#i don't want to get my hopes up. but also i very much do

[shurisneakers]

HIII, HOW ARE YOU

I was thinking if you could write Bucky's version of "Who did this to you" 🥰 Also, I love you writing so much! The way you describe things makes it so easy for me to imagine the scenes

a/n: hello my love! thank you for sending this in, I hope you like it<3

this is part of misery loves company but is just a stand alone fic. you don't need to read anything before this

warnings: blood and hurt, implications of violence and killin klg, hurt comfort, swearing

The longer you spend in this business, the more sleep feels like a favor the universe begrudgingly grants. Rest without nightmares is a luxury, and your salary simply did not budget for it.

So when it’s 3 a.m., and someone slips into your room without a word, you’re already awake before the light in your bathroom flickers on.

You hear the faint shuffle of movement, the sound of cabinets opening and closing. His silhouette moves inside, quiet and deliberate.

There’s no urgency to it, no noise loud enough to wake anyone else. He knows better than that. He just doesn’t know better than to pick your bathroom to raid.

Sighing, you push off the bed and head toward the bathroom.

The door creaks when you nudge it open, and he doesn’t even flinch. He’s still bent over the sink, head in your cabinet, his shoulders slumped like he’s half-asleep himself.

“Go to bed,” he mutters, his voice low and rough, not bothering to look at you.

“Sure, right after you get the fuck out of my bathroom," you reply, leaning against the doorframe. “You know there’s one in your room, right? Or did you get lost again?”

“Crazy. Here I was, thinking I’d take the scenic route,” he deadpans, pulling out a bottle and squinting at the label. “Must’ve missed my bathroom. Maybe it’s hiding behind a bookshelf or something.”

You roll your eyes and press a hand to his shoulder, shoving him aside as you rifle through the cabinet yourself. “Move. You’re just making a mess.”

Bucky doesn’t protest, just leans back against the wall with a sigh, watching as you shove aside bottles and boxes. When you finally find the first-aid kit, you shove past him with more force than necessary.

“Sit down.”

To your surprise, he obeys, perching on the edge of the bathtub. His silence almost irritates you more than his usual backtalk.

You crouch in front of him, ignoring the way his gaze follows your every movement as you pull out antiseptic wipes and gauze. You don’t want to look at him yet. You don’t need to see his face to know he looks like hell.

But when you finally glance up, it’s still worse than you expected.

If you hadn’t trained yourself to stay composed in the worst situations, your breath might’ve hitched. His lip is split, an eye swollen shut, cuts scattered across his face, and a dark trail of dried blood streaks from his nose to his jaw. The faintest smudge of crimson still lingers on his temple.

"What?" his voice comes out sharper, like he's testing you to see your reaction.

He sits too stiffly for it to just be his face—there are ribs involved, at the very least.

You don't grace him with a reply.

"I'm fine," he says, as if that’s enough to wave away the mess of him.

“Didn’t ask,” you reply flatly, though your jaw tightens.

“Did someone teach you how to be this kind, or is it a God-given talent?” he mutters dryly.

You don’t respond, ripping open a packet of antiseptic wipes and crouching in front of him.

“How’d your day go?” he drawls, voice flat but testing.

“We don’t have to do this.”

“God, the hospitality,” he drags, voice dry and cracked. "For a second there, I was worried bleeding out in your bathroom might make you care.”

“So fuckin' dramatic,” you breathe, swiping a wipe across his busted lip with a gentleness you hate admitting to. “You’re not bleeding out. And I don’t care."

The silence stretches as you clean him up. He doesn’t flinch—not at the antiseptic or the sting of your touch—but you notice his sharp intake of breath when you press a little harder on his ribs.

“Who did this?” you ask lowly, your tone sharp without meaning to be.

He exhales through his nose, something like a grunt. “Why? You plannin' on punching them for me?”

"If that'll keep you out of my damn bathroom at night."

His gaze flickers to you, sharp and unyielding, but you refuse to meet it, focusing instead on wiping the blood crusted beneath his nose.

Finally, he mumbles, “Doesn’t matter. Kids are safe."

“Good,” you say, but the word sticks in your throat like glass.

When you glance up, his good eye is already on you, his gaze sharper than it has any right to be. His breathing is steady, heavier than usual but not alarming. Whatever he’s looking for, you don’t know, but it’s enough to make you shift uncomfortably.

“I’m fine,” he repeats, softer this time, almost like he’s trying to convince you.

“Didn’t ask,” you mutter, though your hand slows for a fraction of a second before you move on to the next cut.

His lip quirks at that, the ghost of a smile. “Sure. Noticed."

When you move to dab at the cut above his brow, something in his hair catches your eye. Your fingers brush against it, and you pull the strand closer for inspection

That’s when you notice it—the small braid in his hair, crooked and messy, like it was done by clumsy hands.

You reach out before you can think better of it, fingers tugging gently at the braid.

"Who did this to you?” you ask again, this time biting back a smile.

“Don’t,” he mutters, ducking his head to pull away, but your hand finds his neck, stilling him. His skin grows warm under your hand.

“One of the kids?” you press, voice softer now.

He clears his throat, his cheeks flushing faintly. “The jet was too dark. They needed a distraction.” He pauses, as though considering how much to share. “Missed that one, I guess.”

Your thumb brushes his jaw as you inspect the braid, lingering a little too long. “Shame. It makes you look less hideous.”

Bucky huffs, more exasperated than offended. “You’re shit out of luck, then. Gotta put up with this mug as it is.”

You realize you’ve been staring too long when his eyes flick to yours. Clearing your throat, you drop your hands and reach for another wipe.

He leans back slightly, his gaze dragging over you. “You look like you’re about to punch someone.”

“Surprised there’s anyone left to punch.”

“There isn’t,” he replies breezily, though the weight of his words hangs in the air.

“Good, I don't have to waste my time cleaning up after you.” You swipe the antiseptic across his lip, slower this time, and your fingers linger a fraction longer than they should.

You don’t miss the way his gaze drops to your hands as you tear off another wipe, the way his jaw tightens when your fingers brush against his skin again.

“You’re happy you don’t get to punch anyone?” he asks, “Careful, or I might start thinking you care.”

You don’t answer, not with words. Instead, you press the antiseptic down just hard enough to make him wince.

Bucky hisses, but his lips twitch, and you hate how much you want to smile back.

Instead, you pack away the first aid kit and push it into his lap.

“Go to sleep,” you mutter, turning away.

“Sure thing,” he says, but when you glance back, he’s still sitting there, watching you like he’s not quite ready to leave.

Like maybe you don’t want him to.

"C'mon," you say quietly. "It's late."

He finally pushes himself off the tub, and drags himself silently to your bed.

[aralezinspace]

Cuckoo you absolutely hit the nail on the head here. Adding my two cents which is mostly reiterating what you've already said with my own thoughts.

General disclaimer, I'm just a rando on the internet so take this all with a grain of salt and no I do not condone anything Neil has done and I hope he reaps every consequence he deserves.

It's definitely not like JKR. It's more like Stephen King. Everyone knows and acknowledges Stephen King is a fucked up person and has done bad things in his past, but damn if his books aren't good. He's also not using his money to actively campaign against minorities. Stephen King (and Mr. G) are flawed, fucked up humans like the rest of us, likely even more so. Now if you look at Stephen King as a person and decide not to engage with his works, awesome! You're allowed to do that, have fun storming the castle. If you decide to do the same with Mr. G, awesome, go nuts.

However, what seems more disturbing to me is the sort of parasocial relationship a lot of people have with him, and other celebrities too. Believe me, I understand the 'oh shit that could have easily been me' and feeling like this is a gross betrayal of trust. Believe me, I get that. However, for those of you/us who have never had personal contact with Mr. G (like me), or have never even been in the same room as him, some food for thought: why does this feel so personal?

I understand the hurt, the disappointment, the outrage, the massive ick feeling. Personally I thought he was better than this, and it's very disappointing to learn that he's not. But for those who feel personally betrayed, why? In the grand scheme of things, Neil doesn't owe you/us anything, leaving out the universal 'don't be a shit human.' He doesn't know that 99% of us exist, other than as icons on a screen, as numbers under a follower count. In the grand scheme of things, you burning his books isn't going to affect him, it's only going to affect you.

I guess what I"m saying is, don't be hasty. Let the strong feelings pass before making any emotionally charged decisions (not telling y'all what to do, just my two cents). But especially to those who get so much joy from his works, and feel like they now have to renounce everything he's done and that just doesn't feel right, take a minute before doing that. Think of who you're doing it for- your own conscience? The faceless mob on the internet? To spite Neil? Because if it's for the latter two reasons, I'm willing to bet the only person you'll be hurting or sticking it to is yourself.

Nothing in this world is 100% unproblematic, and letting the internet's ever shifting standards of what is 'okay' to enjoy dictate your life just sounds like a very miserable way to live. Letting the actions of celebrities who don't even know you exist dictate what you're allowed to enjoy also sounds like a very miserable way to live.

At the end of the day, I refuse to let the shitty decisions of one shitty man who doesn't even know I exist rule my life, and limit the things I derive joy from. I've been subjected to too many shitty decisions by too many shitty people that I actually know to have room for the shitty decisions of someone I don't know. There are so many ways to engage with his properties that don't give him money- engage in fandom, pirate stuff, borrow his stuff from your local library (we love supporting libraries!), buy unlicensed merch from Etsy, Redbubble, etc. Personally, I’m going to continue to write fic and watch the new season and engage with the fandom- there are too many stories I want to tell and too many awesome people I’ve met through fandom and to give all that up for one schmuck’s bad decision seems like a huge waste. Fan creators are not Mr. G, don't throw the fandom under the bus to spite the creator.

It is possible, and actually very achievable, to condemn the bad things he's done as a person, without setting a torch to everything good his works have done.

"Appropriate" responses to the Gaiman issue

TLDR: This isn't a Rowling situation, be wary of internalized purity culture.

He's a predator. I'm glad a proper journalist followed up where police have failed (and possibly given victims a better footing for future charges).

But I have a problem with the knee-jerk responses targeting the fandom.

Just to clarify, I'm not talking about insulting The Predator. This is about how you treat people who have/do/will enjoy the stories that unfortunately came into the world through his keyboard.

Fans aren't intrinsically evil/uncaring for continuing to participate in associated fandoms.

This is not another Rowling situation. Why? Let me clarify. The consequences of consumption are very different. Rowling is ACTIVELY using her popularity and income as a creative to target one of the most vulnerable minorities in the world. Buying official merch/books/movie tickets prove to the powers that be that she remains a good investment, so they'll give her even more money. This perpetuates the cycle - new movie/book deals, more income, more hate, rinse and repeat.

The push to avoid Rowling's work in full is driven by the fact that she has FACED NO CONSEQUENCES and is still powered by her creative properties. It's fandom/consumers trying to bring justice.

Gaiman, on the other hand, knew he was doing bad shit on some level because he kept his abuse hidden. His status and reputation let him get close to vulnerable fans and essentially intimidate authorities from going after a celebrity. He is FACING CONSEQUENCES. I would personally like to see criminal charges brought against him, but that's out of the fandom's hands. Things we could've influenced (his Disney deal appears to have gone to shit, he's been booted from the truncated final season of GO, and there's no news on Sandman 3) are already in motion. If his publisher doesn't drop him, I'd say avoiding his future works is beyond valid (I certainly wouldn't buy them). But I'm going to watch the new season of Sandman. And once I've taken time away, I'll probably finish my active fics.

"Judging" people who still enjoy his work stems from good intentions that grew out of the fetid ground of purity culture rhetoric.

Writing fanfic and enjoying shows that are already made do not make people soulless accomplices. The idea that unproblematic stories by saintly creators are the only things you're allowed to enjoy is not only flirting with censorship, but it's also impossible.

If you think people should have nothing to do with Gaiman's works, you better throw out anything Weinstein touched. That includes Jackson's LOTR trilogy, FYI. Also, anything his company officially produced (which still gives him money in some cases) should never, ever grace your screen. That includes some of the better Stephen King adaptations, The Orphanage (which was a breakthrough Spanish-language film in Western markets), The King's Speech, The Imitation Game, Woman in Gold, Paddington, and It Follows.

If you aren't willing to publicly announce your "disappointment" in anyone who continues to enjoy any of those films, then kicking up a fuss over how other people process and interact with problematic content from a fallen celebrity who is in the process of getting his dues is pure hypocrisy.

Personally, I'm maliciously complying with Gaiman's famous quote about how once a story is out there, it doesn't belong to the author anymore. Well said, Predator, these are mine now, and I shall fuck about with them as I see fit.

Attacking or snobbishly looking down your nose at the fandom also erases YEARS of beautiful critique and thoughtful exploration of existing, acknowledged problems in works like The Sandman.

People in these parts already know how to handle complex issues in complex pieces of media. Gaiman isn't our god. His canon is not our bible. He didn't teach us morality, as is apparently the case for a lot of people who grew up reading Rowling's works as a child.

If you have a problem with the censorship comment I made, I'd like to point out at least one writer friend is LEANING INTO the fandom as a way to process their own trauma. Suffice it to say they survived a very similar situation. They see it as empowering to take the stories away from the abuser and use the characters/settings to make something new.

I get the ick. I have it right now. But I'm not burning every copy of his work I own (full disclosure I have... *checks shelves* a copy of Neverwhere and The Sandman series). Doing so is totally valid, and if that helps you process and feel better - go for it!

But this is not the same as Rowling and the only ones you hurt by declaring your "judgement" is a complex group of individuals who are able to enjoy fiction, remain aware of potential social consequences, and found a place that doesn't align with your black/white morality.

With that said, judge away! I better not see any stories from Charles Dickens, anything in anyway associated with the Weinsteins, Nickelodeon shows, Charlie Chaplin references, or Francis Ford Coppola films touch your feed. If you scratch the surface, you'll find more things to judge others for enjoying, and they will inevitably find something to judge you for, too.

[jessjad]

What if?

Summary: Dean and Y/N are living the life they always wanted. They love eachother very much and want to start a family. Everything fits just perfectly. What could go wrong?

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 3637

Warnings: I don't want to give anything away here, but there are no triggers, just emotions.

A/N: This happens when you're in a certain mood. I had to express it. I hope you like it. Enjoy! All mistakes are mine!

My Masterlist

"Urgh, this was a long day." Y/N said as she flopped onto the couch exhausted.

"Yeah... I'm sorry this took so long today." answered Dean while he sat down next to her.

"No, that's not how I meant it." Y/N saw a little bit of guilt in his eyes as he looked at her apologetically. "You know I love your mum and I really like to spend time with her. It's just that... if you consider that we only wanted to meet for brunch and it is now already half past nine in the evening... it was just a long day. Without any judgment or that it was meant negatively."

And she meant what she said. Mary was a wonderful woman and a great mum to Dean. She had welcomed her into the family with opoen arms and warm words. His father John not so much, buit over time he warmed up too.

The sudden death of his father almost six months ago was all the more surprising. A tragic car accident caused by a drunk truck driver. And as much as John loved his classic car, the '67 Chevy Impala had failed to protect John when the car rolled over three times. Mary was hit hardest and since then she has been reluctant to be alone for long. And Y/N didn't mind them keeping Mary company, as she had taken her in almost like her own daughter, but she also noticed that Dean's guilty conscience was bothering him a bit.

Dean nodded his head, but did not look at his girlfriend. So she touched his cheek with her warm hand and made him look at her. "Do you know what I mean?"

Dean cleared his throat. "Yeah, I do." now he smiled a little, but Y/N could still tell that he was not feeling fully guiltfree. "But I also know that you wanted to stroll over the book flea market in town."

He was right. Today was the last day and Y/N had hoped to get a few special books. And eventhough Dean did not share her love for books, he never complained or made fun of her. He even accompanied her to such events, even though he could probably think of better things to do. But that made her love Dean a little more anyway.

"So..." Dean said and got up again. Y/N saw him disappear into the hallway where she heared him opening the closet door before he came back with a large box in his hand. "... yesterday during my break I picked something up for you."

"What?" she asked puzzled at the box that Dean just had placed in her lap.

When she opened the box, her eyes widened in surprise. About twenty books smiled at her and for a moment she didn't know what to say. At the top there were a few collected editions of Jane Austen novels and she knew immediately that he had memorized what she liked to read and so she couldn't wait to take a close look at each book.

"You're crazy." Y/N placed the box next to her on the couch and stood up. "You really used your break to get me some books?"

She hugged Dean and he closed his arms around her right away, presing her a little closer to her. "Of course I did. I would have liked to go with you too, but somehow I had the feeling, that today might be difficult. Although of course I would still have gone there with you today if you had wanted to."

"No, this is already more than enough." Y/N said and kissed him. "But... did you have enough time? It's almost fiftheen minutes from your workplace to the city hall."

"Yeah, but I had the time for it. I finished Dad's car earlier than expected and had to test drive it anyway. So I used it for a little tour of our beautiful Nashville."

Y/N smiled, but then she felt that uneasy feeling in her stomach again. Yes, they lived in Nashville and yes, she knew the city all too well. Still, it felt wrong somehow. The young woman didn't really know why or where this feeling came from, but it wasn't the first time. This had been happening again and again for weeks now. As if the life they were living here wasn't a real life. Something felt so wrong in moments like this, but she just couldn't quite explain what it was. So she kept it to herself.

"You're finished with the car? Will you give it back to your mum?"

"No." Dean shook his head. "I've already talked to her about this and she said, that she does not want to have it back. Besides... she thought that we would be more in need for a big car in the future." he wiggled with his eyebrows.

"Oh, is that so?" now she had to grin back.

"Of course. I'm ready when you are." and with one swift tug he grabbed her thighs and lifted her onto her hips. Y/N squealed in shock, but quickly regained her composure and laughed as Dean went into the bedroom with her in his arms.

The next morning, Y/N decided to prepare a big breakfast. It was Sunday and today they would just keep to themselves, relax at home and not see a soul. So she got to work and soon her house was filled with the smell of fresh coffee, pancakes, eggs and bacon. Y/N set the table, poured out some orange juice and waited for the toast to be ready. Then it wouldn't be long before Dean came downstairs, driven by his growling stomach.

So while Y/N was waiting for Dean, she decided to finally take a closer look at the box with the books. Her heart immediately jumped again. No matter how rough or tough Dean seemed on the outside, on the inside he was soft, caring and just wonderful. It didn't take Y/N long to figure this out and it made her fall in love with him even faster. Luckily, Dean really liked her too.

Among the Jane Austen books were other special editions. A few by Stephen King and also a few fantasy series that she was currently reading. But he had also brought a few new books that she hadn't heard of. One in particular caught Y/N's eye because it didn't seem like a normal novel. It was about the lore of a coven of witches from ancient Tartaria. And the more she leafed through the book, the clearer it became that it wasn't a normal book.

Y/N frowned. Why had Dean brought such a book with him? Did he really believe in witches? That was somehow strange. So she would ask him about it once he woke up and joined her. While she sorted the other books into her bookshelf, she placed the witch book on the kitchen island. But she noticed that her eyes kept returning to the book. Really strange.

But it took another twenty minutes until Dean finally trotted into the kitchen. He looked so cute with messy hair. They greeted each other with a small smile and a big hug before sharing a kiss. But shortly afterwards Dean saw the set table and widened his eyes.

“Did you do all of that this morning?” Dean asked surprised, but he immediately seemed much more awake and prepared to sit down at the table.

"Yes, I did. I just wanted to do it as a little thank you for the books you bought me." she said with a grin and poured coffee for herself and Dean.

"Aaww, you didn't have to do that." Dean replied, but already helped himself to the toast and bacon. "But I won't say no to it either."

"How come I'm not surprised?" laughed Y/N and ruffled Dean's still disheveled hair.

As she brought the coffee pot back, Y/N's eyes fell on the book about witches again and she picked it up before sitting down at the table too.

"But back to the books..." Y/N held up the book and Dean looked over at her. "...why did you bring me this book? It's not a novel."

"Oh, yeah. This is for Sam." Dean replied, biting into his toast.

"Sam?" Y/N asked confused.

"Yes. Sam." Dean repeated, frowning slightly. "My brother. He can certainly do more with it than I can. He's our lore expert."

Now Y/N was beyond confused. What was Dean talking about? She placed the book on the table and turned fully to Dean.

"Dean...you don't have a brother."

"What are you talking about?" Dean looked just as confused now.

"We've been together for over five years now, Dean. You don't have a brother. You've always been an only child."

For a moment, Dean looked like he wanted to protest, but then he shook his head slightly and cleared his throat.

"What? No, I didn't mean...brother brother. I meant a buddy of mine. Of course I'm an only child. What did you think?"

That somehow relieved Y/N, but she still didn't fully believe him. And that strange feeling arose within her again and didn't seem to want to go away. What was going on here?

A week later, Dean and Y/N were back to normal. Everything seemed normal and as usual. While Dean restored classic cars in the auto repair shop and made his customers happy, Y/N continued to work part-time at the bed and breakfast. She loved the work. It had a family feel to it and sometimes didn't feel like work at all. And sometimes, on his break, Dean would come over and have coffee with her before he had to go back.

Dean had met Y/N in the baking section of a supermarket. Y/N immediately noticed him and he also seemed to have noticed her straight away. His flirting attempts didn't take long to arrive and Y/N was only too happy to give in to them. And when they got to the meat section, it was clear that there was a spark. After that, it didn't take long until Dean called her again and they went on their first date.

Soon after, it had become clear that something more was developing between them and Y/N had no regrets. Dean had also often told her that he was happy. Everything was light and somehow he felt like a big weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Even if he could never quite say what he meant by that.

