#child rape tw

[butchbarbieagainstterfs]

child rape and paedophilia tw but someone reminded me about the existence of hound dog, a film where in one scene 12-year-old dakota fanning’s character gets raped, and while i have never seen the film or know how graphic that scene was, i always think about how there were men saying that scene “wasn’t graphic enough” and they were “disappointed”.

they wanted a more graphic depiction of a 12 year old dakota fanning getting raped. ?????

never seen the film, I point blank refuse to because of that scene and those men’s response to that scene fucked me up enough. a scene from it just appeared on my fyp today and reminded me.

[officialbillhader]

I hate men i hate men so much i despise them i want to burn this book i want to kill all 3 of these men i want them to give all their money to these poor girls im so mad reading this i feel like im gonna burst from my skin. Too chickenshit not to have sex with a CHILD i will murder you in cold blood

[infiniteglitterfall]

One thing it has to do with this post is that people have spent six months defacing pictures of the hostages Hamas took, including children and babies, with swastikas.

Protesters in Gaza call for Hamas to return the hostages and end the war it started. Protesters in the West support Hamas to the point of routinely attacking any pictures of them.

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Brooke Goldstein (@realbrookegoldstein)

What it has to do with this post is that Hamas's youngest hostage, who may not still be alive, was taken at 10 months old.

(Hamas stated this week that it can't agree to exchange 40 hostages in a ceasefire, because it doesn't think it has 40 left alive. Of the 132 still in its custody.)

And the UN has confirmed that many of the women and children taken hostage "were subjected to rape and sexualized torture, and that there were reasonable grounds to believe that such abuses were ongoing" (to the hostages still in captivity).

The bodies recovered from Hamas's invasion included lots of parents killed in front of their children, like Adi Vital-Kalhoun, whose body and house were then booby-trapped with explosives.

They included lots of kids and babies, like a child and adult, probably a parent, who had been bound together and burned to death. [EXTRA WARNING HERE FOR EXTREMELY EXPLICIT IMAGES AT THAT LINK]

Hamas is part of the Muslim Brotherhood, which was literally founded by fascist Hitler fanboys and modeled after the Nazi Party (complete with its own version of Hitler Youth).

Hamas's founding mission is to violently destroy Israel because Jews corrupt society, have been behind every major war, control the drug trade, control the media, and will expand Israel until they control the world.

On October 7th, its fighters talked about "being inside with the Jews," and celebrated having "killed 10 Jews with my own hands."

Hamas is a literal Nazi group that destroyed 22 towns in one day, and has openly stated it will invade "again and again and again" until Israel is destroyed.

In Nazi Germany, they didn't:

strip children to their underpants,

in a group with mostly teens and adults who were undergoing the same thing,

outdoors where the world could see that their underwear remained on and that no one was coming near them,

to weed out the civilians from the combatants in civilian clothing who often have explosives and other weapons strapped underneath their clothes,

(who actively recruit and train children and had six-year-olds executing Jews during their invasion on October 7th),

and then give the civilians their clothes back and release them.

In Nazi Germany, they:

made children, teens, and adults dig pits for their own graves, strip naked, and be humiliated and tortured, before making them stand at the end of the pit and shooting them. Which may be the image you're thinking of:

made adults strip naked, shot them in the back of the head, and burned them en masse;

murdered children immediately upon arrival to Auschwitz, along with any adults carrying babies or children.

[oediex]

some people at the philosophical café were also espousing some serious moral relativism, which I have a lot of thoughts about and I don't know if I'll be able to put them all into words, so please take all of this with a grain of salt. I'm just thinking here.

Basically, the question was about whether everyone has equal dignity, and that word (dignity) in Dutch ("waardigheid") also has the word for "value" in it ("waarde"). This caused a lot of confusion, with some people claiming that there was no such thing as "absolute value" because not everyone has the same principles (one definition of "value" and not an incorrect statement, but not the question at hand); while others had the opinion that not everyone had equal value, because some people in society are treated worse than others (another understanding of value, but again not, I think, what the question is about); and then there were a few people, including me, saying that yes, everyone has equal value in the way the question was phrased, namely that everyone has equal dignity as a human being, that's what human rights are all about. Yes, that equal dignity is obviously not recognised in society in the way that we treat others, but that doesn't mean that we don't have it. It's always there. Like, you're born and you have it. Even when you are mistreated, you have it and that is one of the reasons why that mistreatment is exactly that: mistreatment. It's why someone killing you is murder, and not just destruction. And everyone's value, in that sense of the word, everyone's dignity is equal. No one is more important than anyone else, morally, even if factually and practically quite the opposite is the case, and even when we have to make difficult choices (like who gets treated medically for example, if there are limited resources). It's what makes difficult and impossible choices so difficult and impossible! If some people had more value/dignity than others, then having to choose who dies and who lives wouldn't be so hard!

The concept of human dignity is centuries-old and can be found in many religions and philosophies, and is a central notion in the declaration of human rights. It is a contentious notion, primarily in that it is extremely difficult to define (it is not defined in the declaration of human rights!!!!) and very difficult to ground. Yet it is a vital human right, declared as such, and the one on which all the other ones are built. Equal moral dignity is at the core of so many social and political struggles. It is at the foundation of all fights for social justice and against oppression. It's what makes injustice injustice.

The question whether everyone had equal moral dignity was a weird one to me for a philosophical discussion in this place and time. Like, the answer seemed obviously yes to me. When it was chosen, from other (much more interesting in my view) questions that had been proposed, I figured - oh well, I guess we can discuss the definition of moral dignity, or what it ought to be grounded on, because as I said, these matters are far from decided.

But instead, there was an intense focus on the fact that in other times in history, and in other places in the world right now, people thought differently about certain issues like women's rights. In other cultures, they would say, women don't have as many rights as they do here. And I don't disagree. There are different values across different cultures and over history. But in my understanding of human dignity/value, even if certain people were not, by their group, valued for what they were (human), they still, in my eyes, had that moral dignity and value. I consider every human being, whether they are treated well or not, as an embodiment of moral dignity.

So when they came with some example or other that portrayed the subjugation of women at some point in history or in other places, I would ask, "Yes, but do you think that they have human dignity even if it wasn't recognised at the time/by that group." And the reply would be, "Well, what gives me the right to decide that?"

Because you are a rational and feeling being with the capacity to make moral judgements! Obviously you don't get to "decide" it but you can have an opinion on it? I tried using a tactic that I have seen a philosophy professor teaching ethics use. I proposed actions that seem obviously morally reprehensible, like raping a child, and ask, "don't you think we can call that morally bad no matter who does it or when?" And they would stand by their notion that no, they couldn't.

This is (extreme) moral relativism. The belief that there are no moral judgements we can make, absolutely, which is usually argued from the idea, as was the case in this discussion, that it's all culturally decided. That if there is a culture in which it is accepted to rape children, that we cannot look at that and say, "hey, that's not okay".

