhile, Penelope is working hard inside the house trying to figure out what's really going on here. No one kills eighty-nine people and counting without some kind of reason. It doesn't take long to figure out what Mason is researching, and it's actually shocking considering what's going on here.

Mason has been looking for a cure for his paralyzed body. He needs stem cells from people in order to cure himself, but they've all been unsuccessful experiments. Mason deems it right because the people Lucas took were transients, prostitutes, and drug users. He wanted to give their lives purpose by being part of a revolutionary cure.

He claims it's science.

Lucas has drawn what their lives have been like for the past eight years. He's the reason why Mason is how he is. Lucas accidentally pushed Mason down something that paralyzed him, so Mason blames and faults him for something that was an accident, so he has his chunky younger brother kill to help cure something that was Lucas' fault.

You and Spencer leave the barn to tell the others what you've found.

"They were doing experiments for spinal regeneration. He was trying to fix himself," Rossi says.

"How?"

"Stem cell research."

"Wait, this equipment is far too unsophisticated. There's no way it would have ever worked," Spencer says.

"You were a prosecutor, Hotch. Could you convict this guy? A quadriplegic who clearly never touched any of the victims?" you ask.

"I don't know. We need to concentrate on Kelly. We can't worry about the other stuff right now."

"Son of a bitch. He might get away with this. Come on, Rossi. Let's talk to Mason again." You look to the right and see Will leaning against the pig pen just listening in. You hope he doesn't do anything stupid. You and Rossi walk back inside the house and over to Mason who has a slight smirk on his face. "Tell me about how you got hurt."

"Does it matter?"

"Humor me."

"My brother pushed me out of the loft. I wanted to sell the farm. I had just finished medical school. It would have given me a nice down payment on a practice in the city, but the farm was all he knew. He doesn't handle anger very well."

"Is that why you hate him?"

"Hate him? He's done nothing but take care of me every day since then."

"You said not to even try talking to him if we find him. That sounds like you want us to kill him, right Rossi?"

"Sounds right to me."

"That's not hate. That's a favor. My brother couldn't survive without me."

You and Rossi leave the room to join Penelope in the next.

"Did you find anything else?" you ask.

"Nothing that'll help find his brother. There's a cell phone he calls dozens of times a day, but that appears to be off. I tried to activate the GPS locator on it, but I think it's an old phone so that's not gonna work either."

"Will you know if it comes on?"

"I hope so."

"How's it going?" JJ asks when she walks in.

"Just waiting for--" The computer dings and Penelope gasps. "Oh, my God. The phone just turned back on. Oh, my God!"

"Answer it."

"Hello?" Penelope asks.

"Hello? My name is Kelly."

"Kelly? This is Penelope Garcia with the FBI."

"Oh, my God, you have to help me. I'm somewhere in the woods being held by a man named Lucas, and he--"

"Kelly?" Lucas stutters.

"Please help me!"

"Hey, that's mine!"

"Please--"

The call cuts off. Lucas has Kelly somewhere on the property, and you need to find her quickly.

"The phone's disconnected."

"Garcia, can you find the signal?" Rossi asks.

"Yes. I'm hooked on the system. I should be able to--Got it! It's west of here, less than half a mile."

"That's all you can tell?"

"It's the woods. There aren't any reference points."

"We don't need one. I can take it from there. Come on," you urge.

You, Hotch, Rossi, and Spencer meet up with Emily and Derek who are already out in the field. JJ and Penelope stay with Mason in hopes the phone turns back on and Kelly calls again. The Bloodhounds run alongside you to where the last known location of the phone is, but the scent dies off.

She's not here.

"She should be right here. This is where the signal came from," Hotch says. "There's nothing here. Y/N, anything?"

You close your eyes and allow Kelly's panic to reach you. The trail of energy isn't coming from the sides or above you. It's coming from down below. There is a hatch here somewhere that must lead down to a cave.

"They're in a cave. Follow me!"

You lead the group to where the energy trail leads off, and you allow Hotch and Derek to lift the heavy wooden board Lucas tried so hard to hide.

"Kelly!"

"Down here! Don't make any sudden moves when they come down, okay?" she begs Lucas.

"I'm bad," Lucas repeats and whimpers.

"Lucas Turner, this is the FBI."

"Just put your hands up, okay? Everything is going to be okay," Kelly says.

Hotch removes her from Lucas and passes her onto you and Emily. Emily gets her out of the cave but you can't help but look back at Lucas. He's scared and confused, and he doesn't know what is going on.

"Be gentle with him! He's scared!"

Jeff's team doesn't listen and perceives him as a threat. Lucas gets confused enough to where he starts lashing out. He gets up to attack, and that's when Jeff's team starts firing at him.

"Stand down!" you and Derek yell.

The deed is done. Lucas is dead. Will grabbed the nearest gun he could find and shot Mason knowing he was going to get arrested. But hey, at least he got his sister's killer. Both brothers are dead, just like you thought was going to happen.

All you want to do is go home. This case has drained the life out of you. The entire ride home, no one said a word. No words needed to be said. The killings will stop, but you'll have to deal with another murderer the next day.

It's never gonna stop.

"Ready to go home?" you ask Spencer once you two have packed everything away.

"More than you know."

"Can I hold your hand?"

"Listen, it's nothing you did but ever since I was poisoned, I have this fear of germs now. That's all I see everywhere I go. I don't want to get sick again."

"I understand. I'll never do anything that makes you uncomfortable. Can I give you a hug?"

"Yes," he smiles.

You wrap your arms around his waist and kiss the part where his heart is over his clothes. Spencer kisses the top of your head with a loving smile.

Everything is as it should be.

--

He is angry. No, pissed is more like it. He should have never let you go in the first place. You could still be with him safe and sound, and he would never have to worry if he's going to get that one phone call that's going to put him away for life. He's tried to be nice about it. He tried to offer you everything you could need and more.

But no, you'd rather go home to him. He's getting so sick and tired of hearing about Spencer Reid. He stole what was his to begin with.

The man takes inhales from the cigarette longer than he should have before letting out the smoke into the air. He looks down at the man he's just murdered. Blood spatters and pools all over the ground, but there is no one around to witness this. He made sure to pick a desolate road so that he wouldn't get caught.

He's been doing this for a long time, he knows how to evade the law.

He takes another puff of his cigarette before ripping it in two. He drops the untouched side of the cigarette onto the ground and throws the touched side into the trash can inside his car. He removes the latex gloves on his hands and throws them away in the same trash can. He grabs another pair of fresh gloves and slides them on.

There is no way he's going to leave behind any evidence that would incriminate himself.

There is a box on his passenger seat that has items he's stolen from your house. It's so easy to sneak inside when he knows where you keep the spare key. You're always forgetting where you put your keys. It's so like you to be so fucking stupid. Inside the box is a plastic baggie with a cup inside.

When he was snooping around your apartment, he made sure to take the cup you always use, a cup that would have half a dozen good fingerprints on it. With his clean thumb, he presses the latex over the fingerprint so that the print is transferred to the glove. With his left hand, he grabs the murder weapon and transfers the print onto the handle of the weapon.

Once finished, he tosses the weapon into a box in the backseat. There have to be at least seven different weapons with seven different kinds of blood used to kill seven different kinds of victims. All with your prints on them.

Seven victims scattered around where you work and where you live.

The man takes out another baggie filled with the hair he gathered from your hairbrush. You really need to clean that thing. It's like you're begging him to ruin your life. He removes some strands of hair and sprinkles it over the dead body at his feet.

This will ensure that you're linked to this murder along with the six other victims he's done this to. The man lights another cigarette but this time, he smokes it calmly. He leans against his car and takes his time enjoying the fresh air and the night sky. When he's done, he gives this cigarette the same treatment and gets back into his car.

He removes the gloves, throws them into the trash can, and leans back in his head. He thinks about you, the way you smell when you're near him, the feel of your body when he used to sneak into your room when he knew you were asleep, everything about you. You were his first, and no matter how far you move away from him, he's going to remind you that you'll never be able to leave.

If you refuse to listen to him, refuse to come back to him, then he's going to make sure no one will ever see you again as you rot in prison for the rest of your life.

"Sometimes there are no words, no clever quotes to neatly sum up what's happened that day. Sometimes you do everything right, everything exactly right, and still you feel like you've failed. Did it need to end that way? Could something have been done to prevent the tragedy in the first place? Eighty-nine murders at the pig farm. The deaths of Mason and Lucas Turner make ninety-one lives snuffed out. Kelly Shane will go home and try to recover and reconnect with her family, but she'll never be a child again. William Hightower, who gave his leg for his country, gave the rest of himself to avenge his sister's murder. That makes ninety-three lives forever altered, not counting family and friends in a small town in Sarnia, Ontario, who thought monsters didn't exist until they learned that they spent their lives with one. What about my team? How many more times will they be able to look into the abyss? How many more times before they won't ever recover the pieces of themselves that this job takes? As I said, sometimes there are no words, no clever quotes to neatly sum up what's happened that day. Sometimes the day just... ends." - Aaron Hotchner

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[beardedmrbean]

NASHVILLE, Tenn. -- A former Tennessee state senator has reported to federal prison after he pleaded guilty in 2022 to an illegal campaign finance scheme, then tried and failed to take back his plea.