And Y/N has had to think about that over and over again over the last few days. Dean also seemed somehow preoccupied. The witch book was still in her possession and she often caught him holding it in his hand and looking down at it thoughtfully. She has also had it in her hand several times, as if it were attracting her, making her want to open it and read it carefully.

But she fought against it, tried not to give in to it because it somehow scared her. However, these efforts only resulted in her getting a headache that slowly became quite throbbing. So after finishing work, she decided to lie down on the sofa and get some sleep, hoping it would help.

But even the little nap didn't seem to help. On the contrary, she was haunted by confused dreams about witches. Magic curses that were cast on her and that she couldn't defend against. But what finally broke Y/N out of her sleep was the voice of her best friend Jane, calling out to her and telling her that she had to wake up.

As soon as she opened her eyes, her heart was racing and sweat was forming on her forehead. It took her several seconds until her mind was back in her house and her vision cleared. And immediately the headache came back. And the urge to read the witch book was now even stronger than before.

So she gave in to him. She picked up the book and opened it, reading carefully, page by page. And the more she read, the more the fog in her head cleared. All the more she remembered. When she came across a sleep-trance curse, the scales fell from her eyes.

She didn't immediately notice that Dean was coming home at that moment. But when she turned to him, she saw that he was holding a small, green plastic soldier in his hand. His eyes widened when he realized Y/N was reading the witch book. But somehow it also gave him a feeling of like-mindedness. And even though he didn't want to burst that happy little bubble they were in, they still needed to talk.

But when Dean even thought about talking to Y/N about what had happened to him today, his heart almost broke. He loved her very much and he also loved the life they had built over the last five years. By now they had even gotten to the point where they were thinking about having children together. But one more look at the little toy soldier in his hand made his decision stronger again. There was no other way if he wanted to finally bring light to darkness.

"Hey, Y/N..." he started while keeping a little distance to the woman infront of him. "...I think... we need to talk."

To his surprise Y/N nodded her head. "Yeah, I... think we do."

With the book still in hand she sat back down on the couch again. A couple of seconds later Dean did the same, but she could not speak right away, because he knew that it would change everything. So he took a few deep breaths and started with showiung Y/N the toy soldier in his hand.

"This... was inside the Impala. I found it, when I restored the car. It belongs to me... and my brother Sam. He's four years younger than me and when we were little we stuffed them into the car."

Y/N closed her eyes for a brief moment, hoping this was all a dream. But at the same time she had to laugh inside because from the looks of it, it was all a dream. Even if it felt like a bit of a nightmare right now.

"My name is Dean Winchester and me and my brother hunt monsters, ghosts and witches. So, basically all of the supernatural if you will." He rubbed the back of his head a little nervously and looked at Y/N carefully.

But Y/N wasn’t quite as surprised. A small smile even crept onto her lips. Actually she should have known that they weren't that different.

"I've had such a throbbing headache all week. Ever since we got this book here..." she held it up a bit, but didn't want to let it go. Not yet. "...My best friend Jane would have already devoured it. I was with her in Tonopah. We were tracking a witch who stole the life energy of single people."

Now Dean's eyes widened. So Y/N knew about it herself. She was also a hunter. Why had the idea seemed so far-fetched to him when it made so much sense now that he had heard it himself? And what she said about the witch's hunt also matched his memories.

"Sam and I were in Clarksburg. A witch sucked the life energy out of singles there too."

And suddenly relief, but also sadness and even a little fear spread through both of them. So it was definitely clear that the reality they were living together wasn't real. And they no longer had any doubts about each other's words. It just felt too right.

"What is the last thing you remember?" Y/N asked.

"We followed him for quite a while until we were able to find him in an abandoned house. Unfortunately, I was too forward. You know, I hate these damn witches. Sam called out to me. I wasn't paying attention for a moment and then... I don't know."

Y/N nodded knowingly. "You were hit by a curse. Just like me. Jane had located the witch in a hotel, but she had known we were coming. And as soon as I walked through the door of the room, a purple burst of energy hit me. After that, I don't know anything either."

"Fucking witches." Dean grumbled. "So, a curse. But which one?"

"I think I know the answer to that." And now Y/N opened the book in her hands again and showed that spell to him.

"A sleep-trance curse? What the heck is this?" so he read the whole page and his eyes darkened. "Son of a bitch! And what are we supposed to do about it? I mean, my brother is good with witch stuff, but I'm not sure he will come behind this."

"I already have an answer for that too." She showed Dean a paragraph on the next page. "We can only solve it ourselves. No matter what Jane or Sam try, they won't succeed."

"Well then, we should get to work, shouldn't we?" Dean said after reading the new lines too.

Y/N nodded at that too, but immediately afterwards she also realized what it would mean to lift the curse. They would give up their lives here. She would lose everything she thought she loved. But she also asked herself what about the feelings she had for Dean right now. Were they at least real? Or did they just come from the curse? Would she lose feelings as soon as she woke up? Or would she at least be able to remember it? She didn't know.

Dean also seemed to notice her change in emotions and placed a hand on her thigh. He couldn't deny that he was a little scared too. This life they had here was everything he had always imagined. This was truly what it must have felt like to live a normal life. Without monsters and all the evil that roamed the streets at night. And even though nothing had happened yet, he already missed it.

And he already missed Y/N, even though she was still sitting here next to him. But it would probably take a while before he finally understood how unfair it all was. Showing him a piece of heaven and then ripping it out of his hands. But they had to go back, had to see how Sam and Jane were doing. And they had to kill those fucking witches.

Three days later they had all the ingredients together. Thanks to Dean's recovered memories, he had been able to get many things the usual way. They had both taken time off from work and spent the rest of their time together. The closer they got to the finish line, the more Y/N's heart broke.

She had just divided up all the ingredients and set up the bronze bowl when Dean came to her with white candles in his hand. He lit it and Y/N began mixing the ingredients according to the order. But when she got to the last step, she stopped.

"Y/N?" Dean asked, but he already saw the emotions rise in her eyes.

"What... what will happen when we wake up?" now tears came to her eyes.

"Y/N..." Dean said again and lightly touched her upper arm.

"I don't want to forget you." She now said what she had been caring around with her since the morning.

Dean pulled her into his arms and now had to hold back his own tears. He had been trying not to think about it the whole time, but now he couldn't ignore it anymore. And while he was trying to keep his emotions in check, he didn't notice how Y/N put a small piece of paper in the breast pocket of his shirt. Even if she didn't know if it would do any good, she at least wanted to try.

Then Dean took her by the shoulders and released Y/N from the hug so that he could look her in the eyes.

"Listen to me." and Y/N looked him in the eyes without saying anything. "I will find you. I promise you that."

And that was enough to make Y/N cry. So Dean pulled her back into his arms and shed a few tears himself. After they both calmed down, they separated from each other but still holding each other's hands.

"I love you!" Y/N said in a weak voice and Dean grinned.

"I love you!" He said too and then they turned to the table.

A moment later, Y/N spoke the words of the counterspell and threw the last ingredient into the bowl. They both looked at each other again before a purple wave of energy hit them and everything around them went dark.

"Y/N? Y/N!"

With a groan, Y/N opened her heavy eyelids and immediately recognized the excited voice of her best friend Jane. She felt as if she had slept for a hundred years without ever really resting. She slowly sat up and let Jane hug her warmly.

"Thank God you're finally awake again. That stupid witch put a spell on you! Unfortunately, I killed her too quickly before I knew what the spell was. But it was so strong that I don't think she could do it alone. How are you? How are you feeling?"

"I think I'm doing quite well. It's just that my body still feels so heavy."

"Fortunately." exclaimed Jane and hugged her friend again. "But something is strange." she then reflected.

"What?" Y/N asked.

"How were you able to free yourself from the spell? I was at my wits' end three days ago and haven't tried anything else until now."

Now Y/N was taken aback. "I have no idea. I don't remember anything."

A/N: Yeah, there is nothing else to say here. Let me know what you think. Feedback is very much appreciated! 💜

@lyarr24 @k-slla @chriszgirl92 @aylacavebear @thebiggerbear

[dean-winchester-is-a-warrior]

How To: Dress for the Position You Want

This fic will cover the Office Sex square on my @jacklesversebingo card and the "I work harder than everyone in this entire place." square on my @spnaubingo card.

It will also fulfill this gif request for my 2K follower celebration. The amazing @suckitands33 sent me the gif in the title card above, and I knew I'd be incorporating it into an office sex fic. 😊

Summary: Mr. Smith has some ideas about how to improve your position in the company.

Pairing: Dean Smith x Reader (You) (Use of Y/L/N - your last name)

Warnings: Smut. Pure Smut. Dom!Dean Smith. Sub!Reader. Oral Sex (M and F receiving). Spanking (w/Belt and briefly w/hand) Unprotected PinV sex. Edging. Aftercare.

Word Count: 3,122

A/N: I've never written for Dean Smith (I don't think - lol!) and so as soon as I saw the "Office Sex" square on my Jacklesverse Bingo card, I knew I had to write something for Dean Smith. ❤️ He looks so friggin' good in those suits!! 🔥🔥 Hope you enjoy a bit of naughty fun!

Dean One Shots || Dean Master List || Main Master List || Tag Lists

The divider below was created by @talesmaniac89

“Oh! Mr. Smith!” You laid a hand against your chest in surprise. “You startled me. I thought everyone had gone home for the day.”

Your ridiculously gorgeous boss stood frowning in the company break room, a half empty cup of coffee in his hand. He shook his head, his voice angry. 

“No, I'm stuck here fixing other people's mistakes.” He drained his cup. “As usual, I work harder than everyone in this entire place.”

You could feel the frustration and tension rolling off his broad shoulders and it struck you that now might finally be the time for you to try to make your long-running fantasy into a reality. You took a few steps closer and wore a sympathetic expression. 

“Poor Mr. Smith. Always picking up the slack, always so worn out and stressed.”

You took a chance and put your hand on his bicep and squeezed. The hard muscle you could feel through his dark gray suit jacket made your stomach flutter. 

Mr. Smith cocked an eyebrow at you. “Yeah.” He said quietly. “It's a real pain in the ass.”

You bit your lower lip and looked up at him through your lashes. “Is there anything I can do to help make you feel better?”

You watched his stunning, emerald green eyes darken and the truth of what you were offering seemed to hit home. He stepped forward, pressing you back against the counter before he tugged at the bottom of your old, cropped, college sweater.

“You can start by explaining the way you're dressed, Ms. Y/L/N. Workout clothes in the office?” He clicked his tongue.

“I was just in the gym downstairs.” You said breathlessly, chills of anticipation running up your spine at the way his jaw clenched. “I just came back up to get my purse.”

“No excuse.” He growled. “It's unacceptable attire.” He slid his hands up under the hem of your sweater, rubbing his surprisingly rough hands over the cups of your bra and the very tops of your breasts. 

He paused a moment, staring into your eyes. His gaze was hot and intense, but it held a question too, and you nodded eagerly, letting him know you were down for whatever he had planned. 

As soon as he got your nod, he wrenched the sweater over your head roughly, tossing it aside.

“Get into my office right now. It's time I hand out some much needed discipline, Ms. Y/L/N.”

A thrill of electricity shot through your body at the prospect, but playing along, you bowed your head. “Yes, Mr. Smith.”

He lifted your chin with the knuckle of his forefinger. 

“Sir.” His lush mouth was set in a firm line. “You'll call me sir.”

Your heart hammered against your ribcage and you nodded quickly. “Yes, sir.”

This was even hotter than you'd imagined, and you'd imagined this scenario countless times in the six months since you'd been assigned as his assistant.

He grabbed your wrist and tugged you along down the hall to his office and pushed you inside, closing and locking the door behind himself.

He turned around and leaned against the door, folding his arms over his chest. He stared at you steadily without blinking and you nervously gripped your hands together in front of you. 

Maintaining eye contact, he finally stepped away from the door and then let his suit jacket slip from his shoulders, tossing it over the back of a chair. He wore a crisp white button down shirt beneath it and he slowly unbuttoned his cuffs to roll up his sleeves, revealing his corded, muscular forearms. Finally he loosened the blue tie around his neck, undoing the knot and sliding it from under his collar to toss it on top of his jacket.

When he finished, he took a few steps towards where you stood in front of his desk. He turned you slowly so you faced away from him and pushed on your back so you bent forward a little, hands resting on his desk, making your ass protrude slightly.

He clicked his tongue again and spoke in disappointed tones. 

“Sweats in the office? And ones that display this kind of message? Disgusting.”

You blushed because the word “Juicy” was emblazoned across your ass on the very old pair of sweats you worked out in.

His warm hand passed over the word before he raised it and brought it down hard onto your covered cheek. 

“Is this really how you want people to think about you in this office? Hm? Want them to think about slovenly attire and sluttish behavior?”

You shook your head. “No sir, I'm sorry.”

Another spank warmed your other cheek before he squeezed your ass tightly. 

“I could write you up for this, but I'd prefer we take care of it right now, between us. What do you think?”

“Yes sir, please!” You said earnestly. “I'll do whatever I need to do to make up for my behavior.”

“Good girl.” Mr. Smith said as he leaned forward to growl in your ear. “You can start on your knees.”

He lifted his hands off of you and stepped back so you could turn and face him. 

“Strip.”

With slightly shaking hands you lowered your sweats and kicked them off your feet. You stood quietly in your white cotton bra and panties for a moment.

“All of it, Ms. Y/L/N. Now.”

Blushing from head to toe, body flush with want, you quickly unhooked your bra and flung it aside, before pushing down and stepping out of your panties. You surreptitiously tried to cover yourself, but he was having none of it. He pushed your hands aside and then turned you around to face the desk again.

He ran his fingers over the slightly warmed skin of your ass. “Hmm…got a nice little pink going here, but we’ll have to work on it a bit more, later.”

He turned you towards him again and reached for his expensive leather belt, opening the shiny silver buckle, as you sank slowly to your knees.

He slid his belt through the loops, pulling it free, and then draped it around your neck as you reached out to unzip his fly. The cold leather end and the hard metal buckle touched your heated skin and made you gasp. 

“That’s for later.” He smirked and you shivered and nodded.

“Yes, sir.” 

When his cock was freed it sprang up towards you, half hard already. You flicked your tongue against the tip and he groaned softly. “Fuck yeah, open wide.”

You dropped your jaw and let him feed you his enormous dick, gagging as it slipped down your throat. 

“Are you good at sucking cock, sweetheart?” He asked, gathering your hair into a ponytail and using it to guide your head up and down his length, pushing his cock further and further into your esophagus. 

Speaking was quite beyond you as you gagged around him, so you merely nodded. He pressed your nose into the curls at the base of his dick and held you there. You tried to breath through your nose, dropping your jaw to accommodate his girth. But your jaw still ached and you still coughed and spluttered as he pulled you off of him. 

He let you catch your breath for a minute before he tapped his cock against your cheek. “Again.” He said curtly and you opened up. You closed your mouth around him as he sank into your wet warmth. 

“Now suck. Hard.” He ordered as he began to pull himself back.

The suction of your mouth had him groaning harshly. You moved up and down on him quickly, sucking hard as you withdrew each time. You swirled your tongue around the head of his cock and he yanked your hair in reflexive instinct. 

“Fuck.” He swore in obvious pleasure, but then he pulled himself free, and helped you stand. “You’re right, Ms. Y/L/N you do suck cock very well. So that’s earned you a few brownie points. But you have a lot more than inappropriate clothing to make up for. Turn around. Bend over the desk.”

Shaking slightly, you did as he said, bending at the hips, so that the edge of the desk pressed into the front of your thighs. He walked around the desk to open a drawer and pull out a document. 

He plopped it down in front of you and then walked behind you. He grabbed the belt from around your neck and let the leather trail across your skin. He bent over you on the desk and you could feel his rock hard cock pushed against your hip as he leaned close to whisper in your ear.

“Before we go any further, sweetheart, you got a safe word?”

You nodded. “Yes. Mississippi.” 

He kissed the corner of your jaw lightly. “Okay, baby. I’ll listen for it and stop immediately, promise.”

You smiled, grateful, but shook your head. “Thanks, but I can take it.”

He chuckled softly but his voice was stern again as he thumped the papers in front of you. “This is the email I asked you to write to Freeman & Sons. It’s riddled with spelling and grammar errors. You’re going to read it to me and every mistake is going to earn you a stroke of my belt, so maybe next time, you’ll pay more attention.”

“Yes, sir.” You whispered; your body was quivering with a mixture of cold, fear, and excitement. You began to read.

“Dear Mr. Freman…”

Crack.

The doubled leather connected with your skin and you gasped as the sharp sting shot through you. 

“There are two Es in Freeman.” He corrected. 

You nodded, and continued on despite the warmth spreading over your ass cheeks. 

“I’m reaching out to touch base regarding our meeting of Septembre 4th-”

Crack.

“How do you spell September?” He asked.

You noticed your mistake right away. “S-e-p-t-e-m-b-e-r.”

“Good girl.”

He rubbed his hand over your warmed backside as you continued on, finishing the first paragraph without another mistake.

“I enjoyed our conversation last week and I'd like to-”

Crack.

It took you a moment to find your mistake this time and it earned you another fiery stroke of his belt, making you cry out as the sharp sting spread over your skin. 

“Look carefully, Ms. Y/L/N, pay attention.”

After another minute of frantically searching, you felt his arm raise to deliver another blow. But then you saw it.

“The apostrophe!” You shouted. “I left the apostrophe out of ‘I’d’.”

Instead of the hard, red stripe he had planned for your backside, Mr. Smith just let it nip your skin, stinging like a little spark.

“That’s right. See what happens when you’re properly motivated to pay attention to the details of your work?”

You nodded. He’d never know that you’d deliberately ignored all the squiggly little, red, spell check lines in your documents as you typed them, hoping your mistakes would draw his attention. This little lesson was even more than you’d dreamed off, but you sure as hell weren’t about to change your ways now.

“Continue.” He told you and you did. The page-long email contained another five spelling mistakes and two grammar mistakes, landing you with another seven strokes. Your ass burned, but your pussy dripped. 

“Alright Ms. Y/L/N, prepare yourself for ten more lashes, hard and fast, one more for each mistake you made.”’

You bit your lip and nodded, your stomach clenching.

He raised his arm high and brought it down with twice the strength he’d used previously, it made you squeal in pain, but he didn’t give you time to catch your breath before another blow was reigning down, causing more criss-crossing red stripes to form on your skin. All ten strokes were very powerful and landed one on top of the other.

By the end of the spanking, you had your feet crossed at the ankles, bouncing your ass up and down, desperately squirming and trying to escape the pain. But he had you pinned down easily and he was determined to make you feel every single blow.

As the last of the ten strokes fell, though, he tossed the belt aside and began to rub soft, soothing circles over your abused skin.

“Such a good girl.” He whispered as he pressed kisses down your spine. “You sucked my cock so good, showed me how seriously you take your position here. Then you took your punishment so well, showing me you’re capable of taking responsibility for your mistakes. I’m so proud of you, Ms. Y/L/N. You’ve earned yourself a treat.”

He slipped his hand down from where it was soothing your ass cheek, to slide between your legs. He chuckled. 

“You REALLY took your punishment well, didn’t you? You’re fucking soaked from it.”

All you could do was moan gently as he stroked your clit lightly. He shifted slightly and suddenly he was the one on his knees, pushing his nose and mouth into your exposed pussy. His big hands spanned the backs of your thighs and pushed your legs wide open, so he could feast completely. 

You stood on your tiptoes as he began eating you out noisily. The fact that your cunt was utterly drenched meant that the sounds of sucking and slurping penetrated the drab office walls, filling the room with the obscene noises and causing you to drip even more.

“Unf, fuck!” You screamed, slamming the front of your mound against the edge of the desk and trying to press against it just right to create the pressure you needed on your clit to cause your orgasm. But Mr. Smith knew what you were trying and he gave your thigh a little slap.

“Stop that, right now! You don’t come until I’m fucking you, you understand?”

You whined, but you nodded. “Then please, fuck me sir. I can’t take anymore.”

He speared your hole with his tongue and a hoarse scream came up from your throat. He fucked you with his tongue for several minutes before pulling back to to nibble at your clit and lips. 

He pulled back to speak. “No, Ms. Y/L/N. I’ll fuck you when I’m good and ready and not a moment before. You need to learn some discipline and a little restraint. Take what I’m giving you, and be grateful.”

Tears of need were in your eyes, but you nodded. “Yes, sir. I’m sorry, sir.”

He teased your clit with his thumb. “I know, sweet thing. I have so much to teach you. You’ll get there.”

The idea that this lesson between the two of you may not be a one time thing made your heart flutter with excitement and anticipation. You already couldn’t wait for the next time.

But when, half an hour later, he was still teasing you, bringing you to the brink of your climax, only to pull away and kill it, leaving you to shudder and quake with your need, you began to wonder whether you’d ever survive another experience like this one.

As though he could read your mind and knew you’d hit your limit, Mr. Smith stood up and turned you to face him. He lifted you onto the desk, dropping you onto the very edge. The hard wood slammed against the bruised sit spots on your ass and you grimaced.

“Poor baby.” He said softly, leaning forward to kiss you slowly and softly. “I know what you want, what you need. You just hang on to me.” You grabbed onto his shoulders as he lined up his cock at your entrance. “Now, you’ve been such a good girl, and I’m so proud of the way you’ve behaved, so you have my permission to come as soon as you want and as many times as you want, okay?”

His voice was gentle now, and his green eyes were warm and moss-colored. You nodded. “Thank you.” You croaked. “Please fuck me now.” You begged.