Now, I have to be clear here that cultural relativism is, in my eyes, an extremely important concept and tool. I think it is especially an important heuristic device to critically appraise one's own culture which is often experienced as absolute from within. I also want to say that as I am, obviously, not a moral relativist, that doesn't mean I believe to know exactly what are and are not absolute moral values. I do believe that human rights are extremely important and are an expression of the dignity that we all embody, but that doesn't mean that the ones we currently have "declared" are correct and all-encompassing. That is, in my eyes, precisely what philosophy, social justice, and critical theory is for. And we will probably never know, we just need to continue to critically think about it. We need to always accept that we might be wrong about them.

But that acceptance of our own possible critical failure is very different from the kind of moral relativism that people at this meeting were expressing. And I couldn't help but wonder - where is this coming from? They had just been talking about the importance of the feminist movement, and where did that movement come from if not from the believe that women had as much dignity as men?

And I don't know if I can answer that question, but I wonder if it's coming from some kind of extreme central liberalism and/or also a fear that not recognising such moral relativism would out them as thinking of their own cultures as morally superior and more progressive than others.

Let me explain.

I think the first one is the easiest to understand. The person in the centre positions themselves between those at the extreme ends and says, "both of you have a point" and refuses to express their own opinion, saying it all depends. They may move more one way than another depending on what would give them more power or is more beneficial to themselves, but generally they feign neutrality. I think a perfect example of this is centrist political parties. They think they are at the centre and that their hands are clean, but what they are actually doing is validating the extreme party on the end of the political spectrum that is causing great harm to many people in society. Applied to moral relativism - while the moral relativist is saying that it is all relative and they cannot make a moral judgement, a child is being raped, so to speak. Harm is being done, but the moral relativist can pretend they have no part in it, because it is not up to them to judge. They feign a position of neutrality while people are being oppressed, harmed, abused, etc. This kind of centrist position, whether politically or ethically, is, I think, the status quo in the western world. And it is causing great harm.

Now, the other explanation I think also has validity, but I don't know if I'll be able to explain it well. Basically, since this is a discussion that was being held by primarily white people in a western country, in Western Europe, I wonder if some of them were not comfortable claiming there are absolute moral values because they would interpret that as them somehow claiming that the values that are held in the western world are better than those elsewhere in the world. And this is a big no no, obviously. It's not very "in" among "enlightened" people such as would show up to a philosophical discussion. The reason I think this is, because when some people in the group would entertain the idea that there are certain absolute moral values, they would immediately mention notions such as "moral progress" and "us in the western world" being "further along" said progress, etc. Which is extremely problematic and uncritical to the point of dangerous and I don't think I have to explain that any further. Like I said earlier, my stance against moral relativism does not mean that I claim to know what such absolute moral values are or to be correct in the ones that I think are some of them or that I am uncritical, in the conversation surrounding human rights, of the ones that we seem to think they are. And it's why I am confident in my stance against moral relativism, because it doesn't fill me with some kind of confidence that I know what's what. It's what allows me to think critically of the way we go about things, including in our own, western, society. (And importantly, the way we go about things as a western society in relation to the rest of the world.) And so I wonder if the people espousing moral relativism were doing so in a way to protect themselves from that belief that "the western world is further along moral progress" than other places in the world. They say they are moral relativists so they can believe that that is not something that they believe.

Because I think a lot of people in the western world think that, including these people who pronounced themselves to be moral relativists (though they obviously didn't use that term*) but they try to hide that away. Like, I think people are aware that it's not "okay" to say that the way we do things here is "better" than how it is done outside of the western world, but I think they do believe that, but they feel they can't express that so they hide behind moral relativism.

(* I am using these terms because I think they apply generally to the kind of things they were saying. Mostly there was a lot of misunderstanding and misinterpretation. Like, I would say that not all ethical opinions were equal, and they would say, "well everyone has a right to their own opinion". Well, yeah, obviously, but that doesn't mean that all opinions are equal, or that some aren't more correct/ethically right than others. I had to ask very specific question to ascertain their stance on morality and ethical values and I explained above how I came to the conclusion that they were defending moral relativism.)

I don't know. Maybe I am wrong about all of this. Maybe I've said some things that are hugely wrong and problematic. I just feel like moral relativism is a kind of mask that people use to hide their belief that their own way is the correct way, but they're somehow aware that that's not okay because cultural relativism. (Obviously there are also many people who have no problem pronouncing western moral superiority.) But I just think that these people have taken the wrong lesson from cultural relativism. Cultural relativism does not necessarily lead to moral relativism. Cultural relativism is crucial in order to turn a sharp eye to one's own culture and its values, as it puts these in question, but it makes no claims in terms of the existence or non-existence of absolute moral values. It does not exclude the possibility that there are, indeed, absolute moral values.

I think moral dignity (which as a vegan I do not limit to only human beings btw! but that was definitely not a popular opinion lol) is one of these absolute moral values (and as I've said, I am open to the idea that I am very wrong about what I believe), and it is infinitely (philosophically) interesting to me because, as I said, it is difficult to define and ground. But that was in no way what the discussion at the philosophical café was about.

[aftgficrec]

My Personal Favorite Fics EVER!! All Neil/Andrew

I hope I am doing this right! I just hit the share button on my bookmarked fics. Idk if any of these have been on here before (I have read a lot of fics and it gets confusing to know which ones I found on here bc there are so many good recommendations, or ones I found on my own. But these are 3 of my favorite fics that I feel like are the most well done!

• Everything's Alright by DarkD: This fic is unfinished but so worth the read!! It is a soulmates au, and in it Neil and Andrew are looking out for eachother since they are 6 and 7 years old. It completely changes their dynamic but manages to keep the characters realistic. I love the direction it was going, I hope the author finishes it, but even if they don’t what they have written so far is worth the read.

• If I Knew You by AceSirenSinger: This fic is soooo amazing!! It was posed pretty recently (starting January 2024 and finishing in May) and It shows a different direction with Aaron and Andrew’s bonding, and different reasons for them having problems with each other. It features writer/author Andrew and Law Student turned police officer Aaron. The writing is so high quality and it is a completely finished fic!! The writing to show the writing of the book Andrew has written alone is impressive enough to get you to read it. I love it so much, it also gives a more realistic approach to Neil’s life and trauma as well as gives you more of a perspective on the problems of Aaron’s life. (Even tho it’s an au and doesn’t show his life during AFTG)

• Deep blue ( but you painted me golden ) by Jeaneil_22: This fic is not finished but completely captivated my attention when I saw it. I was surprised I had not read it before (because I am obsessed with Raven Neil fics, and this is one of them) but then I realized it was posted within the last year or so. It’s completely underrated. It does have a lot of hits but the kudos count not being in the thousands is a crime against humanity. The realistic take on. Neil’s trauma and different things going on as he is still connected very heavily to the Moriyama’s is sooo interesting. And if you are looking for a fic where Neil is a victim of SA/Rape this fic is also a good one for you. (Though it does have a lot of trauma so mind the tags) I know a lot of people are looking for fics like that tho and it’s hard to find bc there is so much SA trauma in AFTG 😔

Thanks for the recs and for sharing your thoughts on the fics! Readers, all of these stories lean toward the darkest themes of AFTG. -A

Everything's Alright by DarkD [Rated E, 182901 Words, Incomplete, Updated June 2023]