Brian Kelsey is now an inmate at FCI Ashland in Kentucky, according to a federal Bureau of Prisons database. The Republican was ordered to arrive at the prison's minimum security satellite camp Monday for a 21-month sentence.

Kelsey, 47, pleaded guilty in November 2022 to charges related to his attempts to funnel campaign money from his state legislative seat toward his failed 2016 congressional bid.

After his October 2021 indictment, Kelsey deemed the case a witch hunt and blamed the Democratic administration of then-President Joe Biden. But when a co-defendant pleaded guilty the following October, Kelsey quickly did the same.

Afterward, Kelsey was unsuccessful in his March 2023 attempt to rescind the guilty plea.

Kelsey argued he should be allowed to go back on his guilty plea because he entered it with an “unsure heart and a confused mind” due to events in his personal life; he and his wife were caring for twin sons born in September 2022, and his father had terminal pancreatic cancer, then died in February 2023.

U.S. District Judge Waverly Crenshaw in Nashville denied the change of plea in May 2023. He expressed disbelief that Kelsey, a Georgetown University-educated attorney and prominent former state senator, didn’t understand the gravity of pleading guilty.

Crenshaw later denied another challenge in which Kelsey accused prosecutors of violating his plea agreement. However, that September the judge also allowed Kelsey to stay out of prison until his appeal was decided. Kelsey's challenge ultimately failed.

Last week, Crenshaw denied another motion to remain free by Kelsey, who argued he had ineffective legal counsel and that his claim of innocence is supported by recordings by two key witnesses — the co-defendant, Joshua Smith, and former GOP Rep. Jeremy Durham, who was not charged. The judge responded that Kelsey had given an “unconditional admission of guilt” under penalty of perjury.

Kelsey has again appealed.

“The law does not require a defendant to remain incarcerated while his conviction unravels under the weight of constitutional violations and government misconduct,” his attorneys wrote in the appeal to the 6th Circuit.

Smith, a Nashville social club owner, pleaded guilty to one count under a deal that required him to “cooperate fully and truthfully." He was sentenced to five years of probation.

The indictment alleges that Kelsey, Smith and others illegally concealed the transfer of $91,000 — $66,000 from Kelsey’s state Senate campaign committee and $25,000 from a nonprofit that advocated about legal justice issues — to a national political organization to fund advertisements urging support of Kelsey’s 2016 failed congressional campaign. The scheme caused the political group to file false campaign finance reports and make illegal, excessive campaign contributions to Kelsey, the indictment says.

The indictment resembles a 2017 complaint filed with the Federal Election Commission and the Department of Justice by a nonprofit, the Campaign Legal Center, which named the American Conservative Union as making coordinated independent expenditures with Kelsey's campaign. The American Conservative Union has said it has cooperated with investigators.

“Today marks an important moment in reassuring voters that the justice system protects their interests and that elected officials are not above the law,” said Shanna Ports, Campaign Legal Center's senior legal counsel for campaign finance.

Kelsey, an attorney from Germantown, was first elected to the General Assembly in 2004 as a state representative. He was later elected to the Senate in 2009. He didn’t seek reelection in 2022.

Kelsey served as the chairman of the Senate Judiciary Committee, which oversees changes to civil and criminal laws, judicial proceedings and more. His law license was suspended in 2022 after his guilty plea.

[traditional-with-a-twist]

lxx. Beauty and Her Beast

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She was even more beautiful than Obi had remembered her.

Her face glowed with the brilliance of her determination, that inner fire he had blamed himself for extinguishing through his ill-timed attentions.

To find himself now the focus of that radiance felt like stepping from night to day, directly into the heat of the sun.

A strange giddiness swept over him — the release of a burden he had grown accustomed to carrying. She was safe and, still better than that, she was herself.

...

Whatever he had done to her, the damage had been temporary; his poor judgment had not harmed her irrevocably.

Her beauty, her passion — he saw again what had captivated him from the first, that contradiction of so much strength in so small a frame.

Then, before his reason had fully grasped the significance of her appearance, what it must mean for him, for her, for everyone involved, he felt anew his yearning for her.

Without conscious thought, his being inclined towards hers; she drew him like a magnet. That hadn’t changed either.

His lips moved to form her name, but the sound was buried in the rough cloth enforcing his silence.

...

Then his mind caught up with him, and Obi remembered.

The trial, the captivity, the accusations all came back to him.

He remembered where they were, what he was doing there — why she, by all means, must not be here, too.

Little enough protection could he offer her, even if he had not been bound and gagged, surrounded as they were by a none-too-friendly crowd, in the midst of a foreign land famed for its harshness, faced with an aggrieved and powerful personage.

As it was, she had followed him into the lion’s mouth.

...

Hot on the heels of yearning came the sense of mission that had become instinct — then life itself — the drive to defend, protect, keep her safe.

Obi had pushed himself too far, however.

His mind buzzed, but his thoughts were fuzzy: no clear plan presented itself to him, only an anxiety rendered painful by the accompanying sense of impotence.

He must – he could not – but what?

His thoughts chased themselves in incoherent fragments, dizzy with mingled purpose and immobility.

...

The scope of his vision had shrunk to Shirayuki, like a spotlight in a darkened theater, but it expanded now, wavering and blurring at the edges like an out-of-focus lens.

She stood before the platform, hood thrown back, fierce eyes fixed on the judges set to decide his fate, and the magistrate bent forward to address her.

“Madame,” he began, his tone cold though not discourteous, “I fear you have arrived too late. These men stand condemned for arson and sabotage, deliberate destruction of property. It falls now to this tribunal to decree the manner of their punishment.”

...

“It cannot be,” Shirayuki answered, conviction unwavering. “They would never do such a thing. I know them, and I swear to their innocence!”

The magistrate spread his hands in a deprecating gesture. Something about Shirayuki had arrested him, and he seemed almost regretful as he replied, “A thousand pardons, madame, but according to our laws, the testimony of a single witness may not stand before the judgment seat. This honorable merchant and all his household have spoken against them—” 

He nodded to the accuser, who watched with beady eyes, gaze flickering from Shirayuki to the tribunal and back again. “Curses be upon us if we were to deny him justice, when none but you would speak in their favor.”

“I speak for them.”

A new voice broke in clear, cultivated, controlled. Its very calmness commanded attention, as its owner made herself known: fair and slight, the snowdrop to Shirayuki’s red rose, Kiki bared her face before the court.

...

“I witness,” she called out above the crowd. “I testify to the character of these men.”

The magistrate sat back, eyes hooded and expression impenetrable. After a long silence, he said only, “Your name?”

“I am Kiki Seiran,” she declared. “I serve the Crown of Clarines, as do they.”

...

At this, the tribunal exchanged glances. “Servants of the crown,” the magistrate repeated. “I beg of the ladies to name these men before the court.”

Inclining her head, Kiki returned, “The dark-haired man is Obi, heir to the Haruka earldom.”

The words struck like a wave, rocking the judges in their seats and rushing through the crowd. Visibly unsettled, the chief magistrate spoke sharply, “And the other?”

Kiki turned her head and looked straight into the eyes of her partner-in-arms. “Sir Mitsuhide Lowen,” she answered simply, “is the bravest knight I know.”

...

The judges fell to muttering amongst themselves, and the noise of the crowd – unchecked by authority or spectacle — swelled to a roar.

Kiki and Shirayuki stood unruffled in the midst of it all, radiant in their confidence like a lighthouse in the storm. 

The accuser had found his voice, and he was urging something, haranguing, perhaps in his own tongue, or perhaps Obi’s ears could simply comprehend no more.

...

He could spare a thought for Mitsuhide — wonder if his friend felt as dumb and deaf, powerless to move as Obi did — but mostly his mind was taken up with this thought: She had come for him, and he had not deserved it.

Somehow that seemed more important than everything else, though he knew not what to do about it. He could only think it, over and over, while his eyes drank in the sight of her like a parched land receives the rain.

She was gazing at him steadily, holding him in her eyes like a lake holds the moonlight, and he might have drowned there – except that something drew her gaze away.

...

The chief magistrate was signaling for silence, and a short blast on a trio of horns followed when the crowd did not attend.

“In light of further evidence,” the magistrate began. 

A howl from the plaintiff drowned out the rest.

“Silence!” the magistrate roared, his mouth an angry square. The merchant subsided, quivering with suppressed rage.

“In light of further evidence,” boomed the chief magistrate, unassailable now in his awful authority, ‘the judgment is stayed. The prisoners will submit to further questioning.”

He signaled the guards with a lifted finger. “Remove them.”

...

Obi saw more than heard this decision, because he was watching Shirayuki’s face.

When the set, fierce look melted into delight, he knew that she had won her point – as she always did.

The guards had surrounded him and Mitsuhide now; someone was fitting a key into the locks that secured them to the platform.

...

Ahead, a commotion broke out. Dark shapes had arisen from the rooftops. They descended now into the crowd, swinging down from their perches to the square below.