He simply nodded and then drove into you, immediately hitting your sweet spot. He only had to slam the spongy head of his cock against it twice before you were screaming out your withheld climax, squeezing his cock tightly as he slammed into you again and again. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He chanted like a mantra. “You’re so perfect, goddamn! So fucking tight.” He continued to slam your g spot and you came again twice in a row, blinding spots appearing behind your eyes. 

He looked down to watch himself sliding in and out of your body. “Look how good you take me, baby. Fucking made for my cock.” He slammed his hips forward especially hard, knocking against your cervix and causing you to press your heels into his plump ass.

He palmed one of your tits and dipped his head to suck your nipple into his mouth, drawing deeply, the tug sending a jolt of fire down to your cunt and making you come again so hard your eyes literally rolled back in your head.

This time he came too, giving a violent shout of joy as he slammed home one last time and poured into your pussy, hot and thick. As his hips rocked against you, you could feel him spurt inside you, filling you up so much that his come leaked out of you and dripped onto his desk. He buried his face in your neck as his body spasmed into yours a few more times.

After a few minutes reprieve, he stood up straight and pulled himself out of your body. He smiled at you, and your stomach clenched anew. You were already ready for more.

He helped you hop down off the desk and then pointed to the mess that had dripped out of you onto the wood, and that coated his cock.

“I think you should clean up your mess, Ms. Y/L/N.”

You nodded and started to move over to a small cupboard that housed a few cleaning supplies, but he clicked his tongue and grabbed your wrist to yank you back.

“No, no, Ms. Y/L/N. With your tongue.”

You walked back to him and dropped back to your knees to begin licking stripes up his cock before tackling the cooling, sticky mess on the desk.

As you cleaned him, he began to get hard again. He pushed his hand through your hair. “When you're done cleaning up here, I think we should hit the gym showers, and then spend a bit of time on the massage tables down there. I think your ass could use some soothing, essential oils and a massage, what do you think?”

You nodded. “Yes, Mr. Smith. I mean, sir.”

He grinned. “For the time being, you can call me Dean.”

@lyarr24 @lacilou @deans-spinster-witch @globetrotter28 @suckitands33

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[figutii]

fem!reader x arkham knight!jason todd: angst w/ comfort

into my arms.

you didn't know how much you could take until you scream into the grey sky. the sun hides behind the tall skyscrapers, adding to the misery of the city. the harsh wind slaps against your face with every tiring and steep step. you could cry when you think about tomorrow's tasks.

keys rustle.

there was no denying how shocked yet reliefed you are when he illuminates your room, cosmic yet out of place within your confined walls. "jason-!" no denying the timeless prayers for him.

none of his limbs moved, armor standing right before the window. the silence should intimidate you, make you embarassed and ashamed, yet you gulp again, "…arkham knight, sorry."

"spare yourself the formality." you hoped he would put an end to the generated voice and instead reveal himself. you had no choice but be grateful to even have him in front of you.

"…how are you doing?" all the wishes and thoughts from sleepless nights turned into dust. you didn't know how else to cope with the sickening silence.

he breaks into a fit of laughter, helmet pushing back as the fabric around his neck gets exposed.

your arms cramp up, fingers intertwined like a child who's being ridiculed by her teacher in front of the entire class.

"how i'm doin'? how delighted i am! couldn't get better than this." his hand moves down from his stomach. by how sarcastically he mimics your phrasing you can't recollect ever attending a stand-up.

it was betrayal - no, he was never yours to have the right to be mad at him. just a boy from back then, another prey of the dark knight's injustice. you know it. but whenever he opens his mouth to you, you are left with conflict.

"what's it that you want?" you finally inquire, desperately wanting to know what it truly is that fuels him to treat you this low.

"impatient now, aren't we?" you swallow down the lump in your throat as subtle as possible. showing him another sign of weakness would only make you a laughing stock. especially when sweat drenches the inside of your hands.

no matter how much you try, you can only understand him to a certain point. you can refrain from the thousands causes that have crushed his young soul to an inhumane degree, but not this.

"i don't get you- what you want. why come here and berate me?" you clench your teeth in unease, surpressing the shaky words that leave your lips.

the robotic voice is scratching the inside of your ears. "don't act as if you're blind… thought you were smarter than… this. oh, how mistaken i was."

you eyes widen. how dare he talk to you like this? adressing you like you are his enemy? comparing you to the men who inflicted harm on him.

"what the fuck is wrong with you jason? what the hell do you," your palms open up, "want?!" tears assemble between your eyelashes, your head heating up.

"what's wrong with me?" he takes slow steps towards you, the enormous suit making you hold your breath. "since when have you been this blunt reader, huh? what's wrong with me you ask? - tch, turning into the batman now, aren't we?"

your eyeballs could bulge out of their sockets. you pant for breath. "batman?" your jaw shakes under his shadow, eyes not knowing where to see through him. "s-so now i'm the batman? him… seriously?" you weren't sure if you were mad or just sad. out of everyone: the man who let him die.

"you don't make sense jas-"

"ohh, has anything ever made sense to you? after all, you haven't had it very difficult, have you?" he wittily remarks.

nothing has ever made sense indeed. "FUCK YOU JASON! WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?!" your shoulders jerk forwards, face never this close to anyone before.

"shut it."

you breast heaves, the sharp edges of his words letting you relive another case of shame. you can only watch the pixels on his helmet. at this point you just want to chuckle.

"… now i'm bruce, no? are you also gonna fight me? do you ever think about pointing a gun at me, jason - wanna shoot me?" all you see are blue pixels. it's been ridiculous since the start, dumb enough to let it get to this point.

"i might."

sweat drops tickle down your neck.

it's been a very long time since you've lost hope in batman or the remaining vigilantes in gotham. here, away from the wealthy parts you're doomed to be stuck in this madtown. you curse bruce.

the tears escape.

you don't care anymore about his presence - you anticipate his departure through the window like on other occasions so he will leave you by yourself for once and all. you were delusional enough to feed into the lie of being able to fix him. there is no fixing when you aren't the cause nor the remedy.

you hand swipes along your cheekbone, escaping his gaze. the hatred has outweighed the compassion, the trauma that made you look out for him every night from the corner of your window. there is a slight glimpse of that broken little boy and you don't know what to do.

you must have really failed him before you could acknowledge it. oh, how naive and stupid of you. maybe you weren't meant to be in his story. it doesn't matter anymore.

it's all quiet as before when you walk to the door. he knows where the exit is after all.

a big hand engulfs your wrist.

"don't you touch me."

"or else what?"

it feels like another kick to your face. you try to yank him away from you, but it's a failure.

"look, this is my apartment. i don't want to have anything to do with you - so fuck off," you remind, brows furrowed.

your body jolts, the skin around your upper arms pinched. it's getting warmer, his helmet towering right in front of you. "mind repeating that again sweetheart?" the brightness burns your eyes and when you look down he squeezes you harder. "i demand an answer - i don't like rude girls."

something deep inside of you is denying to waste more tears. if this is the end then you might as well deliver your own part.

"i refuse. 'm not talking against a wall," you exhale, which should get you a blow against your skull.

it's blurry at first, but you listen to his cackle instead. "if that makes you feel better about yourself," the translucent shield comes off.

your lips quiver at the scar next to his nose, eyes widening at the J. idioms stammer into disjoined noises. you don't want to see anything anymore, your sniffs echeoing inside four dull walls.

how did it come to this? you have become consumed with rage, no empathy left for the little boy in him. robin. the news caught up with the dissapearance of boy wonder until every part of batman's dirt was swept under the carpet, forever. your past self wouldn't have pushed him away, not like this.

the root of your hair grinds against his armored chest, the picture of the ground too foggy. you have failed him, abandoned your principles. no matter how difficult it would get - you promised to stand next to him and make the child inside him feel safe.

both of you have gone wrong.

"look… at me." memories come back, the once juvenile voice shining through his deep one. blue orbs stare back. there is resentment in his expression yet his strained brows and mouth tell you otherwise.

the firmness around you is gone and he steps back. there isn't more space than before but simulates more distance. you don't know what's next.

you search for eye contact, which he denies with a turn to the window. you know his mouth was agape just seconds ago, arms floating around his thighs in an unsure manner.

he's leaving. what happened to you trying to help him? no words, no action, no sympathy. another unsolved day, the pattern has repeated itself too often to open your mouth now - to change this vicious cycle when it's too late.

the old curtain slides to the side.

his broad back is the only thing that's highlighted by orange light before he gets completely engulfed.

"jason," you say out loud and he almost pauses, but it doesn't stop him.

can you really allow this - another time? again and again? you know you won't see him for a long time after this. no, you won't ever catch him again.

"jason!" you run up. he slowly rotates until his profile takes you in, commentless. the tense skin around his mouth and half-lidded eyes scare but tell you everything you need to do, even if they aren't thought-out.

he observes closely as you get to the windowsill, your hand stretching out. he scrunches his face prominently, while following how you gently lay your fingers against his jaw. you forget about how it could trigger him. the day has been too invasive.

his face reminds you of a bunny, glossy eyes and tense brows. that's the ultimate signal - bending down to his level and at a leisure pace just watching each other. his dark lashes stick together, skin covered by perspiration. there is a mild tang of soap, locks sticking to his forehead.

his hair reminds you of the lucious curls from his teenhood, innocent and cute. the man in front of you hasn't changed much, lips seperated like a curious boy. his breathing haltens, eyes awaiting.

and then you just throw your arms around his shoulders, carefully as your own breathing excelerates. you are too caught up with calming yourself down, not noticing how he freezes. his eyes and mouth are wide open. he is frightened.

his wet hair presses against you. the warm feeling mixed with the material of his upper body is foreign. you want to squeeze yourself closer to him. you endulge it as much as you can, not knowing what will happen after this.

"you don't have to fear jason. it's over, i'm here. i promise you i'll be here with you," the sunlight penetrates your shut lids, its warmness making it feel less darker. you are now ready for whatever is to come. the sunset's red shades haven't been this freeing since years. it could be the last time.

but if this could last longer, you would be the happiest.

something vibrates against your side, guttural voices ringing in your ear. you can't make much out of it, until you hear sobbing.

you are at loss for words.

he's shaking, big arms hindering you from taking a glimpse at his face.

it's now that he needs you the most. your palm has turned numb from rubbing his back at a slow pace. sitting with one leg on the roof shouldn't be this sentimental.

"it's all right big boy, cry. it's okay."

something inside him snaps. he weeps like a child.

reblogs are very much needed

reblogs and comments are much appreciated!! feeling extra girlie sad after reading this :( doing this after escaping uni. i´ve already had a comfort fic with arkham jason so this is kinda diff.

[rochand]

Oh man hope you don't mind this random reblog (plus rambling)! But I agree with so much of what you said here & I think it’s helped clarify some of my thoughts on it.

I feel much the same way about the reboot vs. the original. I enjoy a lot of the reboot for what it is, and like you said, I think it’s fairly clear what they were trying to go for in terms of theme. (i.e. tell a story about "the power of family" in the same vein as stories about "the power of friendship.") But . . .

I do think it's less satisfying in many ways because the core premise of Shazam/ Captain Marvel is the (extreme, literal, divine) empowerment of a child. It's not just a "scrappy underdog" story, it matters that Billy Batson is a child, specifically.

And while it does make sense to connect Billy to other people (including adults and/or family figures) to help the story stay grounded and relatable to readers . . . you have to be careful with how you do that or else you can undermine the "extreme child empowerment" so crucial to the character.

So like . . . take Victor and Rosa. There’s something about them I really like, which is the way they fill a particular role that got left open with changes the reboot made to Shazam.

in the original, the wizard is the first one to believe in Billy, for lack of better words. He’s seen Billy at his very "lowest" and most downtrodden, but singles him out for recognition due to how well he’s born up under those hardships and come through them with good character. In the reboot, though, this is different; Shazam takes a much dimmer view of Billy’s character and openly doubts that Billy is good enough (or explicitly says he isn’t, depending on version).

Instead, Rosa and Victor are now the ones who first believe in Billy as an inherently good kid and stick up for him, even when things "look bad." Ex:

(Shazam! Volume 1 (2013) by Geoff Johns & Gary Frank)

I kind of like this because . . . where the original Shazam basically has divinely perfect knowledge of Billy's life and character, Victor and Rosa largely have to do this on "faith." IDK, I find it interesting in that sense!

But the fact that Victor and Rosa are put in the role of Billy’s foster parents sets them up to fail in other ways, imho. Like, I would argue that a consistent barometer of adult “goodness” in Captain Marvel is the extent to which the adult empowers children vs. imposes adult authority/ control over children in a way that’s unwanted/ unnecessary.

To expand a little bit - like, we know that in real life children have various “needs” from adults. Material (food, shelter, clothing); emotional (love, affection, emotional support); psychological/ behavioral (routine, structure, help with self-regulation, you get the idea). Some of these things are actively “wanted” by the child, but others will be “imposed on” the child in their best interest.

I’d say that the former are . . . implied to be “okay” to give to Billy, according to the underlying “rules” of Captain Marvel. But the latter are not, if that makes sense.

Golden age Billy, for example, could benefit from “wanted” things like parental love and affection when made available to him. But I’d say he’s never really shown to "need" limits being placed on him for his own good?

He’s never really shown to have a problem with, say, emotional self-regulation (or anything else kids might struggle with at various developmental stages) that interferes with his life socially or as a superhero. Like you pointed out, he's highly responsible, good-natured, and self-sufficient. Were his golden age characterization being used today, Billy would come across as more of a candidate for emancipated minor status than someone who needed ongoing adult supervision, imho.

Reboot Billy, on the other hand, often does have more obvious problems with emotional maturity, or other things that get in the way of his social/ superhero life. I'd say reboot Billy's problems aren't necessarily "because" he's a kid (adults could also struggle with them), but are still the sort of thing you could point to and say “well, clearly Billy could benefit from some kind of adult guidance here, regardless of his personal thoughts/ feelings on the matter.”

From an out-of-universe perspective, the departure from golden age characterization is partly because we now expect our comic book protagonists to go through some kind of emotional arc and have a certain degree of psychological realism (or w/e). But I’d argue that the realism still has to serve the narrative and defer to fantasy in favor of the theme, only the reboot is axing some of the "child empowerment" aspect in favor of the "power of family."

Golden age Captain Marvel has you suspend your disbelief on Billy (and what a 12-year-old boy should realistically need) in a more wide-ranging way, so it can really hammer the child empowerment angle. But because the reboot is angling for a more modern/ realistic take on a child superhero, it only asks you to suspend your disbelief on certain “external” things fundamental to the superhero genre, like the existence of magical powers, and not so much on things "internal" to Billy as a child character.

What you then end up with is a more circumscribed version of Captain Marvel. One who is still empowered in the literal sense, with the magic of the gods, but is not empowered in other ways that are more abstract.

For example, as reboot Billy’s foster parents, Victor and Rosa have to have Billy attend school. For one thing, this is arguably in Billy’s best interest, but also, truancy laws exist and Billy is almost certainly not old enough to drop out. (And from an out-of-universe perspective, we can argue that it’s more realistic and relatable for school-aged audiences as well.)

But compare this to golden age Billy’s job at WHIZ radio:

(from "Introducing Captain Marvel", Whiz Comics #2 (1940)

Golden age Billy actively wants the job! And he's able to convince an adult to give it to him via his literal empowerment (as Captain Marvel) as well as a more intangible empowerment. (Ex. the way Billy refuses to allow adults to dismiss him, and advocates for himself and what he wants. And possibly in defiance of child labor laws, lol).

It does give Mr. Morris a position of authority over Billy as his boss, but that authority is limited in scope, and ultimately due to the nature of their relationship as employer and employee. Not because of their status as adult vs. child.

Arguably, school “shouldn’t” have a much worse impact on Billy’s ability to be Captain Marvel than a job, if you’re thinking about it in terms of like, realistic time commitments and so on. But IMHO it “feels” totally different in terms of how it implies adult authority and Billy’s relative empowerment.

To bring it back around -

I think this is one reason why Freddy, Mary, and the newer kids introduced in the reboot enjoy more acceptance from fans than Victor and Rosa do.

On the one hand, the Shazamily kids make Billy less "special" in the sense that Billy is no longer uniquely empowered (and depending on the version, they sometimes make Billy less powerful when he shares his powers with them). But we are more willing to tolerate this because they are also children who are disadvantaged in some way, just like Billy is.

When they, too, get empowered, they are reinforcing the story’s overall theme and extending it to allow for a wider exploration of the different types of struggles kids face. Even when they clash with Billy, they're doing so as peers, not as adults trying to impose some kind of higher authority on him.

In this way, the Shazamily kids further the reboot theme of "family = strength," but never challenge the original theme of "child empowerment" in a way that matters. Victor and Rosa, on the other hand, support the first but (arguably) not the second.

I don’t think this is an insurmountable problem or anything - or that they (as parental figures) need to be axed for the sake of the story. But I do think it’s something we’re kind of picking up on and responding to a little bit.

(And I think it's one reason why "homeless Billy Batson" is still very much a thing even in reboot fic!)

I've finally realised why I fundamentally disliked the New 52 version of Shazam/Captain Marvel.

I've had nitpicks about it before, but I always chalked it up to my personal preferences, and not anything inherently wrong with the retcon. It just wasn't my thing.

However, I could never shake the feeling that there was some deeper flaw to it than a mere difference in taste. New 52 Billy is a very different character to his older versions, but the core of his backstory (homeless orphan, history of abuse, extreme independence) was arguably retained, just in a new modern rendition. So why did I feel like the new 52 had lost something important?

Then it hit me.

Any version of Billy Batson would, realistically, never let himself have parents again.

Now that is not to say they don't have merit, I can see the vision with them. A perfectly normal, loving, and safe parental unit to contrast the insanity of Billy's life and give him that sweet hurt/comfort goodness. In the end, though, I could never get used to them. Even with all of Billy's changes in the new 52, it always felt deeply ooc whenever he would respect their authority or consider their comfort more important than his responsibilities. In fact, the new 52 version of him is even more distrusting of adults than the golden/silver age version, so Billy compromising his independent personality (especially after he gets his powers) feels like a huge contradiction to both his original and retconned selves. The Vasquez's aren't developed enough characters to make such a huge narrative trade off satisfying. This weird "distrusts authority figures + is proficiently independent yet let's them dictate his responsibilities and make choices on his behalf" characterisation extends beyond the Vasquez's and into Billy's professional relationships with the League. I love reading things where the trinity try and parent Billy, but the fun of it is how he never let's them in the end. Billy's been treated like an equal long enough for him to have seen his colleagues true selves, there is no chance in hell he'd let Superman dad lecture him when he's seen the man at his worst before.

While I never enjoyed the new 52 "Shazamily" brand, I could tolerate it. I never found any of Billy's siblings aside from Mary and Freddy compelling for various reasons, but Darla, Pedro, and Eugene were alright as far as superfluous characters went. What I really never liked were the Vasquez parents, Rosa, and Victor.

What I love about Billy Batson as a character is how inherently tragic he is, but in more subtle ways. Billy was orphaned/abandoned which is sad in and of itself, but the real meat and potatoes is what came after. Billy's been failed by everyone in life, but will not give up faith in people irregardless. He is the world's most competent 12 year old, with wisdom beyond his years and hard won skills that helped him survive on his own. All of this is what made him worthy of the lightning, what made him different and less likely to misuse such power.

Billy Batson in any era of DC always starts out as one of the weakest members of society. His misfortune always stems from the selfishness of others, who's proclivity to abuse their privileges make the boy intimately acquainted with the worst mankind has to offer. He has been robbed at every turn of good choices, and left with the hard ones instead. Education or food? Entertainment or work? How far is he willing to go for survival? If he lies, cheats and steals will he still want to survive by the end? if it means losing who he wishes to be?

If I were in his circumstances, I would be insulted by any attempts to parent me. Acknowledging that I deserved better wouldn't negate a childhoods worth of untrustworthy adults. By that point I'd be so used to living on my own that any well-meaning adults attempt to "lessen my burden" would certainly chafe. God forbid anybody try discipline me in the hopes of providing structure. I would never respect them again. Put the fucking mantle of Champion of Magic on all that, with an ancient wizards seal of approval, and I'd be out of any foster home faster than you could blink.

Why the hell does Billy stay in a house with a bedtime, and lectures, and restrictions on his ability to choose if he can transform into an invulnerable demi-god who can teleport into a safe, warm pocket dimension? Why doesn't he sell off some old junk from the rock, impersonate an adult, get a cheap apartment and load it up with magic wards and runes and just live there? This kid is divinely sanctioned as worthy of responsibility, why the fuck would he listen to life advice from two adults he barely knows? Billy can still be humble about his power while also having a spine about it.

Billy can have as many siblings as he wants, even if I don't find them all that interesting, but I don't think he would ever want parents again. Not if it meant losing the security that comes with full self-determination. He deserves to have had parents, but the tragedy of Billy Batson is that he can't. He has power unimaginable, is a beloved public figure and successful superhero, all these things that only existed in dreams before, but he doesn't have parents, arguably the one thing universally all children should get to have.

[aggieharkness]

Have I earned it, mother? Chp. 6

Pairing: Avis Amberg x reader

Summary: the clock ticks for everyone, without care for wealth, titles or power. Avis knew this but so did you, and amongst the fire that blazed inside the studio, someone was bound to get burnt.

Warnings: kidnapping, blood, torture/abuse, injuries/wounds, KKK, guns and use of guns, swearing, character death.