Previously recced here

Souls weren't meant to be left alone, so they split, always looking for their other half. No matter how long it took, the moment a soul existed, it sought the one that would complete it. The main indication is, when one of the halves of the soul turns seven years old, an identical mark appears on both parts. Along with that comes a set of unique abilities that soulmates can only use with each other—for protection, for finding each other. Soulmates would never be alone.

tw: graphic depictions of violence, tw: child abuse, tw: torture, tw: blood, tw: gun violence, tw: homophobia, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced csa, tw: murder, tw: canonical character death

If I Knew You by AceSirenSinger [Rated T, 43145 Words, Complete, 2024]

Previously featured in this long andreil + aaron angst ask, our staff recs writers post, and as a random rec

Neil is imprisoned at sixteen years old for being the Butcher of Baltimore. Andrew obsesses, and Aaron obsesses because Andrew does, and everything goes wrong and raw and painful. Feat. the twinyards breaking each other’s hearts, and a decent amount of shade on the American justice system.

tw: implied/referenced murder, tw: recreational drug use, tw: implied/referenced violence, tw: implied/referenced torture

​​Deep blue ( but you painted me golden ) by Jeaneil_22 [Rated M, 163298 Words, Incomplete, Updated Sept 2024]

After the horrific incident that happened in the nest and the sound of Kevin crying, Nathaneil made the hard call and bargained with his life to get Jean and Kevin out, having no slight idea about the storm that was heading his way And after being missing for two years, Jean and Kevin swallowed the hard truth that Nathaneil might be dead somewhere To their surprise one day he appears out of the blue looking so much like their brother but nothing like Nathaneil at all Or Nathniel went on the run with his mother when he was 9 years old but three years later Nathan caught up to them and threw Nathaneil in the nest So we can say some things went a bit different .

NB: playlist for this fic

tw: dark, tw: gang rape, tw: dubcon, tw: human trafficking, tw: graphic depictions of violence, tw: suicidal thoughts, tw: assault, tw: flashbacks, tw: panic attacks, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: abuse and torture, tw: implied/referenced csa, tw: medication addiction and withdrawal, tw: recreational drug use, tw: nonconsensual drug use, tw: vomit, tw: homophobia, tw: canonical character death

[everyday-is-brighter-with-you]

[ ID: Post from Gigi Hadid on Instagram reads: Israel sees any Palestinian as a "terrorist", any person supporting Palestine rights as an "antisemite" and any Jew that is opposed to the governments actions as "self hating"- even telling them to denounce their Judaism.

So...everyones lying and wrong..except Israel?!

If it wasn't so evil and disturbing, it would be comedic.

Another post from Gigi Hadid on Instagram reads: Israel is the only country in the world that keeps CHILDREN AS PRISONERS OF WAR.

ABDUCTION

RAPE

HUMILIATION

TORTURE

MURDER

OF PALESTINIANS

YEARS AND YEARS AND YEARS

Before Oct 7 2023

An image is shown of Ahmed Almansara as a child in 2015 and grown more in 2023. Caption reads: Ahmed Almansara, abducted by the #israeli occupation at the age of 12, has endured solitary confinement despite his severe health condition. Hundreds of #Palestinian children remain detained, suffering in Israeli jails. End ID]

[ghostxboii]

‼️ATTENTION MOUTHWASHING FANDOM‼️

you're probably already aware but there's some sick fuck posting really triggering things in the main tags so please stay safe, block the tags if you must and take a break because its real bad shit, its hard to block them because they've made countless alt accounts but their icon is relatively the same with variations looking similar to this, just block and report every account you see, do not interact!

(TW: for context if you want to know the specifics, the stuff I've seen has contained on the lighter side just post about enjoying and promoting rape and then on the more extreme is videos of real life kid gore and aged down Anya with Jimmy, please keep yourself safe) ‼️

(gif for attention)

[imtryingbuck]

Till Death Do Us Part

~ series masterlist ~

Summary: Bucky has to marry a woman who surprises him more and more as their story goes along.

Series Warnings: warnings will be on each chapter but here's a forewarning. mentions of past child abuse, mentions of past rape. violence. mentions of nudity. mentions of infidelity. death. shootings. angst. fluff.

Word Count: 42,622

Status: completed

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OFC!Theodora

A/N: this will mainly be focused on the marriage and the development of Bucky and his wife more than crimey things sorry.

Masterlist

fluff - ❀ angst - ❁ both - ✾

➳ Prologue - ✾

➳ “Wedding” Day - ✾

➳ Damaged - ✾

➳ The Library - ✾

➳ Painting - ✾

➳ Family Photos - ✾

➳ Nightmares and Shopping - ✾

➳ Donations and Monsters - ✾

➳ One Step Forward A Hundred Back - ✾

➳ Worthy - ✾

➳ Tabby - ✾

➳ Family Dinner - ✾

➳ Birthday Bash - ✾

➳ Making Love - ✾

➳ Help From The Least Unsuspected - ✾

➳ A Mothers Endless Love - ✾

➳ Home - ✾

➳ The Locket - ✾

➳ Wedding Day Round Two - ✾

➳ Epilogue - ❀

[pro-birth]

The UK has some of the most liberal abortion laws in Europe yet they continually force disabled women on birth control methods and force rape victims/disabled women to abort. They don’t want bodily autonomy, they want population control.

(and before someone bitches about it, a girl that young would be able to have a c-section to remove that baby at a safe time if they wanted to avoid abortion. The UK health system just wants a cheap solution to a sexist problem that they refuse to resolve).

https://www.liveaction.org/news/court-11-year-old-abortion-against-will/

An 11-year-old girl in the United Kingdom will undergo a court-ordered abortion, even though she wants to keep her baby.

The Telegraph reported that the girl became pregnant after being raped several times by older boys. London High Court judge Emma Arbuthnot ruled that she should have an abortion, saying it was in her “best interest,” even though it was a health board, and not the girl herself, who requested the abortion.

“She became pregnant after being raped by a 14-year-old she met on the internet when she was aged 10, on the 18th or 21st of May 2023,” Arbuthnot said. “She was raped by another 14-year-old boy on the 11th of June 2023, but he did not make her pregnant.”

Arbuthnot explained that a health board asked for “declarations that a termination of pregnancy would be in her best interests,” and that the placenta should be retained for forensic testing.

However, according to both The Sun and Fox News, the girl (identified only as AZ) and her mother did not request an abortion.

“When the many risks of continuing with the pregnancy were explained to her, AZ said she was ‘happy’ to be pregnant and wanted to continue with it,” Arbuthnot’s ruling said. “She said it made her feel ‘special’. The mother supported AZ’s position.”

[childrensrightsrehumanrights]

The fact that pedophilles see advocating for children’s rights as a sign they’re welcome on someone’s blog means the movement is failing.

There are too many people promoting the idea that allowing adults to sexually abuse children without consequence is somehow giving children more freedom. That it’s offensive to believe that children can’t consent to relationships with adults and need freedom to grow up.

You can’t be on the side of rapists and be on the side of human rights.

If you allow predators and proud paraphiles into your spaces you are a danger to children and other people.