More guards, Obi’s brain surmised, struggling to make sense of the unexpected while laboring under the repeated shocks of exhaustion, injury, and whatever the word was for what Shirayuki had just done for and to him.

He understood the advancing shapes as military – armed and dangerous – but it was not until the first arrow flew that his brain substituted the correct assessment: 

Ambush.

[ten-cent-sleuth]

A Galling Yoke, Part 11

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for the Cathartic Shower or Sudden Realisation, Drowning or Drowning Your Sorrows, and Fingore or Electrocution squares on my July Break Bingo card

See this post for main info, including a masterlist and synopsis. See this post for warnings.

Word Count: 3.7k

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x f!Reader

Rating: Mature (for potential triggers, not for sexual content)

BEWARE THE CONTENT WARNINGS POSTED ABOVE. If you are not comfortable with them, you can read the first part of the chapter, stop at the line break, and skip to the author’s notes for more information.

Nobody bothered you for the coming days. Acquaintances steered clear of Voss House, though the Little Season was by now in full swing, and your staff steered clear of you, though you tried your best not to be too dull or ill tempered with them. Mrs Rogers still kept you company, but you could not entertain much conversation despite your yearning to confide in her all your devastation about William and all your doubts about what you’d gone through with Sherlock. The closest you had managed was a few minutes’ exchange—

“Sherlock knows about Edmund. He knows about me.”

“Oh… I am sorry, ma’am; I know you do not like to be reminded of it.”

“It was terrible, Mrs Rogers. It is terrible.”

“Did he react badly? He never did strike me as the sort to judge a lady for a cad’s behaviour.”

“No, I believe not that he… That is, I know not. I gave him not a chance to properly react, whether it would have been badly or not. But no, his core reaction seemed to be one of concern—and one of apology.”

“Then…he made you not feel pitied, or shameful?”

“Not the guilty sort of shame, merely…merely humiliated, the way one would feel if one made a fool of oneself in public and was laughed at. If… If that makes any sense…”

“It does, my dear. I understand.”

“Perhaps a little pitied, as well. Though I suppose I ought not to be surprised by that. If a battered wife is not blamed, she is to be pitied, is she not?”

“I do not pity you, and you know I do not blame you.”

“…It is only, he had such a sad look about him when he found out. His eyes…”

“There is nothing wrong with being sad about such a situation, is there, ma’am? I am sad some days, when I recall how the master treated you solely to feel better about himself. I am sad whenever I recall how he made you feel—whenever I see how he still makes you feel. Are you not?”

“Indeed, I suppose there are times… Sad, and angry also. I wish I never had to recall.”

“Of course, my lady. But there is nothing wrong with remembering and thinking about it either. Ignorance is a much graver failing than knowledge.”

You had thought of Sherlock then, of how much he prized knowledge, of how much he was discomfited by lack of it, of how much he had wanted knowledge of you.

“Was Mr Holmes’s failing making you feel exposed and embarrassed, or making you think about what you have not spoken of in a very long time?” she had asked, and the answer you felt in your breast had been too tumultuous and nebulous to verbalise.

Mrs Rogers had given you much to think about, but you tried to not have time to think. You busied yourself with catching up on the household affairs you had neglected for the investigation, and then getting as far ahead as you could with them; who knew if Lord Coltidge would have the time to ensure Voss House was running smoothly when things inevitably got hectic once you turned yourself into Scotland Yard?

Then that got you thinking: once you were convicted, your widow’s portion would revert to its original owners, wouldn’t it? Which meant your father would get the house back—it had been bestowed to Edmund as part of your dowry and only became yours upon his demise—and you could not leave your servants vulnerable to him, so you prepared protections for their jobs and arranged for alternate incomes if they had to leave.

You sent the Sulyards an invitation to come by Voss House at any time and at long last clear out Edmund’s effects. You finished up needlework projects lying around and said your goodbyes to your book collection. You went through your chambers and chose what could be given away. You did everything you could to ensure you would slip away from this world, this life, with as few ripples as possible. No unfinished business, no loose ends—

Blinking, you set down the ledger you’d been reviewing and stared out the study window. As you drifted over to the glass pane, the thoughts whirled faster and faster around your head until the tornado sucked the breath out of you: Sherlock had said professional killers didn’t leave loose ends—yet Miss Algar, a trackable witness who had seen the entire murder, remained breathing and even comfortable—so William must have gotten involved—how?—not sure, but somehow he kept the hitman from getting to Miss Algar—so William must have hired Mrs Kinley too—makes sense, who else but Viscount of Pashbroke would expend such liabilities—but it would be equally in character for Viscount of Pashbroke to hand over the reins of everything to the Earl of Coltidge once he broke about the murder—when it rains, it pours—but if your father hadn’t gotten rid of her, he approved of her, which meant she was the talebearing sort of employee—goodness, remember when Mrs Tattershall promised not to tell Father about the frog incident but then she did?—goodness, remember how he knew about your visit to Miss Algar before anyone in London had?—but if Mrs Kinley had always been indiscreet, might she be in contact with the hitman?—no loose ends—yes, ’tis possible she was not even aware, ’tis possible the hitman had snuck into her circle of acquaintances—she had called her charge’s attack an “accident”!—oh yes, ’tis entirely possible she blissfully did not realise the danger she was in, the danger of being a loose end.

By the time you pressed a steadying palm to the window, you were resolved to make sure Mrs Kinley and Miss Algar were safe. Even if it were a long shot, verification that they were prepared should your arrest upset whatever precarious balance with which the hitman had gotten comfortable was not a task you could leave for someone after the fact.

In the hackney to Cable Street, you couldn’t help but think that Sherlock would have come to this conclusion sooner, if only you had kept him apprised of all that you had learnt. If you had told him about Lord Coltidge’s uncommonly familiar knowledge of London on dit… If you had told him William was responsible for Edmund’s death but you felt responsible regardless…

You shook your head. Stop. You could not forget the very valid reason you had not told him: these were your burdens to bear, and he would be better off not learning of them, just as he would have been better off not learning how much pain you carried in you.

Mrs Rogers’s recent words popped into your imagination, and you stewed in them for the rest of the carriage ride.

As you alighted from it in front of Miss Algar’s building, wincing at the aching stiffness in your right leg, you regretted not having spent your time planning what to say instead, but that did not turn out to be so great a problem.

The conversation with Mrs Kinley did not last very long.

The landlord had once again happily led you to the correct flat, but this time, the nurse did not even let you past the threshold. Dogged, you had pleaded your case to her on her doorstep, you whispering furtively your concerns and she exclaiming unreservedly her indignation.

“I have no doubt that you know of whom I speak,” you had thrown out as a last-ditch effort.

“Oh, the impudence! Always a-comin’ hereabouts and a-tellin’ me what to do, just because you’re a great lady and I’m a lowly worker! A noble or not, I think I’d well know if a man I knew had bloody hands!”

“If you would merely tell me if my description sounds like anybody you—”

“Out with you! Out, out, else I scream for the peelers!”

You flinched as the door slammed in your face.

Massaging your vindictive knee—it still had not quite forgiven you for forcing it to run from 221b Baker Street; a part of you couldn’t help but agree—you thought once again of Sherlock. Ignorance is the curse of God indeed. He would have had no patience for Mrs Kinley’s pride getting in the way of the case. Gracious, was this even within the purview of an investigation anymore?

With a sigh, you walked haltingly to the side of the building, leaned against it, and looked up at the sky. What to do? What to do, what to do? You had not planned—or particularly wished, though you did paradoxically long—to see Sherlock, at least not outside of Whitehall Place, but perhaps his assistance would be necessary to protect Miss Algar…

Deliberating over your options, you let quite some time pass. You had not come to a conclusion when movement in your periphery caught your attention. You started to turn, but something else in the air caught your eye: Was it flurrying? Could these really be the first snowflakes?

Before you could confirm, something struck you in the side of the head and—

—cold. Hmm. What? Your thoughts were sluggish—treacle dripping through your fingers. What had you just been thinking? What had been the first half of…?

A shiver wracked through you. Oh, right. It was too cold. You hated the cold. Why was it so cold?

You shivered again, and this time you noticed something strange: your arms were held down. Held…or tied? And your legs. Your legs too. Tied down.

Now that you were really waking up, you could also tell something was on your face—rough, musty, but light and not completely opaque. That wasn’t so bad, though you endeavoured to keep your breaths shallow so you didn’t inhale too much of the material or whatever dirt it might carry. The real discomfort was under you, a stiff board that was brutal on your shoulders, not to mention the cramps sure to come with your right leg being unable to stretch or relax properly. All in all, you had no clue how you had ended up in this situation.

Clue. Heavens, if Sherlock were here, he’d have probably deduced which sector of London you found yourself in and how much time had passed.

But Sherlock wasn’t here—and he wasn’t coming.

You shuddered, this time not only from the cold.

“Oh, apologies, m’lady—oughtay get a fire goin’?”

You squirmed at the unfamiliar voice. Had the speaker been there this whole time, watching you? If he had just arrived, how had you not heard a door creak?

“Who are you?” Foolish; he would never answer that. “Why did you take me? What are you going to do?”