Authors note: First of all, I'm very sorry about what's going on in the US. I hope that the Trump administration doesn't destroy all the lovely people who live over there and don't deserve it. I wish I could help. Secondly, here you have the newest chapter. I looooooooved writing it, and had so much fun, but I must apologise for what I have done with the characters. Still, I hope that you like it and as always, be gentle but tell me If I need to be more graphic, if I'm lacking in something. I am here for you, my dear people, I listen. I also accept ideas that you might have or things that you might want to see Avis and reader do. Also available on Ao3. Finally, let's thank Patti Lupone for giving us Avis Amberg.

Shoutout to @bravewithacapitalb for being my beta reader for part of the story. I love you.

Chp. 1 Chp. 2 Chp. 3 Chp.4 Chp.5

Word count: 24K

Her lips tasted of blood

It was so cold. And dark. You were unsure what was going on or where you were, your body slumped on a chair, freezing under the cold air that moved from wall to wall, all across the room. With great effort, you opened your eyes, but they felt so heavy that it was hard work to simply blink, finding your surroundings blurry, the air damp against your skin, but upon better inspection, your eyes focusing on your lap and legs, you saw that there was blood staining your dress, trails of the crimson liquid dripping from scratches on your knees and wounds on your shins. It was so hard to try and catch a glimpse of the room, to move your arms, tied to the back of the chair with thick ropes, hoping you would be able to stand and observe, but you were trapped. There were no windows, and if they were they were covered up, but there was an oil lamp in a corner of the room, it’s flame dim and barely giving out any light but it helped, nonetheless. The fuzzy feeling that had taken your mind hostage seemed to be vanishing, only a thin fog floating around your thoughts, the event of the previous night broken in pieces as you tried to puzzle it all together, images of Avis sliding before your eyes, of her beautiful brown eyes, of her perfect ginger curls, but they were cut off by figures dressed in black. Who they were you did not know, but they sure as hell weren’t friendly.

As your body rose from its slumber you realised that you were completely alone, the only sound echoing in the empty room being that of your breaths, puffs of it steaming and floating in white rivulets before your eyes. There was a metallic taste in your mouth, your throat dry as if you had just spent weeks in the desert, the feeling of the rough muscle against your palate making you cringe and shiver, but you still ran it over your lips hoping to get some sort of moisture over the scratches and split lower lip. There had been a man as you had stepped out of the car, he had asked you for directions, you thought, or perhaps he had asked for the time, you could not quite remember, but his voice had sounded so familiar, so dangerous that you had not answered. Or maybe you hadn’t had the chance. All you could remember clearly was the feeling of someone watching you as you left Avis’s place. Something dripped down your neck, the sudden feeling making you jump, but it wasn’t the ghostly touch of a finger, it was far too warm, maybe even hot, scorching your skin as it left a sticky trail. You were bleeding, you thought after a moment, your brain still slow in its functions as if there was still something affecting it, the faint smell of chloroform lingering against your nose and mouth with its sweet remnants that told you, you had been drugged, though that much was to be expected. You were not one to simply let yourself be taken by strangers.

As you tried to move your body to the right a sharp pain coursed through your entire arm, making you whimper miserably under the shadows of the room, the sound echoing against the walls mockingly, reminding you that it was only you and your scattered memories. Trying to move it again to assess the damage done you felt the pain radiating from your shoulder all the way to your fingertips, realising after a moment that it could have been dislocated in the struggle. Yes, you had fought against that man, you remembered now. He had grabbed your arm, and you had pushed him, but his grip had been too strong and after scratching his cheek he had slapped you, splitting your lip. You could not recall the words he had spoken to you, but you were pretty sure that Avis’s name had come out of that disgusting mouth of his at some point, the stench of alcohol and cheap cigars hitting you suddenly. There was a pounding feeling on the left side of your head, like a bad headache that was about to start leaving a dull pressure behind your eyes that you could not get rid of, noticing the same warm stickiness that was running down your neck, on your hair. He must have hit you, but why or how was a blank space in the records of your mind?

You could feel every inch of your body battered and bruised, probably black and blue if you could get just a little bit more of light but it was impossible to move. Maybe the chair was too heavy, or bolted to the floor, or perhaps your body just didn’t have the strength to try and stand, your feet bare over the freezing, rough tiles. From your throat a cough erupted, like a bomb going off inside your head, chest convulsing for a few moments, lungs practically begging for air against your bruised ribs. Every cell in your body hurt, like fire spreading through your limbs bringing tears to the corners of your eyes. This attack left you drained, gasping for air and forcing your eyes to close as the light-headedness overtook you again, slamming you to the ground, if you had been able to stand. You just felt so weak, so useless, but in the back of your mind you could only think about how thankful you were that it was you in this room and not Avis. You would have destroyed the entire country to find her if she had been in your exact same predicament, and as much as you wanted to get out of there, to be free and never see that man again, you did not want her to get involved, to put herself in harms ways. If they had done this to you, you could not imagine what they would be willing to do to her.

There was a sound reverberating in the distance, a noise getting closer and closer with each passing second. Your heart hammered against your ribs, each beat hitting on a bruise or a scratch, bringing out silent whimpers, but you didn’t dare make a sound, impending dread building rapidly all over your body, your head moving from side to side to try and locate the door. They were footsteps, the soles of either brand new shoes or refurbished ones stomping over the dirty dark tiles, outside of this room, in a corridor probably, you thought, hands turning into fists as if that could protect you. Foolish move. Behind your back metal screeched sharply, like nails raking over a blackboard continuously until the heavy door banged against the wall. There was silence then, you could not even hear the person breathing, but you did smell a strong male perfume, perhaps an aftershave of sandalwood, a pungent smell of cheap cigars overtaking your senses as it floated in your direction. It was him.

Lurking in the shadows, watching like a hunter, like an animal that was about to feast on the carcass of some poor creature, his eyes raked over your battered body. They were hard, triumphant under the light of the dying flame. He had no desire to move, not yet, he thrived in the way your head moved slowly from side to side trying to see him, on the way your frame trembled in fear and terror, eyes wide and frantic. He had the upper hand now, he thought, drinking in the way your blood dripped down your legs and bare arms, crimson tears splashing over the ground in an ever-growing puddle, a punishment for you. And her. Overstepping, and crossing lines that had been clearly established long ago always brought consequences, no matter how much money or fame one had; a well-placed bullet could end it all in an instant. But he wasn’t that sort of guy, he preferred to see their downfall, to watch them crawl like the useless creatures they were, always under the soles of his shoes, dependent and ever so weak. He loved to push women to the ground and to remind them where they stood in the pyramid of life, next to the cockroaches and the cripples of society. He felt so powerful having you right there, terrified of only his shadow, basking in all the things he could do with you to achieve his purpose, his goal in this life. 

One step towards you and your entire body froze on the spot. Another step and you could almost feel his depraved smile against your skin. Another step and the heat of his body was barely a foot from yours, the tension in every muscle crossing the line of torture, reopening wounds, and making thin trails of blood run over your porcelain skin. He was stalking you, preparing himself for the kill, you thought, your breaths so hurried that you feared you might hyperventilate and then his hand landed on your injured shoulder and your world stopped turning as pain radiated all the way down to your fingers and stomach, breaths hitched in your lungs. If you had been in the right state of mind, you would have felt his calloused hand, the crack on his skin and dry palm, but you could not focus, your mind hazy and foggy under the daggers that were piercing every inch of your flesh. He had you right where he wanted you. Weak, pathetic, and probably willing to talk now. He had left that part of the job to another fool who that had failed miserably, so he had to do away with him and come down to finish the job himself. He hated having to get his hands dirty but how delicious it was to watch all those poor people give in to his bloodied hands before the last shot was delivered, their lifeless bodies dripping onto the ground like puppets that had served their purpose and could now be discarded. Better than a glass of champagne after a good dinner. His hot breath caressed your ear in fake gentleness, deep, dangerous words slipping from his lips.

-Will you tell me what I want?

Someone had asked you that, you could remember a young voice shaking as he asked that, but you didn’t know what he meant. You knew nothing, nothing. He must have thought that your silence meant no, and without caring about how painful it might be he pulled your head back, hairs ripping from your scalp, another miserable whimper escaping from your parted and broken lips. The angle didn’t let you see his face fully, and the dim light only made the shadows that danced over his face deeper, darkening his heartless eyes, those sky-blue eyes that hid a merciless soul, that showed the truth of this man as if they were a cover to protect the real him. The murderer, the kidnapper, the one who pulled the trigger at the end of the day. Tears stung your puffy red eyes, gathering at the corners as you held his gaze. There, on his cheek, were the scratches you had inflicted on him the previous night, deep, but no longer bleeding, a sign that he had been almost knocked of his feet by you, a mistake he would not allow to happen again. He would rip your head of your shoulders with his bare hands if he let you overstep like that again, although he was pretty sure it would not happen. You were pretty tied up at the moment.

-Don’t make me play the bad guy. Just tell me what I want, and you’ll be out of here in no time.

-I… I don’t know… - you could not deliver the words, your throat dry, raw from the chloroform and the lack of hydration, your head bent so far back that you feared your muscles might snap from around your shoulders.

-Yes, you do. Do you think us so stupid, so blind that we wouldn’t know what you and that whore have been up to? Avis has not been as careful as she thought, flaunting her affair with you around the entirety of Hollywood.

-We are not…

-Don’t lie to me Y/N! – he yanked your head so hard and so fast that your heart skipped a beat as the chair moved under your body, your feet leaving the feeling of the cold ground behind as he tilted you back, keeping your entire body from slamming onto the floor by holding onto your hair. The tears could not be stopped, falling slowly down your cheeks, making the salty crystal liquid red as they ran over the gash on your cheek, over the splatters of dried blood that were sprinkled over your flesh. – I have seen it with my own eyes. You and she are two depraved creatures that should be put down to protect our children from such disgusting behaviours and to preserve the values of our nation. But you are more valuable to me alive. For now. So, tell me, what would you be willing to do to make sure I don’t put a bullet between her eyebrows?

-Don’t hurt her. Please. I’ll do anything, anything at all.

-See? It’s not so difficult to cooperate with me. – the chair was pushed back on all four legs, making your body bounce painfully, his hand releasing your hair with a relieved sigh escaping your lungs. His footsteps were hard as he came around you, pulling a chair from the furthest corner, the metal scratching the ground so loudly that you had to turn your head away from the sound, the dull ache that had been in your head developing into a proper headache that pulsated deep inside your skull. He placed the piece of furniture before you and sat, arms resting over his knees, legs spread, and face hidden by the dark. The flame had died, leaving you completely at the mercy of his predatory eyes, glowing amongst the shadows. – Start talking.

-What… what do you want to know?

Across Hollywood, the screeching of wheels over the asphalt rumbled as Avis’s driver sped through the streets. A fucking cross burning in her front yard. She was beyond livid, furious at the audacity of this cunts to invade her home and threaten her and her daughter like that. She had been in such hysterics all throughout the night that Claire had to give her some Valium to calm her fury enough so she could sleep. But the effects were long gone, and the rage was once more coursing through her veins. The car turned right, meeting a mob of angry people with signs that said that the production of Meg had to be stopped, that it was immoral what they were doing, and that they had to boycott it and the studio. Fucking bunch of imbeciles, Avis thought, eye narrow as she stared coldly at all those jerks through the car window, their screams and insults sliding off her back as if they were nothing. She would not be cowered down by strangers. They didn’t mean shit to her, words could not harm her, burning crosses, though, that was a whole different matter. The car moved slowly among the people until it managed to cross the gates, the voices vanishing in the distance as soon as they were through and stationed in the parking lot. The image of the flames was engraved in her mind, keeping her still in the back seat of her car for a moment too long.

It was a warning, a wake-up call for her and everyone involved in that film, she knew this, and to a certain extent, she did not care what happened to her. She had taken this risk, she was responsible for it, but if something happened to Claire, she would destroy entire families and bloodlines if she had the chance. She might have not been a good mother, but she was trying now, and the bond that she had formed with her girl meant everything. She was not willing to put her in any kind of danger. The driver held the door open, waiting for her to step out under the warm sun of Los Angeles, looking discreetly at the zoned-out eyes of his boss. Gently the old man cleared his throat which earned him a glare from Avis as she was woken up from her musings, but he was not intimidated, he had been present for the entire conversation she had had with her daughter about her safety and whether she should stay somewhere else until the entire situation cleared up; he knew what had occurred. Avis grabbed her purse with a furious grip, knuckles white at the strength with which she holding the accessory, and got out of the car, her entire frame held high as her steps stomped hard against the concrete ground. She would have to call on a meeting and inform Dick and Ellen about it, maybe Henry and a couple more people, but she was not willing to get the rest of the cast involved in such matters unless it was strictly necessary.

From the corner of her eye, she noticed that the spot where you usually parked your car was empty, that feeling that you should have stayed with her that night returning along with a sense of dread that made her stomach turn. No, she would not have wanted you to see the gift those bastards had left her. The halls were filled with chatter, but it wasn’t the usual nonsensical conversations she heard every day; words were full of fear, of worry, fragments about Molotov cocktails and fires reaching her ears. It surprised her how fast this news had travelled, she had expected to not hear a thing about it until later in the day, which made her wonder if this had not been an attack aimed only at her and Claire. She was beginning to believe this was bigger than she had anticipated. Standing in the lift she shifted her weight from one foot to the other, the image of the flames burning, scorching right before her, replaying in her mind on a loop. These people were beyond dangerous, they would go to extremes to achieve their purpose, and she wasn’t sure if she could face this. She was angry, furious, burning with rage, but would that be enough? Was the film worth losing everything else? The doubts she had had when it had still been Peg seemed like child’s play compared to all this, to the now that she was involved in. The doors chimed as the lift doors opened, her heels stepping over the carpeted hallway as she made her way to her office, rehearsing what she was going to say to Miss Stinton without giving too much away, but the words never made it out. Those big doors were open, Ellen sitting on the couch with her hands clasped neatly on her lap, Dick and Henry pacing up and down the room.

-Avis! – the blond woman was the first one to acknowledge her, turning her body nervously to face her friend, the writhing intensifying over her blue skirt. There was a veil of worry over her eyes, like a scared child who needed the comfort of her parents, who needed her friends to assure her that things would be alright, and no one would get hurt. An impossible mission, Avis thought. This might only be the beginning.

-What’s going on? Why are you all here?

-Things have escalated.

-Escalated? Dick? – the gravity of the situation implied by his words sent a shiver down Avis’s spine, her feet carrying her towards her desk so she could leave her purse over the dark wood, hands working on her ginger curls to unpin her hat. She was being deliberately slow, her back to them, doubting if she would not collapse under the pressure of it all. Because something told her that he wasn’t talking about the mob outside. She had expected problems, setbacks, and boycotts, but never had she considered the true extent of what these people might do.

-Camille and Archie have been targeted. A burning cross was left in Camille’s front yard, and they threw what we think was some sort of Molotov cocktail through Archie’s window. The whole place could have burnt down but thankfully it didn’t. These people are moving, Avis, and they are not being subtle about it

-Supposing it is who we think it is.

-Don’t give me that bullshit again, Henry. You know as much as everyone in this room that there’s only one group that gets something out of terrorising us. They’ve been against Meg since day one, boycotting our films, and being extremely vocal about how immoral it is. We all know how dangerous they are. You can’t tell me you haven’t heard stories about them and about how ugly things get if they don’t get their way.

-I’m not saying that it’s not them, Mr. Samuels, but do we have enough proof to say that it was them and not some random anti-black group? No one else in the production of Meg has come forth about something similar happening to them.

-Yes, we do. – Avis felt ice instead of blood pumping from her heart, leaving her body cold against the edge of the desk. This wasn’t just about who was in the film, it was about the studio as well. Turning to face her colleagues was a herculean task at most, legs unresponsive as she held onto the desk to the best of her abilities, dread glazing her eyes as they moved between the three people standing before her. – I was going to call you for a meeting to tell you, but I had someone break into my property last night and leave a burning cross in my front yard.

-What?!

-Claire woke me up saying that the house was on fire, so I grabbed her and went to the front door to get out and that’s when we saw it. There was no message, no threatening letter, nothing, just the cross.

-This is what I mean, Henry! It’s the fucking KKK! No one else would dare leave a fucking cross on fire at the Amberg residence!

-Calm down Dick. – Ellen’s demure and calm personality was always trying to reduce the tension of every encounter, every fight, but it was proving to be rather difficult as her own shoulders tensed in worry, her eyes not leaving Avis’s frame. This was big, it wasn’t just a prank or a game of some random revolutionary group, this was a full threat to everyone. It had moved from being dangerous for her and Claire to being a constant guillotine hovering over everyone’s head in this studio.

-How can I? We might be next; our families might already be on the list!

-Dick, stop! – Avi’s raised hand seemed to serve as a brake for Dick’s rant, forcing him to stop in his tracks and face her. She needed to get the facts straight before moving into step two of this plan she was making up on the spot. – Hold your horses there for a moment and tell me, are Camille and Archie alright?

-Yes. They were a bit shaken but nothing else happened. They called the authorities to have both items removed.

-Alright. You and Ellen haven’t been threatened, have you? No phone calls or strange letters in the mail? Odd visitors or strangers near your homes?

-Nothing of the sort, no. For now anyway.

-Okay. Then the question we all need to be asking ourselves is what are going to do about Meg?

-We can’t cancel it, Mrs. Amberg!

-This are people’s lives, Henry, it’s not a game!

-So, we just give them what they want? Lose all the money we’ve invested and have this reputation for being cowards for years to come?!

-I’m not risking my daughter’s life for a film!

-This is not about the film Mrs. Amberg! It’s about dignity, it’s about fighting back and not letting them walk all over us!

-I must agree with Henry, Avis. They don’t care about the film; they just don’t want a black woman to play the lead. This was never about whether the script was immoral or not, it was bout you green-lighting it and casting Camille. They can’t stand it when women “step out of line”.

-This might only be the beginning, Dick. Is it really worth it? Are we ready to face the consequences?

-You’ve seen it, Avis. Do you think it’s worth fighting for?

She supposed it all came down to that. The story was good, the scenes that were already in post-production were amazing, and it had the potential to be nominated for a fucking Oscar if it carried on like that. It was an amazing film. But it wasn’t just about the art; she knew they were right, it was never about breaking the Hays code or making an indecent film, it was because she was in charge, and she was doing exactly what Ace would have refused to do. She had been pushed aside over and over since birth all because she didn’t have a penis in between her legs, but that didn’t make her less good at her fucking job. She had power now, she could break rules and set new limits, and she could do whatever she wanted in her studio. Was she going to back down now? Was she really going to let these white men take it all from her, from Camille, and from every other woman who was willing to break out of the mold? No fucking way. This would be her life’s work, this might be the only chance to do something that could change lives, that could set a course for a new way of making films. She was too fucking tired of being in the shadows of men and she would not stand for it anymore. They wanted to leave burning crosses in her front yard? Let them. She would have the firefighters on speed dial. No more sitting down to let them do what they desired. There was defiance in her stance, her feet firmly on the floor as she stepped away from the desk and towards Ellen and Dick, palms pressed against the back of the couch, eyes glued to the man in question.

-Are Camille and Archie willing to continue?

-Yes. They said they were used to this sort of thing, Archie even mentioned a time when he saw his uncle being pulled from his bed and hanged from a tree in front of his house. They are scared, frightened even, but they are not surprised about it, and they are willing to carry on.

-These picketings and riots will continue every day until production is finished as well, it’s simply a fact, we all know it, Mrs. Amberg. So as a producer…

-Keep “producer” in quotes. – Henry was walking behind Avis on a loop, his shoes almost leaving a circular mark over the carpet as he moved his hands in front of his chest, emphasising his words even more. Dick’s jab barely made the younger man flinch as he carried on with his speech.

-So as a producer, I must ask, how are we going to make sure that we can continue?

-I can offer them bungalows until the film is done, but if they refuse to leave their homes, which let’s be honest, I wouldn’t do either unless I want to come back to a mount of ashes, I will pay for extra security at everyone’s place.

-This will cost the studio more money than what the budget can afford, Mrs. Amberg.

-Then I will pay for it from my own pocket. We all want this film, don’t we? And our leading cast is willing to carry on? Then we are not backing down. We are making a statement. I will not be bullied.

Fire burnt in her eyes, determination and strength seeping from every pore in her body. Henry was taken aback by how harsh and real her words sounded, but Ellen and Dick simply smiled as they shared a knowing look. There was the fisty Avis they had been looking for, the fiery woman they all knew and needed to fight this. She was a storm, a force of nature that could not be stopped, would not be stopped, and it was no matter what life threw her way, she would get up and carry on. There was rage inside her, an anger at the audacity of these people, but it wasn’t for herself anymore; these kids were good people, they were doing their jobs, things that they loved and meant something to them, they did not deserve to live lives like this. They shouldn’t have to know what the fear of being pulled out of one’s bed and shot should feel like, they shouldn’t have to worry about setting foot out in the streets only to be arrested for having done nothing, to get entire police stations chasing them because some white person called about a “dangerous figure” in their pristine rich neighbourhood. No human should have to know the fear of death as soon as they take their first breath. If the KKK were so ready to pull stunts like this using groups like the American Colonization Society to cover their asses, she was ready to fight back as well. Meg was her baby, and she wasn’t going to let anyone destroy all the hard work she had put into this. She was going to make history you had told her; she was doing what no one else had the balls to do; she wasn’t going to disappoint you. With hands as fists over the leather of the couch she locked eyes with Dick.

-Go down to the set and tell them of our decision. If we want to stay within budget, we can’t afford slip-ups. We must stay on schedule.