[way2manyusernamez]

[cw: pro-contacts, me getting angry about pro-contacts]

hmm.. maybe the radqueer community isn't so bad... i'll look at the tag today ^u^

oh wow, he coined transID? so cool! i wonder what else he has on his blog-

oh. that's him reblogging a post that's extremely clearly about being pro-c.

and running a ""safe"" discord server. that definitely includes pro-cs.

but surely that "hebequeer" post isn't popular? surely someone is calling this out?

surely there's at least SOMEONE in the notes saying this is bad?

nope. literally only positive feedback. fuck this stupid community.

fuck this community for letting these people in, fuck this community for telling people to be "more inclusive" to people with an ideology justifying abuse, fuck this community for convincing people that unethical relationships are ethical, fuck this community for creating these unsafe "safe" spaces, fuck this community for letting these people hide, fuck this community for letting these people be open about their abusive ideology. a community i once was proud of, now nothing but a hell pit of edgelords justifying animal abuse and justifying child abuse. fuck pro contact bullshit

[theredofoctober]

MANNA- CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: GATEAU

Dark!Hannibal Lecter x Reader x Dark!Will Graham AU fic

TW for eating disorders, noncon/rape, abuse, past child abuse, Daddy kink, cannibalism mentions, death mentions (including of a young people), Stockholm Syndrome

Read after the cut

---

As the night goes on, made odd by the truths held above your head, Hannibal sends you into the kitchen for the wine Will has forgotten there as though you are his little maid to be so imperiously commanded. Grumbling under your breath you slope into that other room, thinking to spit down the neck of the bottle to lend it the flavour of your displeasure.

Your gaze falls first upon a vast chocolate gateau resting on the sideboard, its rich aroma stirring awake your appetite, the pangs of which you now rarely know.

At this you feel an acute disgust at your body’s failing. No doubt some human matter has found its way into this creation, likely by blood to bring salt to its flavour, but even if by a rare chance it hasn’t you cannot stand that you desire it after all the years you’ve abstained from dessert.

Still, even as you scorn yourself you reach with one finger across to the cake and scoop from it a curl of icing, shuddering as it glazes the roof of your tongue with its silken sin.

Guilt rides over you at once: the totting up of numbers, the phantasmic sense of weight already building on your bones. In a panic you smooth over the gap in the cake left from your burrowing finger with a nearby clod of icing, hoping it won’t be noticed when Hannibal comes to cut a slice for supper.

The kitchen door opens behind you, making you jump and wipe your guilty hands together as Will appears in the frame.

“You were taking a while,” he says. “Thought I’d check on you.”

“What do you care?” you reply with a haughty toss of your head. “You’re barely here anymore. Don’t pretend to give a damn now you’re back.”

Will shuts the door behind him and leans against it, his arms folded.

“I thought you wanted me to put my full efforts into this case.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean you should just abandon me.”

With an unpleasant laugh Will says, “I’m sure you and Hannibal get along just fine on your own.”

You think cynically of your elder captor assaulting you against his front door, biting at your flesh. A lean coyote in a gentleman’s clothes.

“You don’t like the idea of him fucking me when you’re not there, do you?” you ask, and Will shrugs, refusing you an honest reaction.

“I’m just aware of what I’m missing, that’s all.”

It occurs to you to question how often he thinks of rutting you in those elongated hours apart, or if it is only Hannibal that inhabits his mind in ire and yearning alike. Will may not have forgiven him the harm he’s done, but he certainly cares for him still.

Perhaps it is the homosexual angle of the romance that prevents him from viewing it as such; if only women have otherwise enchanted him what sense can he make of this new lust?

“Well,” you say, “if you want we can swap places. You stay home with Hannibal and I’ll play detective with the FBI.”

“Funny,” says Will. “I like our arrangement the way it is.”

You look at him doubtfully.

“So you’ve really never considered it? You and him together, the way I am with him?”

“I consider you and me together,” says Will, and he steps towards you, driving you against the kitchen island until its edge impresses a horizontal groove into your back. “How I’m starting to forget what you taste like.”

Your breath jars in your throat, and you’re ashamed by the airless, claustrophobic sensation of desire that his words elicit.

“What would Uncle Jack think hearing you talk like that?” you ask.

Will smirks.

“Not everything I do is for Jack’s approval.”

He loops an arm around your waist, his palm grazing your skin through the smoke of your dress.

“Maybe you should be thinking about him,” you say, wriggling against the hammerhead of Will’s forceful want. “I don’t think he’d put you and dear, dear Daddy onto the Lover case if he knew that you were raping me.”

“Are we?” asks Will, and there is laughter of such an easy cruelty in his eyes that you wonder how you ever thought him good.

“Yes,” you say. “You are raping me, even though you love me. Maybe even because you do.”

Your voice is frail with emotion, no longer teasing. Will touches your cheek, and even that light touch is something evil, knowing of your weakness for him.

“I never thought I’d hear you say that,” he says. “Not about me.”

You shake him with both hands, unhinged with a sudden desperation.

“It’s messed up, but I’m right, aren’t? You love me. Say it. Just say it. I need to hear it.”

With an abrupt motion Will hoists you up onto the kitchen counter, your unmoored limbs flailing around him.

“How about I show you?” he says, and reaching up under the gauzy skirt he pulls your underwear down to your ankles.

How often he disappoints you, refusing to free you, refusing you the words you beg of him.

Will kisses you from your hardened mouth down your clothed body to your unclothed cunt, and his lips are like a roaming spark beneath which you flinch in revulsion and response.

Your hands weave through the thick of his hair, and you kick at his shoulders briefly before the motion of his tongue makes you still.

The sight of Will glancing up at you between your thighs, the stirring of his mouth against the bead on which he strings you out—

You moan, yet through you, as always, is the disgust of having your flesh expressed of its need like juice from a persimmon, that he to whom you’ve grown close engages in this incest, and has you indulge in it, as well.

No longer can you envision an existence with him where that element were not part of it, nor one absent of his envy.

Even as Will devours you it is Hannibal whose taste he seeks, hunting the remnant he’d left in you that morning against the shower wall, hoping there is some trace not rinsed down the drain.

Against Will’s claims you know there is some sleeping shred of him that thinks of the hand, the mouth, the carefully trained form under the designer suits, and resents that you—his subordinate, and unwilling at that—have experienced all in place of him.

You muse upon how it will be if ever Will gives in to the cravings of man, envision him shunting you off into some corner to observe as they make violent love like the dispute of brother gods.

This, in conjunction with the roll of Will’s fingers and tongue-tip upon you, conducts a new music of pleasure, and afterwards an anger that he has transformed you so utterly as to be this easily aroused.

Scuttling your hand across the kitchen island you feel for the wine bottle, toying with the notion of striking Will over the head with it, and wonder if you’ve gone as bad as him to feel joy at the thought of his red brains and the red wine of his warm blood across you.

You’d never do it, yet the thought comes back and back unbidden. Hannibal has beckoned it in with his talk of killing, the resurrection of the poorly buried dead.

It’s as your fingers wrap around the glass that Will says darkly, “Don’t you dare.”