Now that you were listening to yourself, you realised your voice had a peculiar echo. You must be in a large chamber of some sort—at least as wide and as tall as a ballroom, but where in London could he have taken you that was like that yet secluded enough for nefarious activities?

“Y’sure y’wish fo’ me to answer tha’?” mused your abductor.

You gulped. If he were the hitman—and, really, who else would he be?—you were now a loose end.

“It won’t be so bad, m’lady, if y’just tells me wha’ oi wanna know.” His pause was as menacing as his words. “Why’s ’olmes lookin’ into the ole nemmo on Cable? He know ’bout me?”

“Does he know what about you?” you huffed wryly. “I do not know who you are, you—”

The frigidity hit you first—it was acute, stinging, and miserable. It pierced your skin, freezing you right to the bone all across your body. You didn’t realise it was really only touching your face until it stopped.

“Now that weren’t a very prudent answer, m’lady. You gots a be’ah one?”

“What do you mean? What do you mean?” This time, you were entirely sincere in your confusion: you were so breathless and so cold you couldn’t quite remember what he’d asked you, much less figure out how to answer. And you didn’t know what he had done to you—your senses were too restricted and disoriented for that—but you knew you didn’t want him to do it again, ever.

But then he heaved a sigh, and your heart seizing with realisation, you tensed for—

A thick, heavy paw clamped over your mouth and nose, the now smothering cloth across your face tight against your nostrils. And it was damp, now. It was then that you realised what exactly was happening: he was pouring water on you, right onto you, and you couldn’t breathe.

For minutes—or perhaps seconds, instants, but for a long time, you clawed at your restraints and jerked around on the board, all in vain, all the while flailing to tell whether you were inhaling or exhaling. Filthy water cascading down your nose, muddy panic flooding up your airway, you begged, you sobbed, for it to stop.

Could he hear? Could he understand?

“Anything, I shall tell you anything,” you screamed—your drowning mind screamed—your drowned mouth tried to scream.

Would you drown? Would you die here?

And then it stopped. The water stopped. The pleading and the pain did not.

You heaved as much as you could while still strapped to the board, your lungs shrieking for air.

Air, air, air—

Please, please, please—

“Bleedin’ toffah,” scoffed your tormentor. “Y’need a minute t’stop bla’erin’ nonsense, does you? Blasted no-abilities can’t ’andle nuffin’, not even a bi’ ov fisherman’s dau’er wivout all the box ov toys…”

Quivering with panic and hiccuped tears, you listened to him walk away and sluggishly understood that you indeed hadn’t spoken aloud. A quiet, drenched part of you was grateful—and ashamed that you had tried to—but largely you were horrified that this meant he would return and that meant the water would return and—

The suffocating material, with your shaking, falls, falls to the floor but more importantly falls off. You gasp with relief, even if you still can’t see or breathe clearly from the force of your sobs. Through blurry vision, however, you actually managed to see where you were: a warehouse, dusty and empty, nothing of note, nothing of use… But it’s so bare that your darting eyes notice holes in the wall with wires sticking out—wires not entirely covered in rubber. Naked wires.

And you started to properly calm down as a plan took shape…

“Awite, m’lady, I ’ope you— Wo’ the—!”

Your gaze shot to the man approaching you, walking out of the shadows, and your brow jumped up. That nose, that jawline, that forehead—those were memorable features that you had seen before, that you had seen on Miss Algar’s nurse. You had a rapid stream of thoughts then—of course, of course, William would have accepted a recommendation from his murderous employee about whom to hire for their witness!—but it was dammed by the stony look on your present company as he stormed over to you. Close up, he was a veritable boulder, large and robust, strong- and angry-looking.

“You seen me face!”

You blinked up at him. It had escaped you that anyone knowing his identity would be a big deal to him, but yes, you had seen his face, and you weren’t likely to forget it.

“Dratted Barney Rubble,” he snarled as his calloused hand grabbed at the board you were lying on.

You went rigid in anticipation as he dragged the board—and, you realised now, it was more of a worktable with wheels—in the direction whence he’d come. But when you saw where he was taking you, a rusting basin double the volume of a clawfoot slipper tub, your rising fear went the way of your previous panic. The plan was solidifying.

Chest tightening, you steeled yourself to do just one last little thing…

“Y’re gonna give me the answers oi want,” he muttered, “’cause y’re a ’ole lotta wo’k, m’lady. Take my lump of ice and make this wurf my while, eh?”

His sinister chuckle was the last thing you heard before he threw cloth once more over your head and your ears greyed out with a dull pounding. You knew what was coming. And you had just enough time to hold your breath; then the water started pouring.

For as long as you could, you resisted, determined not to feel that tidal wave of wild terror and compromise your honour again. And you made it over the first swell. You even fought down some of the second surge of rolling nausea and desperate fright! But confound it, how did the water keep coming, simply water and water and—

“Gaugh!”

Exhale—

No, no, no—

Inhale—

Water, constant, splashing, filling—

You gagged as it invaded what should have only had air.

Water, crisp, biting, freezing—

And you kept gagging, unable to find equilibrium now that your defence had crumbled.

Water, mucky, churning, nauseating—

You panted for oxygen, but in its stead your mouth sucked in liquid and moistened cloth. Your only recourse was this: The plan. The plan, the plan, the plan. Remember the plan.

And after some eternity, the tide receded, the pounding quieted, and the sinister chuckle repeated.

“Well, yer maiden-crypt?” he questioned. “’Ow much’s ’olmes know ’bout me an’ the ole Draylus—whatsit—Mistuh ’onourable E’mund?”

The plan. The plan. The plan.

You nodded rapidly under the cloth and rasped out, “Yes, I—I shall tell— He— Mr Holmes, he knows that— Oh, oh goodness— But he still cannot be certain whether—”

There was a rattling slam, and you didn’t have to pretend to flinch. “Ge’ i’ togever!” he shouted. “Oi don’t understa’ nuffin’ y’re sayin’!”

Pushing past your dread, you yanked at your restraints and cried, “Forgive me. Please, forgive me—I shall tell you anything, but no more water, please, please, I cannot—”

You allowed a bit of the hysteria you were feeling deep within your ribcage to spill out in gasping breaths and incoherent pleas. It was cathartic, but above all, it worked.

“Damnation,” he hissed through clenched teeth as he threw away the rag on your head and untied the straps around your arms and legs. “Wou’ja calm it now, m’lady? Oi promise you, no mo’ wa’er iv you tell me—”

Sitting up and scanning the room to reorient yourself, you let his aggravated appeasements wash over you, and when you were ready, with a deep breath, you leapt off the table and shoved him into the basin.

It was deep enough that his head actually went underwater, his shoulders banging into the bottom. You didn’t wait for him to regain his senses and scramble back to the surface.

“Please, God, let this work,” you whispered, grabbing the closest wire exposed in the wall. You shoved it into the water, as close to the man thrashing for purchase in the basin as you dared—but nothing happened.

Sherlock’s face flashed in your head, animated as he explained open and closed circuits. Open: no current. You glanced back at the hole in the wall and saw more heads of copper. Need current. Grinding your jaw, you snatched one with your free hand and had your hard-earned breath knocked right out of you.

Electric agony jumped out of the wires and punched straight through you. Your body felt crumpled from top to bottom with the force of it.

But through the contractions violently commanding your muscles, Sherlock’s voice rang out between your ears: “Electricity shall move more easily through the pump water…” Well, this water was dirtier than any pump water, certainly more so than Sherlock’s fancy deionised stuff.

“…but it always takes the most direct path.” 

Move, you ordered yourself, struggling to eye the “most direct path” through the sweaty haze of sheer hurt. Move. Move. MOVE.

Just as your captor pushed his head out of the water, you threw your spasming fists open and watched the wires fall on opposite sides of the man. He screamed. He screamed, and you stumbled back, not so much because the volume deafened as because the despair punctured.

Between pushing him into the water and dropping the wires beside him passed mere seconds—seven, maybe eight—but your mind was hurtling at such breakneck speed with all the ways the plan could go wrong that it felt like you were waiting before you could finally leave him behind and run.

You did not run very well.

Your right leg was taut, the knee barely creaking along; your arms were dead weight at your sides, your entire torso felt weak and fuzzy, and the nerves throughout your body were quite literally fried.

But you did very efficiently drag yourself out of that crumbling building, onto the street, and down many sidewalks of the City in search of an area of London you recognised.

Dear Lord, is it snowing? was your first lucid thought. And it was. You hobbled along, pressing a palm to walls and fences to keep yourself upright and awake, and watched the flakes drift to the ground. The thought that now you would die, watered down as you were in freezing temperatures, entered your mind and was met with much less perturbation as the thought that you would die there had been. Perhaps because you would not be as ashamed to lose your life to nature as you would be to lose it to a hired killer. Or perhaps simply because you were in shock.

Yet your brain did not feel muddled, but rather cleared of many troubles, of thoughts as large and as weighted as pennies. Indeed, when the first person to approach you among all those giving you strange looks asked, “Madam, are you in need of assistance?”, you had an answer ready—

“I am. Please, know you the way to Baker Street?”