Without so much as a nod, he left the room, beaming with pride, followed closely by Henry, the voice of the younger man reaching Avis’s ears as he retorted to Dick about not letting him call himself a producer. They were like children, bickering over the stupidest things. Ellen was the only person left, watching the way Avis rubbed her fingertips and pulled at the hem of her jacket while her eyes still lingered by the doors, a nervous habit the blond knew far too well. There was something else rummaging in that mind of hers, Ellen could see it in her deep doe eyes that flickered from side to side, on the way the ginger bit her lower lip, curiosity peeking through the craziness of the situation. Avis didn’t even get the chance to tell her friend to stay, she had already stood and closed the doors in less than five seconds, making her way back to the couch to sit in front of her, the redhead playing with the stitches that held the leather together. She wasn’t sure why she wanted her to be there, she just knew that she would be the only that could understand these feelings. There was something wrong that no one was seeing, and it unnerved her beyond belif. Something was practically screaming at her from the back of her mind that you should have stayed with her last night, clawing at her heart, the hair on the back of her neck standing every time she left the sensation washing over her. It was as if there was imminent danger in her future and she could not see which way it was coming from.

-Is Claire okay?

-Yeah. She was obviously scared at first but once the fire was out and the police left a couple of boys by the gates she calmed down.

-And you?

-You want an honest answer?

-You know I do, Avis.

-I’m shitting bricks. I hardly slept last night. – it was far too early in the morning for this, but she needed a drink. Maybe the alcohol would make all these feelings diminish their intensity, perhaps even numb her enough that she would be able to carry on with this shit of a day. Ever since you had left, your tender smile still lingering in her mind like the remnants of a sweet wine, everything had gone wrong, and she felt that deep down, she should have known something like this was coming. With tired steps Avis made her way to the table in the furthest corner, eyeing each bottle with practiced care but leaving the shakers on the side as she could not be bothered with the hassle of making a martini. She poured herself a glass of scotch instead, the amber liquid falling gently inside the glass, letting the initial burn bathe her throat before settling in her stomach with a deep sigh, finally building up the courage to face Ellen. - I just can’t wrap my head around how people can do this sort of thing. I thought things would change after the war, but everything’s the same. We are still being persecuted and objectified; black people are still being murdered on the streets, and we think that it’s normal. It isn’t! It shouldn’t be, Ellen.

-Believe me, I understand better than anyone what you mean.

-Are we doing the right thing? They’ve come for Camille, Archie and me, but we can handle it, what if they targeted someone like Jack? Or Ernie?

-Don’t get ahead of yourself. You are already working on it, and I’m sure that as soon as these people see that their little stunt hasn’t worked, they will stop.

-I hope you are right. Ace would drop dead on the spot if he knew about what’s going on. – she could almost see his disapproving glares and disgusted smirks, making her feel so small, so insignificant. But she also knew that as macho as he always acted, he wouldn’t have the strength to put up with all of this, he wouldn’t fight for what was right, he would simply shut it all down and bow down to all those bastards trying to intimidate him. She was far from that sort of woman, even if the doubts took hold of her every chance they got, after all, people’s lives were at stake here, not just a film and a budget.

-But he isn’t here, dear, you are. This is your studio.

-Which means I’m responsible for everyone under this roof and I’ll be dammed if I let some man-child throw a hissy fit on my doorstep. Next time I’ll shove those crosses up their asses, mark my words, Ellen.

-Oh, I can totally see you doing that. – she patted the seat next to her, the leather cold under her palm, but her smile warm and inviting. Avis didn’t protest, simply made her way to the appointed spot and let herself fall as gracefully as possible with the glass still in her hand, taking a sip once she was settled. Ellen’s expression had changed slightly, observing her friend with a raised eyebrow and a coy smile on her lips, the fear and worry that had previously overtaken her eyes, now pushed to the back. She had been caught, Avis thought. Of course, her best friend would find out about her affair, but maybe she could play it safe and keep you to herself for a bit longer, although it would be a hard task. Thinking about you brought a light blush to her cheeks, calming her racing thoughts and pressured feelings somewhat. - So… why aren’t you telling me to go back to work? What little secret are you hiding from me?

-I’m not hiding anything.

-Really? So, if I ask why Y/N came to work the other day wearing your black shawl, you are going to tell me that it was because she was cold and you simply lent it to her the night before?

-It’s not like that, Ellen. – here she was, with a screaming mob outside and fire dangling above her head and the only thing that she cared about was making sure you were not defamed in front of her. You had never been a one-night stand or some means for her to achieve an orgasm. You were everything to her; the moon, the sun, the stars, the air that she breathed, and the land she walked upon. Avis’s eyes were stern when she lifted them from the amber liquid in her glass to stare at Ellen’s endless blue ones. - She’s not like the boys from the gas station.

-But you like her.

-I do, but most importantly, she likes me back. We have… something special. She makes me feel like I matter, as if I’m human and therefore deserving of love and recognition. When I’m with her I’m a million dollars all in brand-new twenties.

-Oh, my Lord. Avis Amberg, you are in love! – that wasn’t news to her, but hearing it from someone else made her heart skip a beat, a giddy smile painting her lips. It was strange to have another person voice it so plainly, it made it so real, but the again, it was. She was madly and utterly in love with you.

-I know it’s wrong, to a certain extent, since I’m married, but everything’s just so perfect when I’m with her.

-Oh, this is wonderful! - what? Avis’s eyes were wide in surprise, the left corner of her mouth lifting in a lopsided smile as she stared dumbfounded at Ellen. It wasn’t that Ellen didn’t know about all the conquests that she carried under her belt, but somehow, she had expected her to defend the values of her marriage to Ace a bit more, but she hadn’t even tried. And that simple fact and the genuine smile that she was giving her lifted a weight of her shoulders that she hadn’t known was crushing her. – She’s a lovely girl, and she clearly is doing you a world of good. Oh, Avis, I would love to ask her to come up here to gossip about it all, but she hasn’t arrived yet.

-Y/N is not here yet?

-No. I thought it was odd, since she’s always so punctual, in her chair at seven sharp, and she always informs me if she has an appointment or if she’s feeling ill, but I had too much on my mind this morning to think about it for too long. – all the joy and warmth of this little moment was wiped out in under a second, her words cutting sharply and making that nagging and disconcerting feeling of dread rise to the surface like foam exploding from a champagne bottle. She noticed the change in her friend’s demeanour, the way her eyes unfocused for a moment, lost in a world of their own as her stance became sharp, tense under the touch of Ellen’s slender fingers on her arm. - Avis?

-She accompanied me home last night, but she didn’t stay. I heard her car drive off.

-I’m sure she’s fine. Maybe she forgot to tell me about an appointment, or something came up.

-No. I had this feeling last night, I still have it now, that she should have stayed. It wasn’t because I would miss her, it was just this visceral need to keep her safe with me, as if I could protect her. – she placed the glass on the coffee table, the scotch nearly spilling over the rim and onto her pale hand. - Something’s wrong. It’s like there’s this danger right in front of me that I can’t see, and it’s somehow related to her.

-Calm down, Avis. I’m sure that all this is brought on by the circumstances and she’s in fact fine.

-You don’t understand Ellen. I felt it in my bones, in my soul that she needed to stay, that something would go wrong if she left, and I still let her walk away. What if she’s had an accident or has gone missing?

-Missing? I wouldn’t quite say that being late for work qualifies a person as missing. You are letting your thoughts get the better of you. Y/N might be at home, and you are just worrying over nothing.

-But what if she isn’t? After last night can you blame me for wondering if she’s alright?

-I suppose not. Maybe you can send someone down to her address, check it out.

-Yes, I think that would work.

She rushed to her feet, hands shaking. If something had happened to you, she would blame herself for all eternity, the image of your car smoking, crashed against a lamppost or falling down a bridge, exploding into a million pieces passing through her mind, making her heart race against her ribs. The palms of her hands were sweaty as she pulled the doors open once more, eyes landing on Miss Stinton instantly, her feet stumbling slightly as she made her way to the woman’s desk. Ellen had stood from her spot on the couch, but didn’t follow, she merely rounded the piece of furniture and headed for the window, waiting for Avis to finish her conversation with her secretary. She could not say that your tardiness wasn’t strange, but she wouldn’t go the extent of saying that you were missing, not really, but her friend seemed so sure, so worried and scared that she was doubting her own reassurances. Everything about this day was beginning to look like a macabre play and they were all performing it against their will. Someone was bound to get hurt sooner rather than later. The shrill sound of the phone ringing inside the office interrupted her train of thought, and after glancing towards Avis who was writing something down on a piece of paper while talking hurriedly, Miss Stinton nodding her head solemnly, Ellen walked quickly to pick it up. There was silence for a moment on the other side of the line.

-Mrs. Amberg’s office, how may I help you?

-Did Avis like the present we left in her garden last night? – her blood ran cold. A man’s voice spoke to her, words distorted as if a cloth was covering the bottom part of the handset, a mocking tone lacing them, deep and rumbling. They raked at her spine, freezing her on the spot without a clue what to do, what to say, but he knew she was still there, her breathing sharp and hurried against the black phone. It was them, that was the only thing clear in her mind, but them calling was most definitely a bad sign that there was something else going on. Maybe they had overlooked a detail, and it had led to this, Ellen could not be sure.

-Would… would you hold for a moment, please? – she did not wait for a response, even though she wasn’t certain she would get one. With eyes wides, she turned her body around, almost as if the world was suddenly happening around her in slow motion, knuckles white as she held hard onto the receiver. - Avis! – the woman was talking still with Miss Stinton, dismissing her call with the wave of her hand before returning her attention to something displayed on her secretary’s desk. God dammit Avis, this was far more important! Fear and anger were beginning to spread like wildfire through her limbs, overtaking the numbness and shock. - AVIS!

-What?!

-This is for you. 

She would have huffed and retorted at her friend if the sight of her pale face had not made all sorts of alarms go off in her head. The way she was holding the phone, as if her life depended on it, the fear dressing her features, made her hands tremble, her heart racing against her ribs so hard that she thought she might bruise them. There had been a slight waver to her friend’s words as she had spoken them that had brought goosebumps up all over her skin in worry. She was usually so well spoken, perfect dictation and tone lacing everything she said; this was wrong. Avis’s steps were slow, unsure at first, but Ellen’s stance did not falter, if only it got worse as she began to shake, forcing her movements to become faster, clumsier as well over the carpet. On the other side of the receiver, the man puffed his chest, his patience running thin. He had half a mind to hang up, but he could not lose the opportunity to threaten and bargain with the woman he so wanted to crush into dust. The longer this went on for, the higher the chance of them getting caught, and he could not afford such a thing to happen. He needed the girl alive until he got what he wanted, and he wasn’t planning on keeping her around past this evening. Avis’s perfectly manicured hand stretched out, palm upright to receive the phone, the plastic making contact with her skin as Ellen handed it to her, the blond rushing to cover her mouth as the other woman removed her earring before pressing the handset against her ear.

-Hello?

-You don’t seem to be a fan of fire, are you Avis? – the insolence of this man! To call her and mock her like this, filled her entire being with fury, eyes narrow and hard, locked onto Ellen’s figure but without actually seeing her. How fucking dare he! She could almost feel the way he was smiling as he addressed her, as if he held the upper hand during this conversation. He knew perfectly well that this little stunt had caused an uproar, and that she had not appreciated it in the slightest, but to call her at the office when the cable girls had every strict orders to not let any unsolicited numbers through meant this wasn’t a simple inquiry about her health, per se. Even through the cloth he was clearly using to disguise himself, Avis could hear the sounds of cars in the distance, random honks breaking the otherwise silent air around this man. She bit back with all the rage she could muster, making her words sharp, as if they could draw out blood.

-Who’s this?!

-Oh, please, do I need an introduction? I thought that my little present had been enough, but maybe I was wrong.

-Who are you?! What do you want?!

-Now, now, there’s no rush. No need to become so emotional, my dear woman. Did you like the cross? It was made out of the best wood.

-You think that a thing like that can scare me?! Well, you are wrong. I have put up with worse shit than that.

-I suspected as much. You can be so stubborn Avis. That’s why I have taken the liberty of doing something special for you. – her head was cold, ice in her veins at the sound of his words. They were dangerous, spoken in such a low deep voice that a shiver of terror ran down her back. This was it; she could feel it in her bones, the dread she had been holding onto all night spreading to every cell, from the top of her head to the tip of her fingers and toes, horror overtaking the rage that had glazed her eyes. She could see the danger she had been running away from standing before her in a dark cloak that hid its features, a sharp dagger in its hand waiting to rip her to shreds. He had caught up with her at last. Ellen’s heart dropped to her stomach the instant she saw the shift in Avis’s entire demeanour, needing to place a hand over the desk to keep herself upright as all colour drained from her friend’s face. And then those cursed words slipped out of his lips and the world crumbled around Avis. - You did not say how pretty she looks when unconscious.

-WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?

-So temperamental. I simply made sure to have an incentive so you would cooperate. What are you willing to do to make sure I don’t hurt this pretty young thing you seem so taken with, Avis? Would you kill? Would you die?

-DON’T FUCKING TOUCH HER! – she was panicking, she could not describe it any other way. Her heart was two seconds away from bursting in anger and fear, making her breaths so hurried that even though air was going through them she felt as if there was no oxygen reaching her brain. They had taken you! They couldn’t be sure she would do what they desired after threatening part of the cast and her own daughter, so they had kidnapped you. Every fibre of her being was screaming in agony at the thought of you being locked somewhere, in the dark, rats scurrying through the corners of the room while you cried and begged for help, beaten and bruised. Her heart almost bled through her clothes as she imagined your broken voice calling her name.

-I won’t if you comply with my requests.

-You think you can call me and make demands?! Who the hell do you think you are?!

-Careful, Avis, are you sure you are in a position to anger me and deny me my every wish? My finger can slip so easily and pull the trigger of my gun. – her breath hitched in her lungs, the grip on the phone so strong that she felt as if the plastic could shatter in between her fingers. She had to calm down, she couldn’t let her temper cloud her mind and risk your safety, as much as she hated being threatened and bullied. His words had left no room for hope of your release unless she complied, knowing that if he didn’t get what he wanted, he would kill you without mercy and dump your body somewhere for bears or wild dogs to eat. After a moment of resolution, she spoke again, voice quieter, levelled.

-What are your requests?!

-I knew you would understand. I want you to cancel the production of Meg for good, and to take all the rolls of film, every single scene you have, to the forest close to Hollywood station. And don’t even think of pulling any sort of tricks on me and leave some other film instead, because I will know, Avis, and I won’t hesitate to send you the girl’s head all wrapped up in tissue paper.

-If you lay a hand on her, I swear I will find you and destroy you.

-How will you achieve that when you don’t even know who I am? – he was right, she had no idea how to find him, who he was, or where he was calling from. He could be all across the country for all she knew, having used puppets to frighten them and kidnap you with the dark of the night as their cover. His words left a bitter taste on her tongue, but she could find no retort to his statement. In the background the whistle of a train echoed loudly, the sound of its wheels screeching over the tracks for a few seconds before it vanished into the distance, overpowering the silence that had otherwise been in the background throughout the entire conversation. Wherever this man was he had means of escape, she thought, but it all slipped to the back of her mind as he carried on talking. - Don’t play the hero Avis, it doesn’t suit you. Back to business. I also want you to write a binding contract handing the direction of the studio to an unknown party. Leave the name of the new owner blank but sign the document.

-I refuse to do that. One thing it’s the film and another very different is to hand out the entire company to a stranger.

-Does the studio mean more to you than Y/N? Is that what you are saying? Maybe I misinterpreted your actions, and you don’t care enough about her to save her. Makes killing her a much easier task for me.

-NO! DON’T!

-Then leave the document along with the rolls where I said before twelve, and she’ll find her merry way back to you before the day is over.

-Let me talk with her first.

-Why do people always ask for the same thing? It’s as if you don’t trust me.

-Of course, I don’t you fucking psychopath!

-Now, Avis, don’t insult me. I have half a mind to chop one or two of Y/N’s fingers to show you how a lady should behave.

-Please, don’t hurt her, just… - if only she could hear your voice, make sure you were alive, she would push through, no matter what she had to do. Just a chance to talk with you so she could make a choice between what was right and what was easy. This agony that had taken her heart hostage was suffocating, forming a lump in her throat as she fought to keep her voice as steady as possible, slow so he wouldn’t think she was begging more than she already was. - just let me talk with her.

-I suppose I can grant you that. Alright. – there was a ruffling sound on the line, followed by the scratching of something metallic over rough ground, probably cement Avis thought, before it all stopped and the voice of the man reached her ears, the cloth gone from the handset. It sounded familiar, deep, with a gentle tilt around certain letters. She was sure she had heard it before, but it was too far away for her to pinpoint exactly who it belonged to; maybe she was wrong altogether and she was simply trying to find someone to blame all this for that wasn’t herself. - Here, say hello to your mistress.

-Avis? – if she had been shot straight through the heart it would have hurt less. You sounded so weak, so scared and she could do nothing to ease your pain and fears. Tears were pooling on the corner of her eyes, blurring her vision and making Ellen’s shaky form hardly a shape, just blobs of blue tones. The blond was barely holding on as it was, hand on her chest as if that could help her galloping heart slow down.

-Y/N! Oh, God, are you okay? Can you tell me where you are? I shouldn’t have let you leave last night. It’s all my fault.

-Avis, listen to me. Don’t give him shit. You finish that film and show it to the world, and you make sure that everyone knows what these jerks did to try and stop it, what it took. I don’t care if I never make it out of this room; I will die for your chance to fuck them over, and I’ll do it proudly. Just don’t give in. Ever.

-You bitch! – flesh collided with flesh, resonating against the walls of the prison he was keeping you in. The slap had left a sting on your cheek, making your wounds bleed again, dripping hot crimson blood over what once was porcelain skin, now black and blue. She could not get it out of her mind, the sound of your pain, the angry voice of this man, echoing in Avis’s head. It felt as if she had been the one hit, shot over and over without giving her the chance to protect herself, her heart being ripped out of her chest, killing her as a whimper made its way out of your mouth, miserable in the silence that should have accompanied you, but he was moving, maybe circling you, his footsteps hard against the ground. Calling out your name was an involuntary reflex that slipped from her red lips.

-Y/N!

-Don’t look for me, Avis! Don’t let them win! I LOVE YOU!

-Y/N! Y/N!

The line went dead. It didn’t matter how many times she slammed the plunger not a sound came through, your voice the last thing remaining in her ears. It was agony to know that she had put you in harm’s way unknowingly, that your life depended on one single choice that happened to be the most important and most difficult she could make in her life. She did not know whether she wanted to cry or scream, this pain that was clawing at her heart was so raw and profound that it was snatching the air out of her lungs. She had had you in her hands and she had let you slip through her fingers. This was her fault, everything her own stupid fault! If Ellen had not held onto Avis’s upper arms the woman would have collapsed onto the floor, the strength the blond possessed managing to sit her on the couch, the receiver dangling from the desk, forgotten as bitter, sorrowful tears finally broke through Avis’s eyelashes and began to fall. They burnt the same scorching fire she had felt coming from the cross. But the clock was ticking, seconds were passing, minutes following close by and your life hung by a deadline that she had to meet if she wanted you safe. But your words bounce against her skull, making the mental pain so physical that her limbs ached in anguish. “Don’t look for me”. Through her blurry vision, she locked eyes with Ellen, grief lacing her every word.

-Go find Dick. Now.

 Your head was pounding as your eyes blinked open, the semi-unconscious state you were still in making the pain so distant around your body. It was as if you were floating outside of it, but it was short-lived. The world around you swayed from side to side, in circles that made you dizzy, as the confusion of what had happened twirled like rivulets around your many thoughts, snippets of the conversation floating senselessly in your mind as your eyes tried to refocus on the room. It was still the same, dark and gloomy, drops of condensation falling in a steady rhythm from some corner or other, the musty damp smell assaulting your nose along with the metallic stench you were bathed in. Nothing had changed except for the flame that was now burning bright in the oil lantern, allowing you to see the figure of the man sitting opposite your place in the middle of the room, the shadows still hiding his face from you. You did not need to see him to know that he was angry. The simple action of turning your head to observe the floor left you close to unconsciousness again, a sharp pain coming from your temple down to your neck rendering you useless, weak before his predatory eyes. Why had he hit you? You could feel the leftover sting on your manhandled skin, but could not make sense of the why, of anything that was going on in your head, frustrating and disconcerting you as you found yourself as lost as when you had first woken up in here. If only you could calm yourself enough so the pieces of your abused mind could fall into place.

Without warning the man stood, his body towering over yours, the previously bloodied clothes long gone, replaced by a pristine brown suit, but there was one thing wrong. His left shoe was stained in your blood. Of course, you had told Avis not to listen to him and he had got angry, hitting you on the side of your head with his foot after he had slammed the phone against the ground. Little pieces of beige plastic were still scattered on the floor you saw, in between puddles of your own blood, the stains dark against the dirty grey concrete. Everything was falling into place. The conversation, what had happened in front of your building last night, the punches and pushes as he asked you question after question and you didn’t give him the answer he was so looking for. He was running out of time and was becoming increasingly furious at your lack of cooperation, his steps getting closer to you with each passing second. To say that you weren’t scared would have been a lie, the terror spreading all over your body, inch by inch, but you were also determined to succeed in your endeavour. Avis had to finish the film and show the world that the KKK held no power over them, no matter how many threats and blood was spilt, the people had to fight for freedom. If you had to die to achieve it, so be it. At least you had got the chance to tell her that you loved her.