His face is turned against your thigh, its expression stern, though not entirely serious.

“I wasn’t doing anything” you protest.

“You were thinking it,” says Will. “That’s enough.”

Then his jaws are on you again, and pleasure crushes you flat as though between the earth and a stone.

He loves you, you think, in the midst of it. The only man outside your family that ever has, and he has treated you with greater cruelty even than Leland Frost. Yet you cannot resist affection of any kind, and so as Hannibal rightly guessed it is no longer entirely unrequited.

Self-loathing takes over in your orgasm’s decline, and you push Will away with the soles of your feet, not wanting to sully your hands with him.

“I’m bored now,” you snap. “Take your wine in yourself.”

You thump down onto the kitchen floor, swerving Will as he reaches for you with a testy jerk of your shoulder.

“Little One,” he says, and then he corrects himself with your real name, so rarely heard from him now that you are touched that he thinks of its use.

Still you leave the room, finding yourself on the bitter verge of tears.

*

In sleep you have one of those particular dreams that read more of latent prophecy, a canon yet to give itself birth. In a scrub of forest you crouch over the nude body of a woman, pulling from the open mouth of her gut glittering organs upon which you feast with a scavenger’s appetite.

Will and Hannibal oversee this feast in approving silence, their figures a second darkness in the night.

Why they do not share in that meal you do not know; perhaps they have eaten already of their own kills, observing with full bellies as you follow suit.

It does not strike you in this dream to loathe the thing you do, for to eat is to survive, and so to meet the approval of your masters. With eagerness you crawl up the cool length of the cadaver, ripping up carpets of meat as you go.

Only when you reach the face, upturned to the dish of the moon, that you recoil with a spasm of horror and recognition of it. You know this woman, yet cannot in sleep recall her name, nor conjure the place from which you remember her.

“Did I kill her?” you ask, for this, too, you do not know.

“No,” says Will. “Not with your own hands.”

“Your proximity to her was enough,” says Hannibal. “All those who have been even in passive orbit of you may fall foul of death. We have told you this, Little One.”

You stare into the dead woman’s sunken eyes which appear in their stillness like replicas of glass.

“But if I didn’t kill her, and you didn’t either, then why am I eating her?” you ask.

“I fear you will go mad in losing those you love,” says Hannibal. “So you must consume and accept the dead as part of you, as I have. That way both mind and memory will last, if not intact then transformed as you are by the sating of your hunger.”

“It won’t work,” you say. “I don’t believe that. That’s your religion, not mine.”

“You’ll learn to embrace your madness, then. After all, each of us three would be consigned to an asylum for our habits by those that don’t understand us. But I would always understand you, Little One, no matter what condition your broken mind was reduced to, in the end.”

Then your captor’s hand presses down on the base of your skull until you're forced to lap at the dead woman’s blood.

You awake half hanging off the side of your bed, your body having mimicked the acts of your dreaming self as it has not done since you were young. In those years you’d often jarred yourself awake by attempting to speak aloud or to gesticulate to some ephemeral figure.

That you’ve resumed this abandoned habit disturbs you far more than the content of your dream, and in a panicked rush you start out of your bedroom into the hallway, turning not into Will’s chamber—which tonight is occupied by his sleeping form—but into Hannibal’s.

The door swings open under your frantic touch, and a startled figure sits upright in the shadows, as disbelieving of you having come to him as you are yourself.

“What’s happened?” asks Hannibal. “Are you feeling alright?

“I had another dream,” you say. “I’m scared.”

You find yourself sitting on the end of Hannibal’s bed, the first time you have done so willingly. His face is an amazed blank, unable to translate the meaning of this new and impulsive action.

“Your nightmares are likely a side effect of reducing your medication,” he says, at last. “I should have warned you. I apologise; it’s my mistake.”

With a hoarse laugh you say, “What do you have to be sorry about? Everything that ever goes wrong... you know exactly what to do. You take care of me even if I don’t want you to. You’re always so sure of yourself.”

Hannibal switches on the bedside lamp, his face solemn in the belt of its light.

“That is untrue. I have many flaws and failures; you’ve seen for yourself that I’m not always as in control as I’d like to be.”

The attack with the knife, he means, or his tampering with Will’s mind, both grave mistakes, so few of which have occurred throughout your stay that only they, of all, occur to you. That Hannibal is a killer, a defiler of flesh living and dead does not present itself despite its obvious nature, for even in this he is unerring, cunning and clean.

“I’m going to let you down,” you say. “You think you can fix me, and I know how hard you’re trying, but I’m not okay. It’s going to get worse.”

Hannibal runs your cold fingers between his own until they warm.

“You say this because recent developments are frightening you. Because you assume the good that will come of submitting to mutual love will not last. You would rather propel yourself into a fit of anxiety than permit yourself the slightest happiness.”

You turn him a look of reproach.

“You know why I can’t.”

“Because we are killers.”

“Yes.”

“But you love us still.”

Tugging your hands from Hannibal’s own you say, “If I did I’d be a terrible person.”

“We can’t help who we care for in this life. That you are able to love against the bounds of your morality isn’t evidence of personal failure.”

Yet surely it must be, you think, is in fact a marker of how greatly you’ve given in to him.

You say nothing of this aloud, however, only inch across the bed into Hannibal’s arms, kissing him in the hope of ridding your mouth of the taste of blood from your dream.

“There’s time for this tomorrow,” he says, gently, drawing away; clearly he thinks you’re seeking sex, an invitation you’re amazed to see him decline. “It’s very late, and I have patients to see in the morning. Rest now. You’ll feel better for it.”

You sleep nestled against him, his palm on your belly, which for once you neither mind nor think much of, merely consoled by his presence there with you.

*

The following week you are suspended between shame and self-pity, aware that you have fallen by a missing rung on the ladder of pious restraint into collusion with the men that you’re unsure you can arise from.

Will becomes as present in the household as work and commitment to his dogs will allow, the continued, quiet feud with Hannibal still complicating the evident need to remain at his side.

With you Will is tactile, sensual, smothering you with the weight of his covetous desire.

"You need to talk to him about what happened between you," you say to Hannibal one night, your head in his lap as he draws another portrait of Will as some tragic hero. "He's driving me crazy. I wish you'd just hash it out together or something."

"He's lost trust in me," says Hannibal in a tone of martyred sadness. "That can't be rebuilt inorganically. In time I hope his anger will pass."

It's on the tip of your tongue to suggest that he unburden all of his wrongs in one grand gesture, but thinking the better of it you return to placid silence.

This new method of survival you have taken on, though considered wise even in your early days of imprisonment, is so indistinguishable from genuine attachment that you could not confidently distinguish the two from one another.

Amy would be disgusted with the woman you've become, pining for the approval of predators, one of which has struck up a friendship with her own attacker. It is a dark blessing that through hypnosis she has forgotten this, will read of you in Tattle Crime and frown at the strange pang she feels at the notion of you shared by the named men.

In this way you become your own accuser, sparing no empathy for the difficulty of your plight. As others would judge you so you judge yourself, are brutal in the manner your keepers have sought to discourage.

Rebellion comes in strange forms, as of late.