For with a mind newly cleared, you knew that you—even if it meant feeling exposed and embarrassed, even if it meant speaking of things you didn’t want to think about, even if it meant letting him in—would only ever want to go to one person for help, for safety: Sherlock Holmes.

Thank you for reading. If you stopped at the line break (provided by @firefly-graphics, whose graphics are very cool), you can DM me (or send an ask, but you’ll have to be off anon) and I’ll give you a summary. This is not necessary though; the skipped section has some character development and meaningful parallels, but nothing plot-wise that you can’t figure out in the next chapter. Everyone else, I hope you enjoyed the warehouse scene (which I am Quite dissatisfied with and will be revising the heck out of for AO3). I have no doubt that I screwed up some facts; to a certain extent, I did so knowingly for the plot, but still feel free to point out errors or inaccuracies with the science or the Cockney and I’ll hope to rectify them. Feedback is always welcome!

Taglist [comment below if you’d like to be added!]: @theyaremorethanjustfictional

[haphazardlyannotated]

Prompt: Consider a vindictive Pearl who guilt trips and trolls the diamonds at every opportunity. She goes on long rants, saying all the things she wishes she could have said in Era 1. She may not be able to stab the diamonds like she wants, but she's gotta avenge Pink (and herself) somehow.

Pearl had spent the first three thousand years of her existence hearing the other Diamonds berate Pink.

The way she ran her colony, how she talked to "lesser" gems, even when she dared to talk- it seemed like there was no aspect of Pink her fellow Diamonds couldn't strenuously disapprove of.

Pearl remembered countless times Pink's shoulders had slumped, her bright eyes dimmed with just a few sharp words, until Rose stood in front of Pearl, telling her that Blue and Yellow had never cared about her with a conviction that wasn't even resigned anymore.

The memories had been burned into Pearl's mind with helpless fury for millenia.

So honestly, when Blue and Yellow Diamond showed up on Earth, nearly killed Steven AGAIN, and then had the audacity to talk about Pink like they hadn't made her life a living hell for as long as Pearl had known her, and when Blue Diamond then grimaced at the moss Rose had once painstakingly tended to and loudly wondered what Pink could have possibly seen in this planet- well, Pearl couldn't be blamed for indulging in just the tiniest crumb of revenge.

"Well, she liked food, for one thing," Pearl said with the perfect, bland smile of a good, subservient pearl. She caught Amethyst's eye and was met with such complete understanding that by all rights they should have formed Opal on the spot. "I'm sure Amethyst will be happy to prepare some for you," Pearl continued, watching Amethyst struggle to contain a giant grin. "She's an expert in human nourishments."

Amethyst's creation was a precarious tower of everything in their fridge, some of it still in the packaging, liberally seasoned with engine oil.

Blue and Yellow Diamond, regretably, ended up deciding they didn't want to connect with Pink's past that badly, but the sheer vindictive delight Pearl felt at their expressions when Amethyst presented her masterwork to them (and then proceeded to swallow it whole when it became clear the Diamonds weren't going to) lasted her the whole day.

_

Pearl had intended for it to be a one off.

It should have been a one off, especially considering how badly they all needed the Diamond's goodwill to have any hope of healing their corrupted friends.

Unfortunately, Pearl had not anticipated how much being a pearl on Homeworld again would grate.

She hadn't been prepared for how angry it would make her to be once again looked at like a mindless possession, a trinket to adorn an owner.

She'd fought for her freedom in the war for hundreds of years, and thousands more in her own mind. She refused to be pushed back into the mold of what Homeworld thought a pearl should be.

She knew better than to make a grand gesture. Not now. Not when the fate of countless gems depended on it.

But she could keep her posture loose where she was expected to stand like a statue, could speak up unprompted, walk in front of ‚her owner‘ rather than behind him.

Most gems probably wouldn’t even notice, let alone know what a rebellion these little gestures were. But they mattered to Pearl, and when Blue and Yellow Pearl’s eyes flickered to her when they shouldn’t (because stars forbid a pearl showed curiosity for anything other than her owner’s amusement!) Pearl knew they at least had noticed.

Watch me, Pearl told them with every time she raised her voice like that, moved her feet just so. I am a pearl and they hold no power over me. They tried to destroy us, but we’re still here and free. You can be, too. They can’t stop us.

Homeworld would never own Pearl again, and if she had anything to say about it, it wouldn’t keep owning anyone else for long either.

_

When it was all over, the Diamonds approached Pearl on the beach in front of the temple.

They tried to seem casual. They failed utterly.

„Hello… Pearl,“ White Diamond greeted her, with an expression like treating Pearl like a person was the most perplexing task she’d ever put her mind to.

Pearl tilted her head a fraction to indicate she was listening. She had no inclination to play the accomodating servant. If White Diamond wanted something from her, she would have to figure out how to ask herself.

In the end it was Blue Diamond who spoke up.

„We know that we failed Pink,“ she began, an admission so utterly unexpected it briefly gave Pearl the sensation of being in the wrong form. „We would like to do better with Steven.“

That too was unexpected. The Diamonds Rose and Pearl had run away from would never have considered even the possibility that they could be flawed, let alone need to do better.

Rose, Pearl thought. Look at this. We changed them. Your son changed them.

Out loud she only said

„That’s nice.“

Yellow Diamond cleared her throat impatiently.

„We were hoping you would have some insights,“ she said.

Once again, Pearl felt like the ground had been pulled away beneath her feet.

If someone, even Garnet, had told her a year ago that the Diamonds would stand in front of her, admitting that what they’d done to Rose had been wrong, asking Pearl for advice - she would have thought it absurd.

The Diamonds she’d known would have sooner shattered their entire courts than admit their own faults. The fact that they were willing to put all of this, everything they had spent millenia trying to embody away for the sake of Rose’s memory and Steven’s future…

Rose had been wrong, too, Pearl realised. The other Diamonds had loved her. They’d done it badly, without ever truly seeing her, but they’d loved her all the same.

And now they wanted to learn to do it right.

Maybe Pearl could forgive them one day. Maybe.

Not today though.

„Well, for one thing,“ Pearl said, „I think Steven enjoys not being locked in an empty room for years on end.“

[steelbluehome]

AP News

Trump film ‘The Apprentice’ made noise in Cannes, but it still lacks a US distributor

BY  JAKE COYLE June 7, 2024

Earlier this week, Abbasi’s frustration seemed to boil over on X, the social media platform. In a response to a news article blaming a stream of sequels and remakes on the recently dismal performance of films at the box office, Abbasi offered “a new proposition.”

“Its not a (expletive) sequel nor is it a (expletive) remake,” wrote Abbasi. “Its called #The_Apprentice and for some reason certain power people in your country don’t want you to see it!!!”

NEW YORK (AP) — Two weeks after its much-anticipated premiere at the Cannes Film Festival, a film about Donald Trump in the 1980s is still seeking distribution in the United States.

In Cannes, “The Apprentice” unveiled a scathing portrait of the former U.S. President as a young man. The film, starring Sebastian Stan, chronicles Trump’s rise to power in New York real estate under the tutelage of Roy Cohn (Jeremy Strong), the defense attorney who was chief counsel to Joseph McCarthy’s 1950s Senate investigations of suspected communists.

“The Apprentice,” directed by the Danish Iranian filmmaker Ali Abbasi, immediately sparked controversy. After its premiere, Trump’s reelection campaign spokesperson, Steven Cheung, called the movie “pure fiction” and said the Trump team would file a lawsuit “to address the blatantly false assertions from these pretend filmmakers.”

Whether influenced by that threat or not, “The Apprentice” is yet to secure distribution from either a major studio or a leading streaming service — none of whom have put in a bid on the movie. While the film has picked up international distribution in most territories worldwide, it doesn’t yet have a home in the country where Trump is running for president.

Though high-profile films typically find buyers either before or shortly after their festival debuts, negotiations can drag on. A spokesperson for the film’s sales team declined to comment. A person close to the film who requested anonymity because they weren’t authorized to comment publicly said there are numerous offers for the film domestically.

Earlier this week, Abbasi’s frustration seemed to boil over on X, the social media platform. In a response to a news article blaming a stream of sequels and remakes on the recently dismal performance of films at the box office, Abbasi offered “a new proposition.”

“Its not a (expletive) sequel nor is it a (expletive) remake,” wrote Abbasi. “Its called #The_Apprentice and for some reason certain power people in your country don’t want you to see it!!!”

Representatives for Trump didn’t respond to requests for comment. Last Thursday, Trump was convicted of 34 counts of falsifying business records arising from what prosecutors said was an attempt to cover up a hush money payment to porn actor Stormy Daniels just before the 2016 presidential election.

One scene in the film is especially explosive. Late in the movie, Trump is depicted raping his wife, Ivana Trump (played by Maria Bakalova ). In Ivana Trump’s 1990 divorce deposition, she stated that Trump raped her. Trump denied the allegation and Ivana Trump later said she didn’t mean it literally, but rather that she had felt violated.

Variety earlier reported alleged behind-the-scenes drama surrounding “The Apprentice.” Citing anonymous sources, the trade publication reported that billionaire Dan Snyder, the former owner of the Washington Commanders and an investor in “The Apprentice,” has pressured the filmmakers to edit the rape scene. Snyder previously donated to Trump’s presidential campaign.