And that simple action made his blood boil; it was clear in his hard cold eyes. They shone so bright amongst the shadows, lies dressed in sky blue to lure you in before he could deliver the final blow. Sweat ran down your arms, beads forming on your forehead that fell in slow motion over your cheeks, from the tip of your nose and fell over the scrapes on your legs, stinging, but you didn’t make a sound. Not this time. His fingers ghosted over your injured shoulder, the heat emanating from him contrasting with how cold you felt, his hand moving up to your neck, but he never actually touched you. Perhaps he didn’t wish to stain his expensive shirt, you thought bitterly. He kept circling you, watching your staggering breaths, a quiet hissing sound breaking from inside you with each puff of air, drinking in the way your body shook even if he wasn’t touching you, harming you in any way, not that he didn’t desire to crush that pretty skull of yours under his shoe. The need to win was overly intoxicating to him, like a drug that was speeding through his system, pumping adrenaline up to his brain. He needed to win, he would ensure he took the studio from her, and the instant that happened, no black person would set foot inside his domains. He would handle Ace when the time came. He was giving you his back, shoulder square, as he observed the flame before he turned around and grabbed your face roughly, a yelp mixing with a painful whimper as the pads of his fingers dug deep over your wounds. The pain blurred your vision as tears gathered behind closed eyelids.

-You think you are so clever, playing this game that you can’t win. Why did you even bother to give her false hope? I will get what I want even if I end up with two dead bodies in my hands.

-All that ego and self-assuredness might come back to bite you in the ass… sir.

His hand released your face, relief washing through every cell in your body, but it was short-lived. Square on the chest his foot made contact with your flesh, the hard sole leaving a bloody imprint on the fabric of your dress. There was no air in your lungs, only agony that spread like wildfire all along your ribs and sternum preventing you from breathing, miserably gasping in failed attempts to get this torture to end. In slow motion, your body tilted back, and it wasn’t until your arms collided against the cold, hard ground, crushing them under the weight of your body and the back of the chair that you realised he had not only hit you, but pushed you as well. From your raw throat, a scream tore through the abused cords, saliva mixing with blood in your mouth as the sound echoed against the bare walls. You had never in your entire life felt something like this, the way your bones seemed to be made out of glass, breaking and shattering all around you, your skin ripping and falling off your body, muscles melting in the scorching white fire that enfolded you, organs failing at doing the most mundane of tasks. The blow could not kill you but if he decided to end your misery now you would have considered it an ounce of mercy that this heartless son of a bitch was willing to give you. But alas he thrived in making you feel like a piece of dirt in his eyes, and he had no intention of destroying you. Not yet anyway. He squatted and bent until his face was inches from yours, a maddening smile on his thin lips as your eyes battled against the spasms that tormented your body, focusing after a moment, finally able to see his features under the flickering light of the flame.

-Remember that your life is not the only one at stake here, Y/N. You failed to tell me how to end her, so now I’m obligated to go and ensure that Avis does what told, making me lose precious time. I do not like being played with and I do not wish for things to get any messier, it takes so much work to clean up after, so be a good girl and stay put and quiet. – it could not be. He had been around you and Avis for years, his glances and discriminatory words floating around the studio as if he was addressing the state of the stock market, and neither of you hadn’t suspected a thing, but of course, it had to be him, no one else gained something from making so much noise about this entire situation. It had made no sense, but laying here now, your body broken and bleeding in despair, mind foggy and dizzy as the pain still rippled through your veins, you realised that everything that had led up to this moment, that first instant that had sparked it all, had been staring at you from the very beginning. You should have seen it coming, you thought, his breath stinking of alcohol and those dammed cigars that you despised so much, but he had played his cards too well, hiding in plain sight. No one would have thought it could have reached this point. Coming to stand to his full height he observed you manically, eyes almost twitching as he assessed you, thinking about what he could do with you before his shoe collided with your head again and the world turned black. Perhaps next time he knocked you unconscious you would not wake up, he thought gleefully, a trickle of your blood falling from your nose onto the concrete. – Well, no one is going to hear you now for sure.

On the wall the clock ticked, marking each passing second as a companion to Avis’s steps over the carpet, a constant rhythm that grated on her nerves as the anguish that had overtaken her senses clouded her mind. The skin around her nails was bitten, broken and in some areas bleeding slowly around the bright red of her nails, stains of her lipstick marking the spots where her mouth had made contact with her fingers, anxiety bringing forth a habit she had tried to quit since little. Every thought was a turmoil of emotions and actions that left her confused, unsteady on her feet, pacing up and down her office while Dick and Henry argued over this and that, background noise to her. She could not get your voice out of her mind, the way the pain laced every word, the way she could hear the rawness of your throat and the whizzing of your breathing against the receiver. It was like a dagger was slicing through her chest with every passing second, digging deeper and deeper, staining her clothes in sticky hot blood, dripping from her hands in agony as the conversation replied in her mind with no chance of escape. She had never meant for any of this to happen, to put you in harm’s way like this when the only thing her heart desired was to simply be with you. She should have known that Meg would bring consequences of this calibre, she should have been prepared, and yet she was caught completely off guard by it all, cursing her own existence as the sound of your pleading but determined words banged against her skull. The touch of a gentle pair of hands on top of her shoulders forced her to halt her train of thought, turning her head slightly to the right to see Ellen’s kind eyes staring back at hers.  

-Why don’t you sit down? You are going to wear a hole in the carpet with all this pacing.

She was right. The constant motion all over her office was not doing anything at calming her nerves, she wasn’t even paying attention to what Dick was saying, ideas and questions that flew over her head and never received an answer. She could not afford to let her mind get lost in her grief, she had to push it all aside and find a way. She could not lose you; it would kill her. The blond’s tender touch and warm smile made it easy for Avis to turn her body away from the doors, walking in between the coffee table and the couch until Ellen pushed her slowly against the leather, letting her body fall over the cushions. It was a beautiful contrast to the battlefield inside this room the way that her friend’s voice never rose in volume, never berated her or asked things of her that Avis knew she could not give, it was as if two polar opposites were residing inside this office and she was caught in between them, the compassion that exuded from Ellen’s body with each movement she made, settling herself beside the ginger on the couch and the tumultuous and loud atmosphere that surrounded the two men, like a fire that was sure to consume her if she got too close. Her brown eyes watched them all, but her ears could not pick up words or sentences, only the rage that poured out of Dick and the nonchalant air that came from Henry’s uncaring eyes. He didn’t understand, he didn’t know Y/N like they did, like she did; to him, she was just a name with no face that he would not cry about at the end of the day. And that single thought fuelled the fire that had stood dormant in her chest, exactly what she had needed to spring into action, the previous hazy world around her now moving at the speed of light, eyes locked furiously on the two males that still ranted before her.

-We can’t just let that man get what he wants! This film is far too important, you’ve said it a thousand times, Dick!

-That was before a woman’s life was on the line! We can’t just simply say no to his demands and let him kill her! For God’s sake Henry, think a little!

-I am thinking, you are the one who’s letting his emotions fill your argument! If we give him the film and the studio what guarantees us that that girl won’t be killed anyway?!

-Nothing, but that doesn’t mean that we have to abandon her! We can’t just give up! What do we do, Henry, don’t put up a fight and try to make a deal? Or reach an agreement so a woman won’t fucking die?!

-We listen to her! The girl told us not to give into his demands, isn’t that right Mrs. Amberg? – everyone’s eyes were on her, waiting, breaths held. The girl is really what he addressed you as? It’s that what he thought of you, that you were just some random girl the studio had hired? You had a name, you were not just a number on a long list of paychecks that had to be delivered at the end of the month, and she refused to let him forget it. With a deep sigh, Avis finally spoke for what seemed like the first time in hours.

-Y/N said to make the film, to show it to the world.

-See?

-But we won’t.

-What?! – she closed her eyes at the sound of his raised voice, grimacing at the sound for a moment. She understood that this was his big opportunity, that this film would put him out there as a producer and cancel it meant going back to the position he had all his life, but she couldn’t quite comprehend why he was so adamant about continuing when everyone else seemed to understand that the best thing was to halt it all, maybe even to end it here and now, that this wasn’t just a threat and a menacing phone call. A woman had a gun to her head for all she knew. His unwillingness to see that this was the right choice unnerved and angered Avis, but she tried her best to keep her voice steady and neutral.

-I don’t care about how much this fucking movie might change the world or help the minorities. That was the main argument before, but not now. I am not willing to lose her for something that will end up picking up dust on a shelf once theatres either stop showing it or refuse to do it in the first place.

-You can’t be serious! We’ll lose all the money we’ve invested, all the money that we’ve given to those magazines to cover up for your indiscretions. Everything down the drain when this girl told us to carry on! This is insane!

-No! What’s insane is how willing you are to throw her under the bus! This is a person we are talking about, a fucking human being that means the entire fucking universe to me! I don’t care how many rolls of film get burnt, or if the entire building collapses as long as we get her out of wherever that psychopath has her!

-And the studio? Do we hand that to him on a silver platter as well? What would Mr. Amberg say if he woke up and saw that his life’s work was in the hands of some stranger?!

-BUT HE’S NOT HERE! THIS IS MY STUDIO AND I HAVE THE LAST WORD! – the glass of scotch she had left on the table shook under the force with which she slammed her fist over the wood, creaking slightly where her hand was resting. She was fucking exhausted of everyone bringing up her husband any chance they got. She was in charge now, not him, and she couldn’t give less of a fuck about what he would do or not do! She was not going to let anyone get killed for a fucking film, no matter how important it may be! She was Avis fucking Amberg, not some random clerk from a shop, and she would be dammed fi she was going to let anyone tell her what to do and then hit her with the “What would Ace say” card when things didn’t go their way. This was her choice to make, and only hers, and she had already made up her mind about the whole situation he instant that man had phoned. If henry didn’t like it, he could quit and cry about it in his own fucking house like the child he seemed to be. Inside the room silence filled every crack and crevice, the only sound that could be heard being Avis’s angry hurried breaths and the ticking of the clock, a constant reminder that the longer this argument took the closer you were to Death. Dick could not even bring himself to speak, shock clear in his face at Avis’s sudden outburst while Henry’s words rang in his head like a broken record. This was such a mess.   

-So that’s it? You were so willing to carry on and now… puff… we bend over the desk and let them fuck us?! And here I thought that you would change things Avis. What a fool I was.

-Why can’t you understand, Henry, that this is no longer about the studio or the film? This is a personal vendetta against all of us, against me, and Y/N doesn’t deserve to die because of it.

-Except that she clearly stated she would take one for the team and protect you, the studio, and Meg. You told us she said to not look for her, that she would die proudly if it meant inching closer to destroying these people. Do you really want to risk everyone and everything for her!?

-Henry. – Ellen’s voice held none of the warmth she had used with Avis, quite the opposite. Her tone was a warning one, as if she was giving him the chance to retract himself and leave it all be before he said something he would regret, but he could not stop now that he had began to pour all his frustrations out. He might get fired for this, he thought, but he had to protect his interests, his own future and that of the studio, even if it meant standing up to Avis and Dick.

-No, Ellen. Her life is not the only one hanging on by a thread! Archie and Camille could have been easily murdered. Hell, you and your daughter could have been shot in the middle of the night while in bed, Avis! If we give up now, if we give in, the world will still be the same, with its injustices, its reign of terror and fear, with no chance of fixing that which we have broken in the first place. Nothing will have changed, and the girl might still die.

-Enough, Henry! I wouldn’t do it; I can’t do it. I’m sorry, but this is personal now.

-God, Avis, you are being unreasonable! If this is all just a vendetta against you and not just a persecution for breaking the Hays Code, who even would gain something by doing all this, huh, tell me?! Who would want to kidnap her and make such demands?!

-Someone from the studio.

Dick’s words echoed in the room for a few seconds, ringing curiously inside her head before a commotion in the hallway made it fall to the back of everyone’s mind. Miss Stinton voice reached their ears, distressed, struggling hard to keep someone away from the office, but it was a lost battle, and with a huff and the sound of her back colliding with the edge of the desk, Lon’s figure crossed the threshold as if he owned the place, briefcase in hand and that look of superiority bathing his features. God, not him, Avis thought. She could not deal with him right now. He would start talking all his bullshit, making them lose precious time, trying to convince her of doing things his way as if that was the only logical option, and she really didn’t want to lose her temper and tell him anything about what was going on with Y/N. She could almost see him using that information to berate her and act like the entitled son of a bitch he was. Her hand still laid on the table in a fist, but her eyes didn’t land on it, they observed the liquid amber that was still left in the glass, a rim of the spilled drink surrounding it, probably staining the wood already. In frustration she picked it up and took a sip, her body partially turned away from him since Henry was standing before her big desk, opposite the doors.

-Don’t get up.

-I won’t. – her eyes rolled of their own accord, his voice already grating on her nerves as his feet firmly planted over the edge of the carpet, standing before them as he tried to make himself seem taller, bigger. Did he think he stood a chance of cowering Avis down by using that macho act? Dick had to give it to him if he truly thought he could. He supposed that being delusional could be an acquired skill after so many years of being a cunt.

-In light of recent events I’ve come to inform you that production on Meg must be halted.

-Didn’t I fire you weeks ago? - The fucking cheek he had to use that condescending tone in her own office!  

-You don’t have that power. I work for Mr. Amberg.

-That is out of line. – Dick stepped in like a spring, getting closer to the man in hopes of stopping him from heading the way he knew he was heading. The air was thick with tension, hot air swaying in between them as Avis’s frame became straighter on her spot, the grip on her glass so hard that Ellen was nearly counting the seconds it would take to shatter.

-Refusing to shut this picture down is out of line. Mrs. Amberg leaves me no option but to take legal action.

That was it! She had put up with him for years, smiling politely at his comments, swallowing her pride each time he jabbed at her lack of a job or power, laughing at her with his smirks and stabbing words about Ace’s affairs. She had been a lady and had taken it all for the sake of the studio, of her husband’s reputation. He was a cruel, perverted man, that much became clear when he had tried to get his way with you at the New Year’s Eve party, but after Ace’s heart attack he had become so full of himself, as if the world owed him and he could get whatever he wanted with just one word. He had tried his best to wear her down enough that she would quit, and she had considered it once or twice, but for him to come here when she was already furious enough about everything that was going on and tell her that he was taking this to a fucking judge! She couldn’t do whatever she fucking desired in her own fucking studio?! The glass in her hand was slammed onto the table once more, the scotch dripping off the rim as she stood in fury, Ellen’s hands stretching to grab her, but to no avail; she was too far away.

-This is my studio.

-I recognise that this is emotional for you. With all that’s been happening, you are not thinking clearly.

-Oh. – he was trying to play a game of fake sympathy, she noticed, the term emotional tilting slightly as he said it, almost mockingly. Two could play at that. Lulling her head gently to the side she smiled sweetly at him, lacing her every word with a fake kindness and sugary tone, dripping thickly like honey over his entire body, purposely tripping him. - A woman makes a decision and suddenly she’s irrational.

-No, no, That’s not… I didn’t mean to…

-Yes, you did! You waltz in here whenever you desire to remind me that you are there, always watching. – every step was meticulously planned, slow in execution, but it made him visibly shake as the gap between them became less and less. Yes, Lon, fear me, she thought, you will all know who I am, soon enough. -By the time you get your ducks in a row for our little date in court, my picture will be in the can. – anger glazed his eyes, fingers twitching around his briefcase, but he didn’t raise a hand to her, no matter how much he desired to. Avis’s triumphant smile was almost too much for him, the way she thrived in her victory, but he could not let his temper get the best of him; no, she had made her choice, and he would abide by her wishes. No one in the room moved, no one dared speak as the tension built higher, close to a breaking point. Her big brown eyes raked over his face wishing she could photograph and frame his expression, taking notice of an injury on his cheek, as if he had been scratched, the wounds fresh and reddened over his pale skin but she didn’t care much for it. It was the sudden change in his features that disturbed her, the way his eyes turned darker, manic almost, as if he had got exactly what he wanted from her, opening a door for him that she could not see. The dread that had accompanied her all morning spiked as his semblance obscured, almost as if she could smell danger in the air, but before it all sank in, he was gone in a wind whirl of brown, the flaps of his jacket ruffling as he walked down the hallway. - See you in court, Lon!

Henry’s smile could have lit up the entire building, no, the whole city, as she watched Lon leave before turning her body around. Ellen and Dick stared at the door for a few moments, shocked, the latter with his arms crossed over his chest in offense, before their eyes moved and settled on Avis’s form. She hoped this little stunt would keep him off her back for some time. There were too many things she had to worry about, and she couldn’t deal with him knocking on her door every five minutes to demand things from her.

-So, we are doing it? – oh, well, fuck. She sighed deeply, a hand travelling to her forehead to rub the skin as this pressure began to build behind her eyes, a headache developing. Her words had been clear as day, there was no room for mistakes or misunderstandings, no wonder the man had seemed so happy. She hated to burst his bubble, but it was obvious that she had misstepped, and needed to retreat back to what the conversation had been before Lon had so unexpectedly barged in.

-No, Henry, we are not doing it, I already told you this. The film is going to be cancelled.

-Then why the hell did you say that to Mr. Silver?!

-To get him off my case! You’ve seen him, you know how he behaves when he’s in here. I was not going to miss the chance to shut him up and get him off my back before he found out about the kidnapping as well. We can’t afford to lose more time than what we’ve already lost with this stupid argument!

-It’s not stupid! The studio has invested too much in Meg to just destroy it!

-And I have invested too much in what I have with Y/N to betray her and let her die! What would you do if the love of your life had a gun to her head, Henry? Would you let the executioner pull the trigger without putting up a fight? Wouldn’t you do anything to save them even if it hurt to give in?

-I… I… - he didn’t know what to answer to that. Avis’s eyes were glistening with unshed tears, making them look so big but so broken that something inside him seemed to crack. His mind had been so clouded by the ambition, the need to prove that the film could become his first great work, that he was worth the title of producer, that it had blinded him. They were right, a roll of film wasn’t worth the murder of innocent people, though he had to admit that hearing Avis declare herself before them all without caring about the open doors was not something he had imagined would ever happen. No one like Avis would ever do something of this sort unless her heart was involved somehow. The back of his knees hit the armrest of the couch, his body sitting on it gently as with his hands he rubbed his face before threading his fingers through his hair in defeat. Giving his back to the room he did not see how Ellen had stood and taken Avis by her hands, steading the woman, nor the way Dick rubbed her back and whispered to her in an attempt to calm her racing heart, one single tear rolling down her cheek. – I don’t know what I would do.

-You would try to find out who did it, - her voice was stern, hard in the delivery of each word, as if she was throwing them at Henry, but upon noticing his defeated stance her voice became gentler, though it didn’t lose that anger that seemed to be part of her at this point. She was just so tired. - but we don’t have that kind of time now, so you simply give them what they want.

-And even if we had time we wouldn’t even know where to start. Who is he? How does he know so much? Why is he doing all this?

-I already told you. -Dick moved away from both women, pouring himself a drink before heading back to the couch, glass resting on top of the leather after taking a sip. - It’s someone from the studio; there’s no other possibility.

-If that is so…

-Let me explain myself first, Ellen. – the woman nodded her head to let him continue, dropping the other woman’s hands to sit herself down after she had pointed at the couch with her head and her friend had shaken hers politely. After so many years Avis had realised that she could think better when she was in motion, her feet moving from side to side as she listened intently to what Dick had to say. Henry had perked up as well, looking over his shoulder. – It has to be someone who knows what’s going on with Ace, otherwise, they would not risk asking Avis to hand out the studio just like that. True that this doesn’t mean that they work here, but during the phone call that man said that he would know if we gave him the wrong film. He must have some way of watching it and some way of checking that we don’t have Meg anymore. Someone inside this building has access to the necessary equipment and to the vaults where the rolls as stored, but it can’t be some boy from the canteen or some script reader. The only logical answer that I can find is that the person who has Y/N and left those crosses is someone close to us who will gain everything he’s ever wanted by getting you, Avis, to cancel Meg and give him the company.    

-That doesn’t leave that many people. Most of the crew working on the film don’t possess enough wit and power to even consider pulling such a stunt, so that leaves, us and Ace’s boys. We can’t consider some of our business partners because they haven’t called to inquire about any of this yet, so they might not know, besides, what would they do with a studio when they are lawyers and finance people?

With her eyes cast down towards the floor, she could not help feeling that Dick was right, that the answer was right in front of them, as if something was preventing her from figuring it all out, a piece of the puzzle missing from her sight and yet so close. The pads of her fingertips patted her lower lip, her left hand on her hip as she paced over the carpet with slow steps letting his words sink into her brain. If Dick was right and it was someone they knew, they might have given this man information willingly, from deep secrets about the studio to loopholes that they were using to make films at lesser costs, not to mention all the personal things they might have shared. And in all that she was not counting what Ace might have said to this unknown man. But the clock was still ticking, and they had to gather the film, and inform everyone that the picture was cancelled all while she still had to write a contract that some solicitor was willing to sign, twelve o’clock getting closer and closer faster than she wanted. The carpet was of a light beige tone, and it complemented the dark wood of the room beautifully, but that harmonious balance of colours was disturbed by a stain in the shape of a shoe. She grunted in disgust, crouching to get a better look at it, noticing that although it was dark there was a certain reddish tone to it. Her heart hammered against her ribs as with trembling hands the finger that had been around her hip touched the substance, wet on her skin.