You while away your days in windows frosted with the turning of autumn into its pale sibling, writing the first coherent entries of the journal you've long been unable to manifest. Your prose is clumsy, your handwriting without any particular art, but in this alone you gain some tangible accomplishment and distraction from your conflict.

Knowing Hannibal surely reads your diary you consider caution, but upon realising there are few secrets left between you both you write honestly and without fear of being bent across his lap.

“WEDNESDAY—

I haven’t been allowed to talk to my parents in so long that I can’t even hear their voices in my head anymore. I guess I’m realising that I’ve been picturing strangers ever since I came here, and I don’t know how I feel about that.

Do I even miss them anymore, or is it other, made up people I just tell myself I miss? Were they ever real to begin with?

They call it solipsism, the theory that nothing actually exists outside your perception. I read that it one of Hannibal’s books— George Berkeley was the name of the philosopher. I hope I spelled his name right.

Since I was little I had this fear that I was the only real person in the universe, that everyone else I ever met just vanished the second they weren’t in front of me. I still feel that way, I guess.

My bad memories are the only proof that I’m not alone, as much as I’m afraid—or sometimes find myself wishing—that I am.

I just remembered a day my parents took me shopping around Christmas one year. We went to this huge shopping center, and it was so busy and noisy that my Mom got really worked up and started snapping at everybody as if it was our fault the whole city picked that day to buy presents too.

I guess I did something wrong— maybe I wandered off, or I said something she didn’t like. But suddenly she yelled so loud everybody around us turned to stare at us except my Dad, who looked away just like he always did. Messed with his glasses. Pretended he saw something interesting in a store window when we all knew he hated shopping and was just dying to get out of there and go home to the TV.

Five minutes later Mom tried to hold my hand like nothing ever happened. Like she forgot what she just did, or didn’t realise that it upset me. Then when I wouldn’t let her take my hand she got mad all over again, and I could tell it hurt her feelings.

I’ve always wondered how she justifies those moments to herself, or if she shoves them down so far that she can just pretend she’s never in the wrong.

If I did imagine my mother, why would I make her that way?

Anyway, I think this whole solipsism thing is why I don’t buy Hannibal’s idea of absorbing life, even if it’s just a symbolic gesture. If I can’t see you then you might as well be dead, so really the thought that something would be left of that person after their heart stops beating makes no sense to me.

Only my dreams are real. Realer than I am. But if they’re repeating what Hannibal keeps telling me then what does that mean?”

"FRIDAY —

“I spat out some of breakfast into a napkin today. Daddy Hannibal took me upstairs and hit me with some kind of leather flogger till I said I was sorry. I wasn’t, though, and he knew it. He told me I’d never get to go to nice places with him if I kept behaving in that way, and that would be the real punishment.

I keep forgetting that’s what he and Daddy Will want at the end of all this. To take me out of the shadows of this house into their light.

Haven’t they thought about how weird it’s going to look to everybody? What will they tell people? That I’m their daughter? Their inappropriately young girlfriend?

They’ll have to take me somewhere nobody knows us and no one really cares. Places we can be different people except to ourselves. But maybe we’ll become the people we pretend to be. I’d like that to be true.”

It’s as you’re finishing this particular entry that you overhear voices in one of the many hallways— Hannibal’s, and that of Jack Crawford, who’s been invited to dinner again. Perceiving a hushed secrecy to their dialogue you return to your talent of eavesdropping and sidle up to the nearest door.

It’s Jack you hear first, partway through some muttered sentence.

“—Heard about the fibre sample Beverly picked up on in Lillian Greyflower’s file.”

“A thread from a hospital gown,” says Hannibal. “Yes. She had Turner Syndrome and was undergoing frequent medical checks to monitor her health.”

“She wasn’t the only one,” says Jack. “Bryce Mulligan was struggling with Kidney Disease, Anaïs Foreau was a premature birth— all the Mask Murder victims had conditions that affected their weight and height in some way. None of them were much over five foot tall.”

So these are the details Will did not wish you to know, cautious of spooking you with the implications of the discovery. Your illness is the reason for the Lover’s interest in you: as many differences as there are between you and his first set of victims this is the one great likeness to have drawn him in.

“The killer’s first muse herself was in poor health,” says Hannibal, “and with stunted development for her age. I suggest you search missing persons records for a white, blonde female under the age of eighteen, last seen accompanying an older male family member; I believe she disappeared around the time the Mask Murders began. Look specifically for girls with growth disorders, genetic, and chronic conditions.”

“We need to narrow down a state,” says Jack. “The murderer is clearly a travelling man.”

Then, clearing his throat, he adds, “Speaking of the Lover, have you—”

Hannibal intercepts the question briskly.

“Not yet. As things are now I couldn’t possibly disturb the peace by announcing such unpleasant news. I will attempt it as soon as I can.”

Lost as to the meaning of this abrupt turn in the conversation you strain your ears, frustrated when the men’s voices lower so far as to become incoherent. Only Will’s footsteps approaching behind you compel you away from the door.

“Stop it,” he says. “You want them to catch you like that?”

Turning around, you stick out an irreverent tongue at him.

“Who says they were going to catch me?”

Will scoffs, scarcely masking his amusement.

“Quit screwing around. Go sit at the table. We’ll be eating soon.”

The dinner you find awkward in the deliberate avoidance of the Lover case, small talk expanded into impossible complexity across the courses. Having seen death in its multiples you are both angered and entertained by the senselessness of your fathers thinking you too delicate to endure what you have learned.

Jack’s hesitation you understand, being that of the three men only he thinks you wholly innocent. Your keepers, however, are purely concerned with avoiding the resulting unseemly outburst, and in this you are reminded that no matter what affections you’ve developed to protect yourself from a prisoner’s despair a prisoner you still are.

Glowering at them both under your lashes you crush a slice of ‘fish’ under your fork, watching it take the shape of the tines. It’s as you’re observing this process that an idea occurs to you, brought on by the visitor in the room. A chance to communicate to Jack that he dines with a cannibal, that he has eaten of the same people for whom his officers seek justice—

Stuffing the morsel of fish into your cheek you say, “I’m full. Can I be excused?”

Jack glances at Hannibal, his brows angled, and you realise that he discerns something overfamiliar in your tone or body language he isn’t sure enough of to interrogate.

“You’re free to leave whenever you like,” says Hannibal. “Enjoy your evening.”

“Thanks for joining us,” says Jack, and you offer him a weak smile before rushing out into the living room where your journal and ball point pen remain.

Tearing a leaf out of the back you write

‘TEST THE MEAT!!! IT’S HUMAN!” in a hasty scrawl and spit the fish you’d kept from dinner into your hand.

Your heart clatters in your chest like a train across some treacherous road as you dart through to the hallway. On a rack hangs Jack Crawford’s overcoat, the pocket of which you intend to deliver your grim parcel to.

This is the answer to the question of your freedom, the sole proof required to unlock the criminal mystery of the Copycat.

Upon reading your note Jack will take this meat to the lab where all forensic discoveries are founded, and in the makings of its DNA will realise what creature he has dined with, and what he has been tricked to eat at his table.