Attorneys for Snyder didn’t respond to requests for comment.

Releasing “The Apprentice” in most years could be challenging. In an election year, it’s a potential lighting rod. Distributors would be faced with the option of launching it either shortly before the election in November or after it.

“The Apprentice” received largely positive reviews in Cannes but didn’t factor into the festival’s juried awards. Strong’s performance was particularly praised as a possible awards contender.

At the film’s premiere, Abbasi argued for the movie’s direct approach, saying “there is no nice metaphorical way to deal with the rising wave of fascism.”

The following day, the filmmaker shrugged off the threat of a lawsuit.

“I don’t necessarily think that this is a movie he would dislike,” said Abbasi. “I don’t necessarily think he would like it. I think he would be surprised, you know? And like I’ve said before, I would offer to go and meet him wherever he wants and talk about the context of the movie, have a screening and have a chat afterwards, if that’s interesting to anyone at the Trump campaign.”

[natk2002]

The Rookie Rewatch - 1x14 Plain Clothes Day

Air Date: 26 February 2019

Written By: Terence Paul Winter

Directed By: Mike Goi

First Appearances:

Smitty

Janssen

Desantos

Last Appearances: N/A

Guest Appearances:

Kevin Wolfe

Smitty - Mid-Wilshire Officer

Janssen - Mid-Wilshire Officer

Desantos - Mid-Wilshire Officer

Cold Open:

“PREVIOUSLY ON”

Bishop and Nolan dealing with car v helicopter accident -> dude was a robber -> arrested

Injuries/Deaths:

Nolan - jumped by attacker who tries to grab for his gun; shot at

Nolan’s attacker - baton to the kneecap

Lynn - kidnapped (off-screen) by husband, restrainted in the back of a truck, slash injuries

Name Drops:

Todd Collins - Chen’s arrest, on parole for 261 (rape), Tier 3 sex offender and a 290 violent-habital

Marcus Quincannon - felony arrest for arms trafficking

Richard Ochoa - murder victim that West is cataloguing evidence for

Rodney Acker - the dog owner that made a complaint against Chen

Lynn McDaniels - the woman in the motel that asked about credit card purchases

Chris - Lynn’s husband, has a serious history of domestic violence

Mickey - food truck employee

Police Codes and Such:

California Penal Code 261 - rape

California Penal Code 290 - those convicted of sex crimes and certain other offenses are required to register as a sex offender with local authorities

California Penal Code 211 - robbery

California Penal Code 207 - kidnapping

Pairings and Call Signs:

Bradford and Chen - 7-Adam-19

Bishop and Nolan - 7-Adam-15

Lopez and West - 7-Adam-07

Cases/Calls:

Bishop and Nolan - called to car v helicopter accident -> helicopter pilot was a robber -> arrest

Bradford and Chen - dude filming woman through her window -> arrest

Bishop and Nolan - assault call -> asks for another unit -> arrests both suspects eventually

Lopez and West - Wolfe gets West for a work detail of cataloguing evidence -> West talks to widow who wants a piece of her husband as she’s forgetting him, but West says its all evidence -> later gives her back a watch that is immaterial to case

Bishop and Nolan - ATL for gun traffiker -> car was resold so ends with no arrest -> neighbouring motel room stayer asks him about credit card purchase tracking -> credit card questioning woman is missing -> her name is Lynn McDaniels, and her husband has a serious history of domestic violence -> go in and rescue Lynn from back of a truck

Bradford and Chen - complaint about dog -> Chen gets complaint and is told Andersen wants to see her EOS -> Bradford goes back and tries to play nice -> they find the neighbour dead -> arrest Acker (the dog owner) -> IA investigation closed out based on circumstances per Andersen

Acronyms:

RP - reporting party

ATL - attempt to locate

EOS - end of shift

PC - probable cause

Quotes:

Lopez: So you're gonna break your father's records like you broke his Academy records because you have daddy issues, and the cat's in the cradle, and all that crap.

Bishop: Looks like you cracked the case, Detective.

Chen: Am I missing something? Wait, don't answer that.

Lopez: Look on the bright side - I bet your dad doesn't hold the record for longest automotive delay.

Bishop: Nothing. It's one way to do the job make it all about you, beef up your felony arrests.

Bradford: Don't blame me for the fact that you let yourself get rattled by one dubious look. You make it out here and find yourself riding solo, these streets will test you in ways you didn't think possible. The only way to survive is to control your environment at all times.

Smitty: We really gotta take orders from your Boot?

Nolan: Ah, front desk, which is where I'm gonna wind up if I don't get moving. You have a nice day.

Chen: I mean, you should have seen Sergeant Grey's face. It was utter disappointment. Nolan: He gives me that look every day, and I'm still here.

Bradford: I simply believe that if you're gonna get fired, it'll be because of me, not some asshat's rude conduct complaint.

Bradford: Because when it really counted, you didn't hesitate. You put it all on the line, and you made the right call. Which really pisses me off because now I got to rewrite the damn thing.

Bishop: Stop trying to be like the other rookies, 'cause you're not. Jackson is 20 years from having his first colonoscopy, and Lucy has never even owned a pet, let alone raised a kid. You're a grown man, fully formed. So stop treating it like it's a liability and treat it like what it is - a strength. Sure, you can be annoying, and you talk way too damn much. But you also listen. To people's troubles, to their complaints, and that type of empathy can't be taught. Only earned. So if you really want to make detective, the only way to do it is to be you.

Character Lore:

West mentions that 20% of probationary officers wash out on Plain Clothes Day

Bishop washed out three (3) rookies

Bradford washed out eleven (11) rookies during Plain Clothes Day

Kevin Wolfe is on restricted duty after his injuries

Wolfe got into a fist fight with a 300 pound woman during his Plain Clothes Day

Percy West’s Plain Clothes Day ended with “four felony arrests, wrote seven traffic violations, and talked a woman off a ledge”

Chen got a rude conduct complaint against her

Chen has never owned a pet

Notable Scenes:

TOs psyching the Rookies

Bishop talking to Wolfe

Nolan’s monologue in the shop

West unable to start the car

Chen’s “Am I missing something?”

Nolan’s second suspect getting caught

Chen racing to the location of the crime to find that Bradford had already impounded the van

Woman forcing child into Nolan’s arms because he woke up the child

Chenford in Grey’s office

Bradford telling Bishop he won’t let Chen wash out on Plain Clothes Day

Bishop checking up on Wolfe

Nolan making the choice to go to the suspicious circumstances than serve the arrest warrant given to him by Wolfe

Chen arresting Acker

Chen leaving their bill to the TOs

Ship Scenes:

Chenford

Psyching the rookies

Bradford mentioning he already filled in her evaluation

“Am I missing something?” and Bradford leaning on the blue van

Chen opening he envelope before end of shift

Chen realising she forgot about the blue van

Summoned to Grey’s office

Bradford going back to save Chen’s job

Chen deciding to go and investigate what was happening at the dog owner’s place

Chen reading her evaluation

Chen giving Bradford her evaluation, but it turns out to be the Rookies bill

Timeline Attempt:

The Rookies have completed their 100th shift, so it’s Plain Clothes Day

In five (5) years, Nolan will be fifty (50)

Locations:

Orange County Savings and Loan - robbed location (off-screen)

3rd and Arden - Chen’s arrest

7944 Serrano Avenue - assault call

Pico Arms Motel - suspicious circumstances call

7419 Hayworth Avenue - GPS hit on suspect

Callbacks/Parallels: N/A

Music:

OneHundred by Sims - storming motel room

Show Me Don’t Tell Me by Arkells - Bishop and Nolan discuss his performance

Applicable Ao3 Tags:

Episode: s01e14 Plain Clothes Day (The Rookie)

Plain Clothes Day (The Rookie)

[itsmemateinnit]

Whitechapel series 4 press pack

Whitechapel IV – references to historical crimes used in the series

Block 1 (Ep 1 & 2) Witch hunts and espionage

Georgi Markov 7th September 1978, Georgi Markov was a Bulgarian dissident who was poisoned with the tip of an umbrella while walking across Waterloo Bridge. The murderer was never found and the assassination became one of the great mysteries of the Cold War. There was speculation that Markov’s death was a result of his criticism of the Bulgarian regime, and that the Bulgarian Secret Police and KGB had some involvement.

Matthew Hopkins The Witchfinder General Matthew Hopkins the Witchfinder General who set out to rid England of its witches, put hundreds of men and women to death between the years 1644 and 1646. They were convicted on 'evidence' such as 'third nipples' considered to be a witches mark; a 'dead spot' that wouldn't cause pain or bleed when pricked; or even owning a cat (not necessarily black) or other pet that Hopkins considered to be 'familiars'. Many died by drowning - the idea was that if the accused floated, she had been saved by her master, the devil, and so was guilty for rejecting the baptismal water. If she sank and drowned, she was innocent, but at least she died without a stain on her character.

Matthew Hopkins was never directly appointed by Parliament, he appointed himself. Belief in witches was widespread, and he was paid by local authorities to find them. Many people blamed any misfortune on witches and a language of ‘apotropaic marks’ was used, symbols scratched in doorways and around fireplaces to try and ward off witches.