It was recent. Coming to stand all the chatter that had filled the office dropped into a silence so deep that she could have heard a pin drop, curious looks falling on her body.  Under the light of day that was coming from the window her fingers shone with a deep ruby tone, and upon sniffing the thick liquid her nose picked up the strong metallic essence that she knew so well. There was a blood stain on her carpet. In shock she took a couple of steps back, the emotion written all over her face as she kept her hand at a distance from her body. Dick and Henry took notice of the way Avis was holding herself and rushed to ask what was wrong, but she could not find the words to say it, simply pointing with crimson fingers at the stain. Oh, God, she had someone’s blood on her skin! Her frame shook, rushing to take a handkerchief out of her pocket and wipe her fingers as clean as she could. Her mind was working overtime now, thinking of who could have stepped in here with stained shoes, noting that neither Dick nor Henry’s were dirty in the slightest, but the footprint was clearly that of a man and the only other person that had set foot in this room all morning had been…

There was a spark in her synapsis, as if two loose cables had finally met. Of course, she knew what was behind all this, he had never been quiet about how much he hated her and how much he had wanted her out of his way, but to think he would reach this point to get what he wanted? She had suspected he was part of the KKK ever since he had voiced his disagreement at Ace hiring black people at the studio, the threats and disappearances that would happen soon after her husband dismissed his “worries”. It had been happening for years, and no one had taken notice because it hadn’t affected them, but he was escalating things now, and he wasn’t being subtle or quiet about it. In her head she replayed the entire conversation she had just had with him, analysing every detail, from the way he had carried himself to the delivery of each word, looking for anything that could confirm it was him and that she was not in the wrong here. His entire behaviour had turned so dark and dangerous after she had told him she was going to carry on with the film, a reaction she had not expected in the slightest when she was used to temper tantrums like him bursting out of the room or threats that he would speak to Ace. That entire act he had put on just now was that of a completely different person. Her body was shaking, remembering the way his tongue had tilted slightly when he had said the word “emotional”, the exact same way the voice on the phone had tilted his, and as the realisation sank in, she felt her knees grow weak and her legs give up on her, her body falling on top of the couch cushions.

She had been so sure she had heard that voice somewhere before, that she knew the man it belonged to, but to become aware that the person she had heard when the cloth had been removed from the receiver was him felt like a bucket of freezing water had been poured over her head. Everything and everyone were absolutely blurry around her, like the world was speeding while she remained still, frozen in time with her eyes glued to the redness she had not been able to wipe from her fingers. He had played her, and she had fallen straight into his trap. She had been an absolute fool to think that he had been treating her this way out of spite because Ace hadn’t left him in charge, when it was obvious he had been working slowly on this whole thing for years, gaining more power with each conversation he had with her husband until he had found the perfect opportunity to strike. With her out of the way, Meg cancelled and him as head of the studio, he only had one obstacle left that he could conveniently get rid of with one simple chat with Ace’s doctor. He had been meticulous, organizing and planning every step down to a t, but at the same time he had been messy, perhaps he had begun to get nervous and that had caused him to slip up, the simple detail of a stain on her carpet exactly where he had stood moments ago, shattering his perfectly crafted cover up.

 There was no doubt in her mind. The cross was but a warning that something worse was coming, and as Dick and Henry pointed at the floor and told Ellen in serious voices that it was blood, the blond woman nearly fainting on the spot, Avis felt the weight of the words crushing her. He had your blood on his shoes, she had your blood on her fingers, wet and sticky over her skin. It was cold to the touch, yes, but it was recent, just like the scratches on his cheeks, meaning she might still have the chance and time to find you before the appointed time and in extent to not have to give in to this man’s demands. Without thinking about it twice she jumped off the couch, the sound making both men turn their heads away from the floor to look at the fury that burnt Avis’s whole body.

-I know who’s doing all this. – their expectant eyes bore holes into her body, but she didn’t care. Her hands had turned into fists, knuckles white while her face became red with rage, every word she said next spat with as much venom as she could muster from deep within her. – It’s been Lon fucking Silver all along.

-What? Are you sure, Avis? That’s a very serious actuation.

-I have never been so sure of anything in my life, Dick. That son of a bitch has my girlfriend somewhere in this city and I’m going to find her! I don’t care what it takes, but that man won’t see the light of day if I have a say in it. – she was going to fight this until her last breath, for you, for herself, for everyone in the studio and for her right to do whatever she desired in her own fucking house! She was even fighting for Ace at this point, regardless of the life they had had together, she wasn’t going to lose everything he had fought so hard to create to a man that had threatened their daughter. With her hand digging hard into the younger man’s arm she locked eyes with him. - Henry, I need you to find me a list of properties under Lon’s name, can you do that?

-I know a guy who owes me. Give me fifteen minutes and I can give you the homes of his parents and cousins as well.

-Get to it, then. – her steps were determined, hard against the floor, and she did not stop walking until she was standing behind her dark wooden desk, Henry dialling an unknown number. The sun shone from the window opposite the door, bright beams breaking through the glass and bathing her in the hot light, but she did not feel it. The rage and fury that was coursing through her veins and that consumed her every cell could match the fire of every star in the universe, her palms firmly pressed against the table as her eyes lifted forward to look at Ellen and Dick, their expressions serious. - Avis Amberg has just entered the playing field.

A droplet of water fell from the ceiling, its crystal surface reflecting the light of the flame as it flew slowly through the air. Another one followed soon after, it’s gentle surface tense as it fell. And another, all freezing to the touch, sliding easily down to the floor. The tapping rhythm danced around your ears, a comforting sound although, as your mind began to wake up, the feeling wasn’t so, slimy water running over your cheek, making it past your lips without touching them, but only barely. It didn’t feel as if you had been unconscious for too long this time, maybe your body was getting used to it, but soon it would reach a point from which you would not return. The light of the flame flickered in senseless shapes through your still-closed eyelids, casting shadows that you didn’t want to face. He might be hiding among them. But everything was quiet around you, there was no sign that he was still in the room or somewhere in the vicinity, only your ragged breathing and the tapping of the water droplets breaking the deafening silence. You could not decide if you preferred it this way. Trying to move brought on a wave of agony that sliced through every muscle and bone in your body, forcing you to stop what little you had done to catch your breath as tears gathered in the corners of your eyes. You felt weak, useless, and knowing that he had gone to talk with Avis, left a void of despair and worry that threatened to consume you, and you just didn’t have the strength to fight the dark. But as you turned your head, hissing at the way your shoulder and neck throbbed you saw it. Sunshine was coming through the ajar door.

Against your bruised ribs your heart raced, battling against your sternum for release as your eyes locked onto a ray of hope. He must have accidentally left it like that when he left. You didn’t know how long it would take him to get to the studio and back, but if you could get on your feet, you might have the chance to at least make out into the street or wherever you were. It might be your one and only chance, no matter the pain. The chair you were tied to proved to be a most inconvenient obstacle, but the knots that held the ropes in place around your wrists were too strong for you to try and release your hands from, so you would have to make do. Turning your body onto your right side would be the best option, you thought, even though that was the side where your dislocated shoulder was; a small price to pay for freedom. The first attempt left you panting and still on your back, cursing at the heaviness that had gathered in your limbs, but you weren’t going to give up. With your feet flat against the ground, or as flat as you could get them, and using your palms and elbows for leverage, you pushed against the concrete, your core contracting hard as you made use of your abs to give yourself the last needed thrust, meeting cold dirty floor against your cheek, your arm squashed under your bodyweight. Yes! But the victory was only in your mind for a second or two before a hot white fire spread from the tips of your fingers to the top of your head, making tears run down your cheeks in anguish and pain. The feeling left you completely drained, a scream wanting to escape from your chapped and bloodied lips, but you couldn’t draw any attention to yourself; you still weren’t sure he wasn’t around somewhere, and had to be very careful, which also meant quiet.

After a few moments of catching your breath, a dull pressure building underneath your lungs, the pain began to subside enough for your eyes to focus on the door. It was right there, maybe three or four feet from you, if you could only get up, the worst part would be over. You hadn’t noticed the way you were rolling in puddles of your own blood, the movements careless as they made wounds that had stopped bleeding hours ago begin to seep crimson hot liquid over your ruined dress and purple skin. The taste of metal was beginning to overwhelm your tongue as you swallowed what little saliva you were producing, reducing the soreness and dryness of your throat a little. Laying on your side you realised you wouldn’t be able to stand this way, your arm unable to be used as leverage, but your mind was working overtime against an invisible clock and the idea of laying on your front and trying to kneel didn’t seem so stupid after thinking about it for a moment. You wouldn’t be losing anything by trying. Slowly you pressed the side of your chest onto the ground, releasing your arm from under your body, and practically let the weight of the chair finish turning you around. This step had been the easiest of them all, but you could not stay like this for too long. As much as you needed the rest, the metal would end up crushing you, so after sending a prayer up to the heavens, your feet lay flat on the ground. The posture was weird, to say the least, but you weren’t being photographed by the New York Times, the only thing that mattered was getting your legs to cooperate and push your body into a sitting position, from then on standing would be child’s play.

But the chair pushed you back onto the concrete again and again, and the frustration and anger were beginning to rush through your body like lava, burning everything in its path. You had come so far, you finally had the life you had always wanted with the woman you had always dreamt of; you weren’t willing to let it all end like this, with a quick “I love you” screamed through a telephone without knowing if she was alright, if your death would even mean something to the world. It would not end this way! Adrenaline coursed through your veins and in a burst of anger, tears running down your bloodied cheeks, your legs pushed your entire body weight until they burnt, the pressure and pain in your stomach as you lifted yourself nearly making you vomit but alas you were sitting on the fucking chair facing the door through grunts and hurried pants. Your entire frame was shaking but you knew that if you stopped to breathe and calm yourself you were risking not being able to leave. The way your knees buckled as you stood, the chair forcing you to bend so you would be able to walk, nearly sent you back to the floor, but you would not allow it, and with each trembling step, the door came closer and closer until finally your eyes were able to make out a corridor bathed in warm sunlight through the crack. You could do it, if your foot slipped in between the door and the frame you might be able to push it open, but it was heavier than you thought, and the minutes passed as your legs bled and shook, your heart beating faster than ever.

You had come so far; you could not let some fucking door win. It screeched, the sound leaving a ringing in your ears, your knees and feet pushing it until at last you were able to get your left shoulder to help, delivering one final jab that allowed the hallway to come into view. The sudden burst of light inside the room forced your eyes to close for an instant, blinking slowly to adjust to it all. The walls were old, bare, except for the peeling wallpaper that left wooden beams exposed to the thick air that floated around you. The ceiling had cracks, plaster covered in black mold, and spots that marked heavy water damage, but the thing that your eyes searched for was right at the other end. A white door with a worn brass knob. Relief washed over you as through the glass you saw green trees, the pine scent almost reaching your nostrils, a weak but genuine smile creeping up on the corners of your lips. Taking one step, your bare feet felt the scratchiness of the old worn carpet, fragments of plaster and wood under your toes, but it didn’t matter. Another step and the door to a bathroom appeared to your right, tiles damaged and shattered in the darkness of the windowless room. And just as you were about to take a third step, the door less than six feet from you, the figure of a man covered the glass on the door, his brown suit visible through the cracks on the transparent glazing. Eyes watched in terror as the knob turned, and with a squeak, followed by a loud screech, you came face to face with him. For a split-second worry had covered his features, as if he had been deep in thought, but upon seeing you standing there, clearly trying to escape, it all became rage and fury, his hands slamming the door behind him as he removed his jacket. Your legs hardly responded as you tried to back away from him, but even if they had he was taller and gaining on you faster than you had anticipated, hands ready to grab you by the throat, his eyes manically wide while yours were filled with horror.  The sound of your terrified “NO!” echoed throughout the forest.

But your love never heard it. Your pleas and tears never reached Avis, no matter how loud they were, she remained deaf to the noise that echoed miles away. But that didn’t mean that she didn’t feel it. Her heart jumped in her chest, a strange tingling spreading all throughout her body that told her they were running out of time, almost as if she could sense your pain and agony through her own blood, feel the danger you were in. The clock on the wall kept ticking with each passing second, and she was still no closer to finding you than before she had figured out who was doing all this, the dread beginning to cloud her judgment. She had half a mind to take her car and drive all along the train tracks until she found something, however little it may be that could take her to you.

-Why is it taking so long?! Henry!

-Avis, please, let the boy do his job.

The way her hands were holding onto the edge of the desk should have made the wood shatter, fingers purple and white, her eyes remaining glued to the younger man as he wrote on a notepad while talking to some guy called Jonathan. It had been a little bit over fifteen minutes, and the appointed time to meet Lon was barely an hour away. She needed to figure out where you were, and she needed to do it now! Ellen tried to sooth her, but her hands rubbing circles on the other woman’s hand served no purpose other than to make Avis even more anxious, wishing she would stop. Dick on the other hand knew better than to try and be comforting, he simply waited on the side, nursing his glass of gin, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t paying attention. Every nod from Henry, every twitch of his upper lip as his hands travelled over the paper before him, told a different story that Dick was reading. Henry was a resourceful man, he could not deny it, but he wondered how it had come to be so, why so many people owed him favours, and why he was always so ready for the payback that would soon follow.   

-Make sure that no one finds out about this. See you around, John– placing the receiver back in place, Henry stood from the chair with a triumphant smile on his face, dangling the pad in his hand as if he was holding onto a fucking Oscar. Avis tried to grab it, but he pulled it back, the woman about to bark at him only to see Dick making his way towards the boy and taking it, eyes reading the addresses provided. The young man didn’t bother asking for it back, even if she was murdering him with her eyes. –Lon has three houses here in Hollywood, one near his office, another near the studio, that apparently, he’s been furnishing lately, and another that he’s renting to some couple from Missouri that’s close to Santa Monica Boulevard.   

-None of those places have train stations or train tracks near them! I know what I heard, and I know I’m not wrong. It’s him! He must be using someone else’s place.

-If you let me finish, – she gave him a hard glare but let him continue, nevertheless. This was still an opportunity for him, she knew that she would owe him in the future, and she wouldn’t be able to say no to whatever he demanded, but if it saved your life, she would do it, as frustrating as it would be. She hated debts, and Henry could be a snake when he wanted to, a fact he was both aware and proud of. - John told me that Lon’s parents bought a property, about fifteen years ago, perhaps a mile south of Hollywood Station. It was supposed to be a retirements home, but they never remodelled it, so it’s been sitting there half-demolished since they signed the deed.   

-Where exactly? -she could recall Ace having a map of the city somewhere around his desk. He had shown it to her several times when they had discussed possible placements for their house before they had decided to buy and then renovate, or when arguing about which hotels to consider when housing foreign actors or producers. Her hands pulled drawer after drawer open, rummaging through contracts and scripts that she should have thrown away weeks ago, pens and pencil stabbing her fingers as she crumpled the papers underneath them. There were rubber bands and staplers, along with clips and other nonsense, scattered in between ink bottles that she threw onto the desk carelessly in her attempt to find the goddam thing. But it was Ellen, after Avis had squatted to open a drawer, removing about three folders and causing the documents to nearly spill onto the floor, who saw the colourful corner of a leaflet and quickly pulled on it. It read “Map of Hollywood City” in big bold white letters, and she hurriedly laid it on top of everything else while exclaiming that she had found it. At the sound Avis’s hand slammed the drawer closed and pulled herself to her full height, helping the blond unfold the huge map. All four of them hovered over the desk, but it was Henry’s hands the only ones who moved over the laminated paper.

-The train Station is right here. – he pointed at a mark close to the lower left corner. -If we travel down east for a mile or so, we get to “Ruben’s Road”. So, if we head south for maybe half a mile, about six hundred feet from the train tracks, we should find a house. Exactly in this spot. – his thin fingers hovered over the drawing of a house, alone on the edge of the woods with cursive blue writing underneath that read “Silver Cottage”. It had to be there; her eyes could not find a single other mark, all throughout the forest’s edge, that was close enough to the tracks that might make the train sound as loudly as she had heard it through the phone, and that could suggest another possible area he could have taken you to. Lifting her gaze, she smiled at Henry, but only briefly before her entire demeanour became cold, determine to get to the end of the line with this matter, her deep brown eyes filled with anticipation and resolve as they fell onto the other man’s frame. His face was concentrated on the plan ahead.

-Gather the boys, Dick, and meet me at the cottage. – she could count on him to have her back. He knew his way around guns, he had fought in the First World War; she trusted him with her life, and yours for that matter. It was a surprise though to see Henry following him out of the office so willingly, so ready to fight, but then again if everything went according to plan the film wouldn’t be cancelled and he wouldn’t lose his position as a producer. This was business for him still, but she couldn’t find it in her racing heart to care. Just as they were rounding the corner Avis raised her voice, making sure they heard her before turning all her attention back to the map. - And make sure they don’t go empty-handed!

-Wait a moment, Avis. Shouldn’t we call the police about this?

-Do you think that someone like Lon wouldn’t have friends in the Police Department, Ellen? – if she took 10th street from her house and swerved around Victoria park to go down Marie Avenues, she could get down to the station in less than five minutes, her fingers tracing the journey over the paper. - If we call, we might risk telling them about what we know, and for our plan to get to him in the first place. It would be the perfect opportunity for him to kill Y/N, and we might spend hours waiting to hear good news when in fact they’ve done nothing but cover up for him. – her eyes lifted from the desk to look at the blond, her hands trying to fold the map the best she could. - I understand that this might be too much for you, but I’m not going to sit and wait.

-But this is dangerous. We’ve never done something like this before.

-Which is why I’m giving you the choice of coming with me or staying. You don’t have to get involved more than you already are, but you are my friend, and I know that you care about Y/N, as well. I don’t want to do this alone.

Avis’s palm lay outstretched before Ellen. Rage seeped from every pore of the ginger’s body, to be fair she hadn’t felt anything else all morning, and that was fuelling most of the adrenaline that was to be blamed for what was going on, but she was also terrified, absolutely terror-stricken and she feared that the moment she got to the house, she would be left petrified in her seat, unable to do anything but hear your screams. She needed Ellen to hold her together until the very end. To say that the blond wasn’t conflicted would be an understatement, but she knew Avis, and the woman never asked for help; too proud, too hurt to do so most of the time, but knowing that even without wording it that way, she was simply asking her to be there, meant the world to Ellen. Avis had been there for her when her husband had passed, they had shared countless conversations, and evenings at each other’s place. They had cried and laughed and got absolutely smashed once or twice without a care in the world. They were sisters even if they didn’t share the same blood, and that was far more important to her than what Lon might do. She couldn’t abandon her friend now that she needed her. Her hands were sweaty, but she took Avis’s in hers, squeezing hard, a small tender smile ghosting her thin lips.

A weight had been lifted of the ginger’s shoulders, the way her entire frame breathed in relief at the feeling of Ellen’s palm on hers, speaking more than a thousand words could ever do. Now that they were on the same line, Avis grabbed her purse and walked out of the office with quick steps, pulling on Ellen’s hand. The blond was smart though and held onto the map, just in case, before letting herself be dragged along. Miss Stinton protested about meetings and what not, but neither of them listened as they rushed to the lift, the doors conveniently opening just as Avis pressed the button, wishing the contraption would move faster to the ground floor. Ace didn’t keep guns at the studio, he used to say that he liked to keep that sort of thing at home, where he might actually need them, and she had hated that so viscerally that she had thought about getting rid of them more than once and more than twice just to spite him. Now, as doors of the lift chimed open, she was glad she hadn’t, letting go of Ellen’s hand to take the keys to her Cadillac out of her purse, the blond pushing the doors open for the other woman to step through. She knew exactly which of the several models Ace kept at the mansion she was going to choose to face Lon, and she just happened to be handy with it.

She might not look like it, but when she had been little her father had taught her how to shoot, and she had been fucking brilliant, she just didn’t get into the habit of using them as she grew older. The car was intact, waiting patiently for her at the parking lot, and as both ladies settled on their respective seats, Avis saw Jack rushing to one of the other buildings through the rearview mirror, his countenance serious. Dick would have them all ready by the time she was out of the house. Turning the engine on and pulling out of the parking lot she stepped on the gas, the mob that was still gathered outside by the gates having to rush to the sides so as not to get run over, though she didn’t think it would be much of a loss. Ellen, the poor woman held onto the door, sliding over the leather whenever Avis made a turn or took a corner, wondering if she had made the right choice, but it was too late to back down now, the only thing she could see in her friends being fire. Swerving on her street, the car nearly landing on two of its wheels at the corner, Avis practically burst through the gates of her house, the old Mr. Breaton pushing them open as fast as his legs would allow all while Ellen screamed at her to be more careful or she would get them both killed. Bit overdramatic, it wasn’t as if she was driving down the freeway at 80 mph or something like that. Pulling on the hand break hard once the car was stationed before her front door, Avis worked quickly on getting out, looking for her keys, telling Ellen to wait for her and that she would only be a minute.

Like magic Gertie opened the doors, just at the right moment as well, the woman having heard the commotion and fearing that something like the nightly incident might be occurring again, but it was only her employer. Her perfectly coiffed hair was in slight disarray, a curl falling gently on the side of her head, bouncing with each rushed step she took towards her husband’s office, the wooden doors slamming against the walls. The sound didn’t bother her, but it did make Gertie jump on the spot, as her employer quickly pulled a small key from the first drawer on the left of Ace’s oak desk and hurriedly used it on a trunk under the windowsill. It was a beautiful work of art, in the words of her deceased father, and right now she could understand why. Her husband was not one to hunt, but he did like to have the necessary equipment, and the newest member of his collection was a gorgeous Ithaca shotgun, model 37 to be exact, that had never been shot since its purchase. Picking it up and feeling the heaviness of the weapon, she thought that getting rid of Lon might be a perfect way to christen, the comb and forearm, made out of a beautiful dark wood, smooth under the touch of her fingertips.     