He will get you out of this house, give you back to your parents and end this horror you’ve been bent to fit by moulding hands. Hannibal will be imprisoned or institutionalised, perhaps Will too, if he’s discovered to know more than he suggests of his companion, or if your relations are found out.

There will be no more men and women eaten in the grand house of death, and no more will you be abused and infantilised, or forced to take your fill.

Things will be as they were before your abduction, a known unhappiness which from having lived before you know that you can bear.

Yet even as you reach into Jack’s pocket the negative aspects of this plan suggest themselves to discourage you from this rash and unplanned act.

You think of the Lover’s crimes going unsolved and continuing around you, closing in until you too are taken and locked into a doll. Even if the killer does not dare to capture you in your infamy there are the choking attentions of the press to think of, the humiliating questions as to what you have been made to do as concubine to your insatiable men.

Leland Frost would likely make some comment on it, as thoroughly as you’d attempt to avoid him, his eyes bright with a jilted humour.

“Guess you’re not my girl anymore, cher.”

“Shut up,” you whisper aloud. “I never was.”

The cold grease from the meat soaks the skin of your fingers, and your stomach turns over at the smell of it.

All your doubts have surely been injected by Hannibal’s hypnosis to dissuade you from escape, for even as you dismiss those that have already come to mind more follow, each more unpleasant than the last.

After all, these previous concerns assume the success of your attempt to rally Jack to your side. He has been groomed by Hannibal to think you mad, and a conniving lunatic at that, one poised to invent scandal and atrocities abound if it means you’ll be released from treatment.

Upon discovering the note and meat making filthy his beautiful coat Jack is unlikely to follow the command you’d penned there; rather, with a pitying look, he’ll deliver it to Dr Lecter, bringing down, unwitting, another brutal lesson from your keepers upon you.

But even should Jack believe or humour you and process the sample as is your design there is no likelihood of Hannibal submitting quietly to arrest. He is a killer, and as such will fight every man against him until none stand.

Then he will turn upon you in whatever fashion he decides, and the attempt will be for nothing, one you may not even live to regret.

The risk of failure is not worth the pursuit, you decide, and resign yourself to retreat from the hallway and from the temptation of hopeless escape.

As you turn into another room you collide with Will, who has followed you from the table.

“Sorry,” you mumble, and attempt to sidestep him, your full hand held partially behind your back.

Will takes you by the shoulders, pushing you lightly up against the nearest wall.

“Wait,” he says. “I know you’re up to something. You’d better admit it now before you’re in even more trouble. Don’t bother to lie; there’s no reason for you to be loitering out here unless you were doing something you’re not supposed to.”

When you don’t answer his gaze falls to the fist tightened upon your shame, and the set of his mouth steels.

“You’d better show me what you’re holding,” he says. “Let’s hope Hannibal’s feeling more forgiving than I am.”

[nerves-nebula]

start | Prev | Next

pages 41-43

it’s donnies turn to be an asshole and little leo has a little baby breakdown about it. hahhhh ok im gonna go play wizard101 until like 6 AM or something.

[cath-lic]

it is my religious belief that we need to abolish the death penalty. yes, for everyone.

it’s important to note that i’m speaking from an american catholic perspective here. capital punishment has been outlawed in 23 states, and i pray and vote that it will be outlawed in more.

as a note, capital punishment is generally legal for cases of murder, treason, and in some states, sex crimes against children.

when i say it should be abolished for everyone, i mean it. yes, that means the lowest of the low. it means rapists, torturers, abusers, murderers.

i think the actions of these kinds of people are horrifying and disgusting. and, yes, as a human, i want them to die.

i have been extremely lucky to never have been victimized by these types of people. i hope that i never will be, and if you have been victimized, i hold deep sympathy and respect for you.

here’s the thing. when you justify violence against a certain group, you find ways to put other people you simply don’t like into that group.

it’s the oldest trick in the book. it’s why innocent black men have been lynched. it’s why the government, regardless of party, mistreats mexican immigrants. it’s why gay and trans people have been killed on the streets.

do you honestly think a group would justify crimes against others without believing they were the scum of the earth? we all believe we’re the hero of the story.

you might say, yeah, but i only would kill the people that deserved it. i want you to think about what everyone else would say, too.

christians are just as liable to fall into this trap. the old testament is chock full of groups of people being destroyed because they “deserved it.” and—if it’s not too heretical to say this—i wonder who really wrote that down.

in order to have compassion for the innocents, we must also have compassion for the guilty. there is no in-between. there is no line in the sand.

i will not use the tired superhero’s argument that the death penalty “makes us no better than them.” i will not say that some people don’t deserve to die, because as a human with hate in their heart, i do think that some people deserve to die.

i will simply say that in this age, it is more important than ever to abolish the death penalty.

if you’ve read this far, thank you for having an open mind. god bless you, my sibling.

[imtryingbuck]

Making Love

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OFC!Theo

Summary: Bucky has to marry a woman who surprises him more and more as their story goes along.

Word count: 1,801

Warnings: angst. swearing. fluff. hospital stuff. smut but not smut.

Masterlist   Series Masterlist

For three weeks Bucky barely moved. He couldn’t think straight. He point blank refused to go home to rest and shower instead choosing to stay in the hospital, sleeping in an uncomfortable chair and showering in the en-suite but making sure that he kept the door open enough for him to listen out for her.

For three weeks all Bucky saw was blood. Everytime he closed his eyes he saw it. Blood on his hands, on the floor, on his wife’s dress.

For three weeks all Bucky did was replay the scene of that night over and over again.

The car. The gunshots. The scream. The sound of Theo gasping for air. The sirens. Steve and Thor’s hands on him pulling his body away from his wife as paramedics were trying to work on her.

The way Theo stuttered, worried if Wanda was okay, as if she wasn’t the one laying on the ground with blood staining her dress in four different places.

For three weeks Bucky stayed by her side holding her hand. After the fourth day of being in the hospital Bucky had to force Wanda to go home, the woman had not stopped crying and apologising, blaming herself for what had happened to her friend and not for taking the bullets for herself. Their friends visiting every day, staying all day and even though Bucky was by her side there was guards outside the room, hallways and surrounding the whole hospital.

Winnie and Martha arrived at the hospital next day when they were informed. Bucky didn’t know why but he felt annoyed that Michael had never showed up in those three weeks despite knowing that his daughter was in a coma.

Three weeks and five days later he sat watching the tv screen but not paying attention to what was happening when a voice that he had been wanting to hear, came from the bed. “Bu-Bucky?”

“Theo? Oh baby you’re awake! Steve get the doctor”

“I-is Wanda okay?”

“What? Yeah she’s alright”

“She-she didn’t get hurt did she?”

“No, no baby”

“I did though?”

“Doll I’m so sorry, I failed you so badly. I’m so sorry.” Gripping her hand tightly bringing their entwined hands to his lips and kissing along her knuckles.

“I’m… I’m okay. C-can we go home now?”

“Baby you’ve just woken up-“. A doctor comes in interrupting him, straight away doing checks on her.

“You’re very lucky to be alive Mrs Barnes.” He tells her before leaving. He did tell her that she could leave in a few days, which had her feeling instantly better.