Peine Fort et Dure A form of torture used in the 16th Century. One of the methods used to elicit confessions to witchcraft. Lying face up on the ground, a person would have heavier and heavier stones placed on their chest until they entered a plea, or died.

Ergot Poisoning Ergot is a fungus which infects rye crops, which if eaten can cause Ergot Poisoning. In 1646 there was an outbreak following the freezing of the river Thames and lack of supply of flour. Afflicted people behaved like they were bewitched and suffered from delusions. It can also cause deformation of the limbs and gangrene. It has also been suggested the bewitched accusers of the 1692 Salem Witch Trials may have been suffering from the delirium associated with ergot poisoning.

Block 2 (Ep 3 & 4 ) Flaying and historic art

Ed Gein Aka The Plainfield Ghoul, Gein had an obsession with his mother and became a murderer in the 1950s after her death. He abducted and killed Plainfield hardware store owner Bernice Worden in 1957. He wanted a sex change and wore a suit made of female human skin and exhumed bodies to gather more skin. He tanned this skin and used it to make various items in his home, from lampshades to belts.

Judge Jeffreys “The Hanging Judge” A noose hangs over the riverside at the Prospect of Whitby pub in Wapping. Judge Jeffreys used to drink there in the 17th Century while the death sentence was meted out. It was a macabre pastime: he enjoyed watching criminals hang, especially those whom he himself had sentenced to the rope.

Historic art references “The Flaying of Marsyas” by Titian - A painting of Marsyas a Satyr, half man half goat, flayed alive.

Michelangelo’s “The Last Judgement” – A painting in which St Bartholomew holds his peeled off skin, thought to signify awaiting a new rebirth during the final judgement of humanity by God.

“The Flaying of the Judge Sisamnes” by Gerard David. Depicts a judge who was flayed for accepting a bribe and delivering an unjust verdict. His skin was then used to cover the seat in which his son would sit in judgment.

Russian Criminal Tattoos Tattoos with recognised coded meanings, giving information about a person’s time in prison, offence, gang affiliation, date of birth. In the early 1950s, it became customary for thieves to tattoo dots or small crosses on the knuckles, the number of dots indicating the number of terms. Following the break up of the Soviet Union and the fierce gang wars that took place, the tattoos and coded meanings became more intricate. A prison guard made a study over years of the different tattoos and their meanings, often seen on members of gangs such as Vory v Zakone.

Dr Richard Smith Richard Smith, a surgeon at the Bristol Royal Infirmary in 1821, dissected the bodies of executed murderers and then used their skin as book bindings. Smith had the body of John Horwood skinned, tanned, and used to bind the papers in the case of the murder of John’s ex-girlfriend, Eliza Balsom. This document is now kept in a museum in Bristol. This technique is called anthropodermic bibliopegy and is known to have been practised since the Seventeenth Century, and it was common to use the murderer's skin in this manner during the Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries.

Burke and Hare William Burke and William Hare sold the corpses of their 16 victims to Doctor Robert Knox as dissection material for his well-attended anatomy lectures. Burke’s skin is rumoured to have been preserved using the anthropodermic bibliopegy technique.

Block 3 (Ep 5 & 6) Underground tunnels, exotic dining and doomsday cults

The Black Swine Victorian Sewer Pigs which roamed around underground early 1850s in Hampstead. The story originated from among Victorian sewer workers who were interviewed in 1851. A pregnant sow is said to have accessed the sewers through a broken drain, in Hampstead, as the sewers were poorly maintained at this time. Getting lost in the underground tunnels she is said to have littered the piglets there and feeding on the offal and rubbish in the drain, the pigs bred and became numerous and feral.

Sawney Bean A story from folklore of 15th/16th Century cannibals in Scotland. Sawney Bean was the head of a bloodthirsty clan allegedly responsible for the murder and cannibalisation of hundreds of people. They stole from travellers on the roads, and lived in coastal caves, where they dismembered their victims, pickled parts of them and littered the ground with bones.

The Acclimatisation Society The Acclimatisation Society had many aristocratic and eminent members, who hoped to diversify the range of meats eaten in Britain in the 1860s. These Acclimatisation Societies existed around the world in the mid 19th Century, and imported strange and exotic animals, hoping to set up breeding programmes and offer a wider range of meats for the dinner table. Frank Buckland led the London Acclimatisation Society in introducing exotic species. Reportedly he had tasted buffalo, earwig, field mice, giraffe, kangaroo, leopard, mole, ostrich, porpoise, sea slug, snake, whale and zebra.

Doomsday cults The series mentions cults which ended in mass suicide motivated by a leader, such as the Solar Temple in 1994 and the Heaven’s Gate members who committed suicide in 1997 in order to reach an alien spacecraft following Comet Hale–Bopp. 909 members of the Peoples Temple Agricultural Project, aka "Jonestown", died in 1978, in an event termed "revolutionary suicide" by the leader Jim Jones.

[beardedmrbean]

Trying to hold professionals involved in historic court proceedings related to Sara Sharif accountable for her death is “equivalent to holding the lookout on the Titanic responsible for its sinking”, a High Court judge has said

Mr Justice Williams said in a judgment published on Friday that there was an “apparent absence of personal or individual culpability” from professionals, including social workers and judges, involved in three sets of family court proceedings related to the 10-year-old and her siblings, which concluded four years before her death.

Sara was murdered at her home in Woking, Surrey, in August last year, with her father, Urfan Sharif, and stepmother, Beinash Batool, convicted of her murder earlier this month. Her uncle, Faisal Malik, was convicted of causing or allowing her death.

On December 9, Mr Justice Williams ruled that details from the earlier proceedings could be published, with documents disclosed to the press showing Surrey County Council repeatedly raised “significant concerns” that Sara was likely to suffer physical and emotional abuse at the hands of her parents.

But he said that “third parties”, including social workers and judges involved in the historic proceedings, could not be named.

In a written judgment, he accepted that “withholding the identity of a judge is an exceptional course to take, in the sense that it is an exception to the usual rule” and that “the public interest in scrutinising the decision-making is very high indeed”.

But he said that the decisions of social workers involved were “not obviously flawed” and the decision of a judge to send Sara to her father’s home was “indicated by faithful application of law and practice mandated”.

He said: “In this case, the evidence suggests that social workers, guardians, lawyers and judiciary acted within the parameters that law and social work practice set for them.

“Certainly to my reasonably well-trained eye, there is nothing, save the benefit of hindsight, which indicates that the decisions reached in 2013, 2015 or 2019 were unusual or unexpected.

“Based on what was known at the time and applying the law at the time, I don’t see the judge or anyone else having any real alternative option.”

He continued: “Seeking to argue that individual social workers or guardians or judges should be held accountable is equivalent to holding the lookout on the Titanic responsible for its sinking rather than the decision-making of Captain Smith and the owners of the White Star Line or blaming the soldiers who went over the top in the Somme on 1 July 1916 for the failure of the offensive rather than the decision making of the generals who drew up the plans.”

He added: “The responsibility for Sara’s death lies on her father, her step-mother and her uncle, not on social workers, child protection professionals, guardians or judges.”

The decision not to allow the naming of judges is set to be appealed against by media organisations including the PA news agency at the Court of Appeal next month, with a senior judge stating that it “raises questions that are of considerable public importance”.

Surrey County Council first had contact with Urfan Sharif and Sara’s mother, Olga Sharif, in 2010 – more than two years before Sara was born – having received “referrals indicative of neglect” relating to her two older siblings, known only as Z and U.

The council began care proceedings concerning Z and U in January 2013, involving Sara within a week of her birth.

Between 2013 and 2015, several more abuse allegations were made that were never tested in court, with one hearing in 2014 told that the council had “significant concerns” about the children returning to Urfan Sharif, “given the history of allegations of physical abuse of the children and domestic abuse with Mr Sharif as the perpetrator”.

A judge was also told Sara was “observed to stand facing a wall” by carers and “is very small and doesn’t eat a lot”.

Despite concerns, Sara was moved to her mother’s sole care under supervision in November 2015, while still having contact with her father, which remained the case until 2019.

She then moved to live with Urfan Sharif and his new partner, Batool, with reports that this followed Sara making accusations of physical abuse by her mother, which were also never proved.

A judge at Guildford Family Court approved the change, with Sara moving to the family home in Woking, Surrey, where she was later murdered after a campaign of abuse.

On Tuesday, Urfan Sharif and Batool were jailed for life for her murder, with minimum terms of 40 years and 33 years, with Malik, 29, jailed for 16 years.

In his judgment, Mr Justice Williams said there was “compelling public interest” in the media being able to see the documents and “test how we approached the issues and to ask the legitimate question of whether there were things that the system could have done differently or better”.

But he continued that he believed the decisions made by family courts were “well within the boundaries of what one would typically encounter in a case of this nature”.

He added that there was a “real risk” of harm to the judges if they were named, as it would “make them a lightning rod for all the negative attention of the virtual lynch mob” or “anyone who chose to give effect to their feelings in the real world”.

The judge, who ruled that he could be the only member of the judiciary named in relation to proceedings, said he would reconsider the matter in March next year.

[icyqull]

[ ＳＯＡＲＩＮＧ ＨＥＩＧＨＴＳ . ] [MAN'S BEST FRIEND]

Away from technology one can find a plethora of teeming life—inside civilization held domesticated and cared for creatures while outside in the wilds held an abundance of life with a constant state of evolution happening. To say it wasn't a rare beauty he indulged in from time to time would be a lie amongst many, so he discards the notion. He had cared for children and the odd domesticated pet when the owner of an orphanage, his memories of working up to harsher times creatures in his latter years far more clear and dull in comparison. He’d never held them particularly high compared to people, but then again he didn't hold many people above the maiden they he maimed. So, along those lines…

While he does get sidetracked from his mission in brief bursts of self-indulgence, he is not a man who shirks the care that nurtures one soul. He is no stranger to wallowing in conviction, not allowing a shred of despair or sorrow to take him like he allowed it during exile, he knows that sun and fresh air is nothing to deprive oneself of. A computer deck and a wide desk of papers used to be his home for many mornings and nights, but not any longer with this new contract above his head.

His leash is long and so he finds himself within the area you would consider a pasture, a long stretch of land with small curves to its surface and a high fencing that encloses all except a way to the barns. From what he could guess, it was a good plot of land with no rocks and good landscaping. The security was also to his liking, keeping pesky children and disrespectful adults from the majesty that was the horses in their pen.

From beside a woman in an expensive white dress and flowing white hair he does a double take at, he can spot a mare kicking up dust and scaring off multiple people on the fencing with her wild kicks. The only one left beside himself and the pale woman was a stomping, angry mare with a brown coat.

A Thoroughbred, his mind supplied from memory. The shape of her athletic frame and hooves were powerful enough to take her many places, or as shown just now, tear into turf with little issue.

While he knew he was good with horses before, in an era long gone from here, he hesitates. Humans are a flawed, emotional species just like animals and he's played with many human lives… but he's deceived animals even less. His hand hovers over a particular mare that had kicked up grass and stomped at previous tourists. They do stare each other down, a game of wits that only eyes can communicate between them, before he gently lays his gloves hand before her nose. A few sniffs and a long pause, before the horse was soon batting the ridge of her nose against his palm with a wagging tail.

He keeps his touch light as horses are just as sensitive as any other creature, but he does turn to the woman who hadn't run away.

“Probably agitated from the hooligans on her fence and yelling at her, I wouldn't blame her for knocking over the railing they were using to mess with her.” Even Otto Apocalypse can sound vindictive, and he lets the horse sniff and gallop before them with little conniption she was kicking up dust at him. “It seems she's fine now, if you'd like to try anything. Be warned though, even if she's a familiar breed for one such as myself, I apologize that I don't know if she'll react… poorly again.”

The mare was a beautiful creature, even someone as untrained in these matters as Shenhe could see it. It was almost with envy that she stood at the edge of the paddock, watching the unbridled storm of hooves tearing into earth, the unrestrained whinnying and the toss and turn of her great head, shaking and snorted and pacing before launching into another tirade.

It was the emotion of it all, the ability to so strongly release - perhaps for a moment Shenhe saw herself in the mare, saw what she could be if let wild. But just as she had her red ropes to bind her, the mare had the fence of the paddock, the leather bridle to guide her in the proper direction, and her keeper with a strong hand to hold that bridle.

The spray of dust and grass didn't bother her, no more than the approaching footsteps of the one she assumed for a moment must be the horse's owner, if not for the final portion of the man's statement.

If he was the horse's owner, and knew that she was being harassed, Shenhe did not think she could have controlled herself from striking him down, even through the red ropes' power.

"I see." And it was in the firmness of that statement, short and simple, that simmered the extent of the emotions she could feel - the bubble of anger, expressed only in mildness, but flaring nonetheless.

She turned toward the man and took a step closer to him, held his gaze firmly for a moment before speaking again. "If the hooligans appear again to cause her distress, they will not walk away to return for a third time. I will wait for them. If you would like to wait with me you may, but it is not required."

[gloriouswhispers]

SANTIAGO 'SANTI' ALVAREZ

Age & Birthday: 43 years old, november 24th

Hometown: phoenix, arizona

Current Residence: magnolia court townhomes

Occupation: mechanic & owner of alvarez autobody

BIO.

Family Legacy: santiago has only been in clearwater for thirteen years, which makes him a newcomer compared to some. but he’s built his name here. with the nearest autobody shop out of town at the time, it didn’t take long for him to fill a need. he built alvarez autobody from the ground up, and over the years, it’s become a place people rely on. most trust him. some, not so much. but they know he never lets a car leave his shop unless it’s running smooth, and they know if they call him in the middle of the night stranded in the rain, he’ll show up.

Favorite Spot in Town: the lake for fishing, when he has the time, which is rare.

Hidden Talent or Hobby: he can build toy planes out of popsicle sticks that actually take flight. he’s good with anything mechanical or electrical. if it’s broken, he’ll fix it.

Core Traits: practical, realistic, thoughtful, reserved, observant, protective, intense, overbearing, dry-humored, helpful

Strengths: he knows how to problem solve under pressure. he’s quick on his feet, good with his hands, and even better at making things work with whatever’s available. his reserved nature makes people assume he’s mild-mannered, but that’s not quite true. he’s just careful.

Weaknesses: santiago doesn’t snap, he stews. when something gets under his skin, he holds onto it until it boils over. it looks like he’s gone from fine to not fine in an instant, when really, it’s been coming for a while. he can be overbearing in his protectiveness, rigid in his convictions. once he decides something, he rarely backs down.

What Keeps Them Up at Night, If Anything?: santiago has carried more than his share of weight since he was young. some burdens are lighter now, some aren’t. he worries that he can’t outrun his past. that it’ll catch up, like it always has. mostly, though, he worries about carina, about toby, about ines and isla. about being a steady foundation for them, the kind he never had.

How Do They Handle Conflict?: more often than not, santiago tries to mediate, but that’s more something he’s learned than something that comes naturally. he’s not afraid of a fight, his biggest concern is becoming the man he used to be.

HISTORY

Backstory:

santiago doesn’t talk much about his past, not because he’s trying to hide it, but because he doesn’t see the point. his life went the way it was always going to go. no money, no opportunities. him and miguel learned how to survive young, but santiago learned the hard way. where his brother found a way out, santiago went deeper in. it started small and then it wasn’t. being a collector, an enforcer. it was dangerous, but it paid. and by the time he realized he was too deep, there wasn’t an easy way out. miguel tried to help, but eventually, he had to choose his family’s safety over saving his brother and santiago never blamed him for that.

every time he tried to pull himself free, something dragged him back. sometimes, it was more dangerous to say no than to say yes. but then it got bad. and then before he knew it, he only had two options left. run, or end up like all the men he’d seen bleed out, dying alone and scared. he left arizona with nothing but his name. for years, he kept moving. small towns, quick jobs, keeping his head down, always looking over his shoulder. but no matter where he went, his past found him. until his journey took him to clearwater.

he doesn’t take it for granted, the way this town gave him a second chance. he built something here. a business, a life. he married carina. they've now become parents. over the years, santiago became the man he wanted to be, not the one he was.

Current Situation:

the alvarez townhouse barely fits five people, but they make do. at times, the house is lively and full of warmth. santiago just wishes it wasn’t like this, that the girls had come to clearwater under different circumstances, that they weren’t grieving, that he wasn’t trying to be something steady for them after spending so many years as nothing more than a name they barely knew. he doesn’t regret taking them in, not for a second, but it’s a lot...balancing the shop, the family, the bills, always keeping one eye on the door, just in case.

this is the life he built. the life he chose. but the weight of it all is heavier than he’ll ever admit, and nothing weighs more than ines.

he doesn’t know what to do about her. about the fact that she’s his daughter. not his niece.. miguel and beatriz took her in when she was a baby, gave her a name, a home, the kind of life santiago couldn’t have given her back then. he was young, dangerous, already sinking into a life that would’ve swallowed them both whole. isla knows the truth. she’s always known. but carina and ines? they have no idea. and santiago has no idea if they ever should.

How Do They Feel About the Changes in Clearwater?: santiago he doesn’t like too many changes. a bigger town means more attention, more risks. clearwater has kept him out of sight for over a decade. if it grows, so does his need to leave.

CONNECTIONS AND RELATIONSHIPS

Reputation in Clearwater: most people trust him. cars, trucks, bikes. if it’s got an engine, santiago will fix it. he’s been known to show up for people in the middle of the night, even if it’s pouring, even if they can’t pay. but some people are wary. they’ve seen him lose his calm. they’ve seen him a little too sharp, a little too quick to anger. and he’s never really answered why he settled in clearwater. “i liked the views” doesn’t always cut it.

Important Relationships: carina, toby, isla, ines, customers, neighbors etc.

Potential Story Hooks: he’s been down the wrong path before, and he knows exactly where it leads. he could be a steadying presence for someone at a crossroads, a mentor. helping someone with their problems leads him right back into the life he swore he left behind. giving people second chances at his shop despite their reputation which could become bad for his business.