After a couple of hours of being awake Theo shyly asked Bucky if he could help her take a shower, her cheeks bright red as he took off her hospital gown. Pressing gentle kisses along her shoulders Bucky held her as if she was the most precious and delicate thing in the world as he washed her body and hair. By the time she was done, dried and dressed in some warm fuzzy pyjamas that Wanda had brought her, she was tired and hungry.

Steve had rang Wanda telling her that Theo was awake just as he promised, as she was finishing off with her shower all of her new friends were in her room all wanting to give her a hug. Wanda had brought Theo a giant brown teddy bear - that Bucky wasn’t happy about just because of the size of the thing but he soon found himself wanting it all for his own - in hopes she could forgive her for that night, if it wasn’t for her recommending to go somewhere else for dessert then she would have never been gunned down.

Even though she had been sleeping for nearly a month sleep over took her not long after Sam and Steve brought pizzas for them all.

Two days later Theo was allowed to go home - Bucky had to grab her hand as she was already trying to get out of the place before she had even signed her release forms.

The second Martha saw Theo she pushed Steve to the side and all but ran over to the young girl and wrapped her arms around her giving her a massive hug, telling her that she had missed her and she had been praying for her wellbeing.

Just like Wanda wanted when she come home from the hospital Theo wanted to spend the day watching films, Bucky was happy to oblige and make his wife happy so that’s what they did.

Halfway through the second film Martha came in, her whole body shaking as she informed Bucky that Michael was here and wanted to see Theo.

They all stood behind her as Bucky stood by her side holding her hand and she greeted her father. There was no hug. There was no emotion on his face. It was just a cold and uncomfortable moment between father and daughter.

“I see you’re doing better.” He said it as if she had just gotten a broken arm and not as if she had been shot multiple times.

Squeezing Bucky’s hand a little bit tighter she answered her father. “I-I am.”

“Right. James you and I need to have a word.”

“Is it about the shooters?” Michael shook his head. “Then we have nothing to talk about. Not once did you visit your daughter, not once did you even ring me to see how she was so no you have no right to come to our home and tell me we need to talk.”

“You disrespected my daughter-“

“I did and I also did it by sitting right next to your other daughter as we were celebrating her birthday.”

Michael’s face went rigid as anger filled his veins at being interrupted and disrespected by someone he saw as a boy. He looked at Theo and sighed, nodding his head once he turned on his heels and walked out of the house.

“Baby, are you okay?” Bucky’s attention shifted towards her straight away.

“I’m okay. Can we carry on watching the film?”

“Of course we can doll.”

Despite the interruption of her father Theo didn’t seem to have been affected by his presence, Bucky couldn’t have been prouder. They go back into the cinema room where Bucky instantly pulls Theo onto his lap and pulling the blanket over them again.

When everyone began to leave to head to bed, Bucky held Theo’s hand leading her towards their bedroom, the second the door closed behind her Bucky kissed her.

“I promise I will find who did this to you.” He whispered inches away from her lips.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it does! They aren’t getting away with hurting you.”

She didn’t care. Truly she didn’t just as long as her friends were okay and that Bucky wasn’t hurt. She still wasn’t use to someone caring about her the way they had shown her and she honestly didn’t think she would ever get use to it.

Bucky went to respond as she shook her head in a silent way in telling him that it really didn’t matter but she silenced him by pressing her lips to his.

“I-I’ll be right back, okay?” Bucky nods and she rushes off into the bathroom.

She knew exactly what she wanted for the first time in her life. She knew she wanted to do something that before had caused her so much pain. But she was nervous. Scared off the possibility of rejection.

Before she could even register what she was doing she was removing her clothes and stepping into the bedroom. Bucky’s jaw dropped wide open when he looked up from where he was putting his phone on charge.

Neither one said anything other than her nodding her head, hoping that he understood what she was trying to tell him.

To say she was nervous was an understatement yet she felt comfortable and confident, it helped that Bucky couldn’t take his eyes off her. The look of pure love and pride both outshining the lust swirling around in his ocean blue eyes, his fingers kept twitching in attempt to reach out for her.

When their eyes met Bucky gave her the most gentle, genuine smile she had ever seen. “Come here beautiful” he whispered, his right hand cupping her face holding her delicately as if she was a precious flower, his left hand resting on her hip. “You’re so beautiful”.

“B-Bucky… I l-love you”

“You- I love you too pretty girl” both smiling at each other before Bucky places his lips against hers, both sighing contently at the familiarity.

The kiss shared between the two lovers grew more heated, Bucky’s stomach flutters with pride as she starts to unconsciously take lead and he’s more than happy and willing to blindly follow.

Moving them both towards the bed he moves slowly in a sign that she could always back out of this, laying her on their bed lips breaking contact he leans on his left arm basking in the way she looks underneath him.

Theo’s mind raced with confusion when Bucky kept asking for permission or when he told her that they didn’t have to continue if she didn’t want to, she had grown accustomed to being told that she had no choice in that matter and overtime became numb to how badly it hurt, however she wanted this, for the first time in her life she wanted to be touched, to be loved so every time the man above her asked she nodded and smiled.

Bucky’s whole body swelled with determination to keep making her release those beautiful sounds of pleasure as he took her apart with his tongue and fingers. He chuckled lightly at the startled gasp that she let out at the sensation she had never felt before, lifting his head with a promise on the tip of his tongue that it was okay that died quickly when her hand rested itself on the back of his head pushing him closer to his new favourite meal.

He was addicted to her.

The act itself had tears gathering in her eyes, reassuring him to continue and that she was okay when he realised and stopped his actions, she was overwhelmed with the look of love and affection in his ocean eyes as his hips moved back and forth. His right hand linked with hers, his left resting itself on the side of her neck - thumb rubbing slowly from side to side as his tongue slowly danced with hers.

The only sounds coming from the room was soft moans and panting, and Bucky repeatedly telling her how much he loves her.

It was more than just sex. It was making love. An act neither one had ever experienced before.

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[backpackingspace]

Okay but consider post Canon over protective Athena who is sick to death of her most devout being raped.

Athena sticking close to the whole family and promising penelope that she'll keep a close eye on odysseus the first time he has to go into the market and penelope can't go with him. (She was going to go anyway. She's never actually going to let any of them out of her sight ever again. And it's an easy promise to her dearest weaver who seems so distressed to have odysseus leaving her side.)

Athena fully manifesting in the market when someone grabs odysseus with godly flashes of snakes and owls and the drums of war to scream /release him/ (odysseus is feeling indulgent for both his patron and his wife it's so cute that they're this worried it's not like he couldn't defend himself just fine. Especially from whatever poor fuck just grabbed him who definitely doesn't deserve a goddess screaming in his face. Hes trying so hard not to laugh if he did athena would send him flying.)

Athena telling all the other gods that yes she knows odysseus is the favorite barbie doll she choose him well after all and to back the fuck off if any of them bother him again they will have made an enemy of her.

Athena disguising odysseus only as an old beggar from here on out instead of an irresistibly tall and handsome man. Because she saw how uncomfortable nausicaa's attention made him.