There was no ammunition inside it, a safety precaution she had demanded Ace follow, but the box of bullets was right there, in the right bottom corner. Grabbing it she was making her way out the doors when her eyes caught a glimpse of the revolver. What they were going to do was dangerous, and Ellen wasn’t one to have weapons in her purse, so she picked it up just to be safe. Gertie had asked once what was happening and after not receiving an answer retreated to the kitchen, but the sight of Avis with a shotgun wasn’t a usual occurrence in that house, filling her up with worry. Rushing back to the front doors and slamming them close with her foot, to the best extent she could, she sat back inside her Cadillac, the engine still running, and handed everything to Ellen as she shifted into first gear and once again sped down her road towards 10th street just as she had planned back at the studio. The blond’s eyes could have popped out of her skull from how side they were looking at the weapons.  

-Oh my God, Avis! You are not planning on going in there with two guns, are you?!

-Of course not! I need both hands for the shotgun, the revolver is for you.

-What?! I don’t know how to use it!

-I know, and I most certainly hope you don’t have to, but I can’t let you go without protection. We don’t know if it’s going to be just Lon or if there’s going to be twenty men in there, I need to know that you’ll be somehow safe. Just trust me, Ellen.

What other option did she have?! This was all insane, but when didn’t things turn crazy where the KKK was involved? The journey to the Station was just as crazy as the one to her house, but now Ellen had no way of holding onto the door so she wouldn’t slide from side to side, the boxes of ammunition slipping from her fingers every few seconds. The grip Avis had on the steering wheel left her knuckles white, painfully digging into the stiches. She knew she was right; she was sure that’s where that slimy son of a bitch had you, but she could not help the doubts that assaulted her mind. If she was wrong, the real culprit would still be roaming free without any of them being even an inch closer to finding out who he was, and he wouldn’t hesitate to kill you once he found out she hadn’t answered any of his demands. She had no way of confirming any of it except for a gut feeling, a hunch. She hoped it was enough. At this time in the morning, the roads weren’t as empty as she had hoped for, and a couple of times cars honked as she manoeuvred and cut them off, but she couldn’t give two fucks. Approaching the station, the paths made out of cobblestones caused the car to rise and fall with each little bump, though they only had to suffer it for a minute or two, until they could head East near the gates. Avis was more careful in this part of the journey, knowing that the suspension of her car didn’t do well on roads like this one, a fact Ellen was most appreciative of, wondering just how dishevelled she looked.

It was a secondary road the one that appeared to head East, a dirty path that lifted a cloud of dust as the car drove over it. Henry had said for a mile and then she had to turn south. She felt a pressure on her chest, her breaths fast now that she was lifting her foot off the accelerator, controlling the vehicle as it moved over the rocks and stones that graced the ground under her car. Every beat of her heart felt as if rocks were falling over her shoulders, weighing her down, worry and fear overtaking part of the fury she was feeling, but she would carry on, there was no other option but for you to make it out alive. The car began to slow down as Avis’s thoughts took over, knowing that she should have put up a bigger fight last night, that she should have convinced you to stay no matter what you had said but honesty and respect were the bases of your relationship, and she hadn’t wanted to pressure you. It would have been easier if she had behaved like a bitch and had held onto you, not caring what you said or what you desired, just followed her instinct. If you died, she would never stop blaming herself. Ever. Turning South for half a mile, both ladies held their breaths as the trees began to separate more and more from each other, bringing forth a clearing where a broken-down fence circled the area where the house should be. This was it; they thought. Avis hadn’t reached the end of the road when she was turning the engine off and pulling on the hand brake, Ellen glancing her way with a questioning look.

-We’ll have to walk; I don’t want him to know we are here.

-Shouldn’t we wait for Dick and the others?

-We might not have that kind of time. We’ll check out the premises and if there’s no sign of people, or at least no sign of them being too many, we’ll go in.

-Are you sure, Avis? They might be armed as well.

-We only get one life, one chance at doing what matters, and I’m not letting her die. You can stay in the car if you’d rather wait for Dick. I would understand.

-No. I’m not letting you do this on your own. You are my friend, maybe even a sister, I’m not ditching you now.

Words hurt the same way a dagger slicing through one’s flesh could, but when said in all honestly, love and compromise enfolding them like a blanket, they could act as balm for a broken heart, soothing doubts and worries that were clearly overtaking Avis’s mind. No matter the outcome, she wouldn’t face it alone. Her hand squeezed Ellen’s softly, a kind smile painting her lips as a thank you, maybe as a farewell should they not make it, the other woman returning it just as tenderly. Determined to bring this all to an end, Avis opened her door and stepped out into the forest, her heels crushing twigs and seeds as she rounded the hood to open Ellen’s, picking up the shotgun and the bullets to let her slip out of her seat. She was not heading down the path without a loaded gun, and neither was her friend, but the blond didn’t seem to think it was necessary and she had to shoot out a hand to hold her still, handing her the revolver ammunition. Loading a shotgun was relatively easy, at least with this model. Avis only had to push the ammunition into the receiver until she heard a click before pushing the next bullet in and so on until the barrel was full, ready for her to pump the gun. Ellen didn’t think it was that simple, struggling for a few moments to open the loading gate of the revolver, but soon enough she figured out how the weapon worked, or at least the basics, and just as Avis had finished pushing the last bullet inside her weapon, Ellen was done cocking hers.

Their movements over the grass were meticulous, delivered in a perfect dance of careful steps and quiet whispers, Avis ahead. The edge of the forest got closer and closer, not a sound in the warm air around them, not even birds flying over their heads. That was already a bad sign. Coming up to the last line of trees Avis got the first glimpse at the house, perhaps about sixty feet away, and in her most humble opinion it was a miracle it was still standing. The roof had caved in by the falling of a branch, most of the windows were shattered, and the beams and insulation were out for the elements to affect them. In truth, it was the perfect spot to bring someone to; not a soul would dare set foot in that hazard of a house. The garden, overgrown with weeds, showed no signs of anyone having come to visit in years, except for the car that was now parked on the side, a black Lincoln that she knew for a fact belonged to Lon. They crossed the ruined fenced, plants crushed under their shoes until the set foot on an overworn stone path that led to the front door, the glass glazing shattered, missing some pieces that were probably lost through the yellow weeds. Each breath Avis took was held in her lungs for longer than was necessary, her heart beating so hard and fast that she could hear her blood pumping in her ears, hands slightly clammy around the comb and the forearm of her shotgun, muzzle pointing down at the ground. Her entire world could change in less than a second the instant she walked through that door, but she didn’t know if she could do it. She couldn’t hear a sound, that might mean you were…

Ellen’s hand did it for her. With surprised eyes Avis stared as her friend pushed it open, not a squeak or scratch coming from the old wood, a small win for them as their presence remained unknown. The ginger’s heel was the first thing to come into contact with the inside of the house, the musky odour of a closed-up home and ever-growing mold overwhelming her senses, but she pushed through. Each step was quiet, almost tippytoeing over the dirty carpet, taking in the state of the property as her ears perked up, capturing a faint noise, like a whimper. Upon hearing this she stood still, holding up her hand for Ellen to halt her movements as well, hardy breathing in hopes of hearing it again. Yes, there was a whimper coming from some room ahead, and she knew it was you who was making it. She could recognise your voice even if her head was underwater. She stopped being careful right then, her steps hard against the creaking wood as she came to terms with the fact that there was no one else in that house except for you and maybe Lon. Ellen tried to warn her with hushed words but to no avail; Avis was seeing red. Close to the end of the hallway was the entrance to a bathroom and a bit further down a metal door that was completely shut, but even through the thick material she could hear the voice of a man saying that he was going to gut you open, your whines and pleas quietly sounding in the background. Over her dead fucking body! Pointing the muzzle towards the lock, Avis pumped it hard and without warning pulled the trigger. It was as if a bomb had gone off, a scream escaping Ellen at the sudden noise, but it had served its purpose, and the door was now slightly open. Pushing it with her foot Avis came face to face with your battered body on the floor, a chair lying in a corner, and Lon standing over you with a cane raised in the air, his small beady eyes watching her with a terrified veil falling over them.

-Ding Dong, motherfucker. – she pumped her shotgun to make her point clear to him.

-What…? How…?

-Shut up! Drop the cane and take one step away from Y/N or I swear to everything in this fucking universe that I’ll blow your head off.  – squatting slowly to the ground, he left the weapon on the concrete, raising his arms high in the air before doing what told, his back barely two feet away from the damp wall. His eyes never left her form, terror making him shake on his spot. – You thought you could play me? You don’t know who you are messing with.

-Please, Avis…

-Do I need to repeat myself?! SHUT UP! I don’t care about your excuses; I don’t care for anything you might have to say. You dug your grave, Lon; I think I’ll put you in it.

-Avis, Dick is here.

-Don’t move an inch, Lon. I’m feeling trigger-happy. – Avis turned her head to the doorway, purposely refusing to look at you in fear that your state might make her buckle in her resolution to end him, that it might make her weak for a moment and he would take the opportunity to fight her for the gun. Ellen’s eyes weren’t on her though, and that made her heart clench in grief at the thought of how you might look, but she remained strong and addressed the blond. – Go get him and take Y/N out to the car. – the woman, as petite as she was, run fast even in high heels. As Avis’s eyes returned to Lon, she saw the splatters of blood that stained his shirt, the way his hands were bathed in the crimson liquid, dripping down his arms and staining his cuffs. She was finding it increasingly difficult to not kill him right there and then. – You thought you were so smart that I wouldn’t find out? You messed with my family, I would have figured out it was you in the end, no matter how long it would have taken.

-You don’t understand.

-I don’t understand?! You kidnapped an innocent woman, beat her close to death, lied to my face, and you still think you are in a position to tell me I don’t understand?! Who do you think you are?!

He remained silent, trembling against the wall. He had been caught; he couldn’t get out of this one. What had happened? He had never failed before, he had never made a mistake and yet here he was, with a gun to his head for the first time since joining the group. He was supposed to be the one threatening and intimidating people, not her, he was supposed to be the superior being, how had she outsmarted him?! Dick and Ellen rushed down the corridor and quickly made their way inside the room past Avis, picking you up as gently as they could. Your entire world had shrunk to the size of your broken body, nothing that was going on around you being registered by your abused mind anymore, the only thing you could feel and think about was the agony you were in. Caring hands lifted you off the cold floor and for an instant you wondered if your time had come, angels taking you to the heavens. You wanted to see their kind faces, you didn’t want to die with the sight of Lon engraved in your head, but upon cracking them open, the action exhausting, you saw two people you knew very well, and then in the background was her. Avis was alright, she wasn’t hurt in any way, her face perfect still with her rosy cheeks and plump red lips, those big deep brown eyes turning to look at you, filled with rage that wasn’t yours to worry about. A lopsided smile broke from your lips at the sight of your love, every horrible thing that he had done to you vanishing into the ether as you let the love that filled her eyes wrap around you. Everything would be alright now, was your last thought before the world turned black. Ellen and Dick did their job and took you out of the house and into Avis’s Cadillac, checking your pulse. Avis did not move from her spot though.

-How does it feel to be cornered Lon? Do you like the way fear can overtake one’s mind this quickly?

-How?

-You made a mistake, as simple as that. You thought you were being so careful, so meticulous. I must admit you almost had me there, but like always, I’m one step ahead.

-This is not over. I might not have succeeded this time, but I sure as Hell will the next one.

-You think you are going to have a next one? Not a chance. You tried to destroy my and my husband’s entire work; you terrified my daughter and nearly killed my girlfriend. How can you still think you will have a next time?

-Because we always win. – he jumped towards her, his hands raised to grab her weapon, but she was quick, and the trigger just felt so soft under her finger. The sound of the bullet ejecting from the gun echoed inside the room as well as the outside of the house, heads lifting in worry at it, but Avis was completely uninjured. Lon, though, he was holding onto his shattered leg, screaming in agony as blood and shards of bone fell over the dirty ground, his body colliding heavily against the concrete.

-Not today, you son of a bitch. I have worked too fucking hard for everything that I have, and I won’t let you or anyone take it from me. So better get used to the idea of Meg, because I will invest every ounce of my time and money to make it the best film in the fucking world. And Archie and Camille will be on contract until my very last day as head of the studio. Because it’s mine, not yours. Mine.

-Ace… won’t let you…

-Ace will fire you, if not kill you himself, the moment he finds out about your little stunt. You don’t know who you’ve messed with, but I will make sure you don’t forget. I’ve got friends too Lon, and they are not happy about this at all.

-You can’t… Ahhhh…

-I can’t what, Lon? Kill you? Speak up!

-He won’t… believe you. He’s never cared.

-That might be so, but he will believe Dick. And his daughter. You see? I’m always one step ahead. Any last words? – she was growing tired of this whole conversation, as thriving and delicious as it was to have him under her thumb like this. She pumped the shotgun again, the last bullet she had inside the weapon, drinking in the way his eyes filled with terror, mumbling quickly, pleading to her.

-Wait, wait! Please!

-Being this emotional is not letting you think clearly, Lon. There is no room for mercy in me, there never was and there never will be.

-Please, don’t! I could… help you… I could do something…

-Don’t beg, it doesn’t suit you. I don’t want anything that you might have to offer; that boat sailed the moment you kidnapped Y/N. You are lucky I’ve let you live this long. You don’t know how much I wanted to put a bullet through your eyebrows the instant I set foot in here, but I didn’t want Y/N to suffer anymore. But now that it’s only us I can do what I desire the most. I hope you get what you deserve in Hell. - In a cloud of smoke, the last bullet pierced through the air, until it lodged itself in the middle of his chest, blood pouring over his white shirt by the pint, thin trickles running down his nose and from the corners of his mouth. He spat and gurgled, trying to cover up his wound with his hands, but it was futile. She held her head high and took in the way the light seemed to be dimming in his eyes. – Remember this, Lon. I’m Avis fucking Amberg and I just beat you at your own game.

It was over, at last. Adrenaline rushed through her entire body at the speed of light, the exhilaration that came with a job well done, mixing with the unexpected wave of guilt and terror at what she had done. Her steps as she walked down the hallway were unsteady, clumsy over the debris that had accumulated over the years, and for a moment, she had to stop and hold herself up by placing a hand on the crumbling wall. She felt sick to her stomach, her entire frame shaking as the noises he had been making turned into silence, a wave of cold air coming through the broken windows. She had never, in her entire life considered herself to be a violent woman. Yes, she was temperamental, but she had never raised a hand to a single soul, not even to Claire when she had been little and misbehaved, and to have the image of a dead man, a man she had killed, engraved in her mind was like a punch to her gut. She had never wanted this, she wasn’t like this, but the most primeval part of herself, the part that needed to ensure the safety of her family, had taken over not thinking about the consequences, just that she needed to find you and protect you. Part of her mind was telling her that she should have handled it differently, she was an orator, not a gangster, but the other half, the louder one, was telling her she had done the right thing, that she had to kill him. She couldn’t risk letting him go, even if he was injured, thinking that the matter was closed only for everything to happen again in a few months’ time. With him gone no one would hurt them anymore, all the threats would be empty words, and the studio would carry on as if nothing had happened. It had to be done, she kept thinking to herself, you would never be safe otherwise and that simple fact lessened the burden of her actions. Actions that she swore to the Heavens and herself she would never repeat again. With one last glance towards the metal door, she carried on walking down the hallway and out into the warm midday sun. Ellen ran to meet her, wrapping her arms around her body in a strong hug. She hadn’t realised how much she needed that until she felt her breath shaking as a lump formed in her throat, preventing her from speaking, tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. The blond held her for a minute or so, feeling Avis’s trembling limbs trying to wrap themselves around her small waist in search of comfort. Hearing the shots all the way from in between the trees, had had her losing her mind, Dick holding her in place and telling her that you needed her more than Avis did to prevent her from running back to the house. But she had anyway, and just at the right time to see her walking out of there without a scratch on her body.

The relief was monumental. But there was a more pressing matter to attend to, and the blond was quick in dragging Avis back to her car, Dick’s and Ernie’s parked right behind it. He really had brought the cavalry, Avis thought. The world had crumbled when she had first heard your voice through the phone, now it had combusted and turned into ashes as she laid eyes on your poor battered body. There was not an inch that wasn’t purple or injured in some way, your once beautiful dress now drenched in red. She felt faint, and her knees didn’t support her weight at the sight of you, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away. You looked so small, so vulnerable, and it clawed at her heart so deeply that tears began to fall down her cheeks, the shotgun lying over the grass beside the car, forgotten. Nothing in her entire life had ever hurt like this. These feelings were crushing her, deafening, muting and blinding her in a never-ending wave of sorrow and anguish that was taking hold of her. She had caused this, you were lying here shattered to pieces because of her, and it was that thought the one that she couldn’t get over. With her hand pushing your hair gently off your face, she touched your still-soft flesh, but it was colder under her fingertips. God, she could not bear to lose you. Dick’s voice came from behind her, reaching her ears in slow motion as she cried over your unconscious frame, tears falling and losing themselves among your locks of hair.

-She’s still alive, but she needs a hospital, Avis.

[love-byers]

I feel like Mike’s confused on his feelings for El in s4 not because he doesn’t love her but because he can’t love her. The whole conversation in El’s room after the rink incident is Mike trying to prove to El that he does love her without actually having to say it. He’s telling her that she this incredible person (who wouldn’t love you) and that she’s being ridiculous for thinking anything less of herself. Saying “you know how I feel about you” instead of actually saying it. Saying “You’re a superhero and they’re nobody”. Later on in the van with Will we find out that Mike also sees himself as a nobody and I think it’s cause of how he sees himself with El. When El says ‘you don’t love me anymore’ Mike hesitates and stutters for moment like he’s trying to find it in himself to say those words but he can’t and I think because of that he feels inferior, he feels less than. He does care about a lot. He’s just utterly confused with himself like this amazing, incredible girl (with super powers for crying out loud) is right here and I don’t love her!! WHY!? How could I not love her? What’s wrong with me? She’s everything he SHOULD want and more and it stresses him out that he can’t love her. He wasn’t this stressed out s3 when she broke up with him. He was chilling on the couch eating chips thinking he did nothing wrong but this season he’s constantly in his head thinking about his feelings for El and feeling so down on himself and confused because he can’t love her how she should be loved. I think in s3 when he blurted out that he loved her I think it was a heat of the moment kind of thing and maybe he did think that he did love her then because if I care about her this much I must love her, right!? but when it actually came down to it he couldn’t write it in letters to her and couldn’t say it to her face when she needed him to.

yes i agree! mike is definitely very confused and i feel so bad for him. he's only 14 and he's being pressured to figure all these things out and do what others want of him. i think thats why he opens up to will and speaks ambiguously when he does it, he's hoping will, who has always understood him without words being necessary, would figure it out for him. but will just says he can say what he didn't say, and mike doesn't like that answer.

what triggered the change from his nonchalant s3 behavior to his s4 behavior is for sure the s3 epilogue. earlier in the season he says he loves el, then he tries to say it to her face and gets interrupted. he wants to say it, he wants her to know. he thinks he loves her. then in the epilogue, el does the hard part for him. she confirms that she loves mike, despite mike never saying it. he should be overjoyed. but he's not, because el reciprocating the feelings he thought he felt has made it all too real for him. el saying i love you made him realize he's dug himself in a hole that's gonna be hard to get out of. he's realizing this doesn't make him feel good, this isn't what he wants.

what does he want?

"--changing. And I guess...if I'm being really honest...that's what scares me. I don't want things to change.

So I guess maybe thats why i came in here. To try to maybe...stop that change. To turn back the clock. To make things go back to how they were."

he wants to go back.

mike is scared because he's realizing he doesn't want the things he thought he did. he thought he wanted to grow up and get a girlfriend and let his childhood go, let his friends go, let will go.

"What did you think, really? That we were never gonna get girlfriends? That we were just gonna sit in my basement all day and play games for the rest of our lives?"

"Yeah, I guess I did. I really did."

but now he's being faced with that reality. taking the next step with el, being in love with her openly and having her feel the same way. and all he can think about is will. all he yearns for is to go back to how things used to be, when he was happy and carefree and things weren't so complicated. he yearns for will. he yearns for the exact thing he implied was silly and outlandish and impossible in the rain fight. he wants to be in his basement playing dnd with will.

and i will say, a lot of mlvns think this is bad because its encouraging them to be childish, which is stupid. will confirming that he wants to spend the rest of his life playing dnd in mike's basement doesn't literally mean that's what he wants to do with his life. its coded conversation, it's a metaphor. he wants to spend his life with mike. when he's with mike, playing dnd in his basement, he thinks "i want to be here forever" because he's with mike, who he loves. mike, who is struggling with his feelings and internalized homophobia, has been conditioned to think that his relationship with will is childish and something he must grow out of, even if its what he wants. because after puberty you can't be all close and touchy with your male friends, you're supposed to start liking girls. his relationship with will is something he must let go of. he assumes will has thought the same, but he hasn't. this coded convo continues into the epilogue

"Woah, dude, that's the donation box."

"I know. I'll just use yours when I come back. I mean, if we still want to play."

"Well, yeah, but...what if you want to join another party?"

"Not possible."

mike is insecure that will is going to move on from him when he moves. will, however, never intended to. he is intending to come back to mike, to reserve mike's place in his heart. mike says "well, yeah" because of course he still wants to play with will, of course he still wants will, that's not the problem. he's worried that will is going to move on from him, that will is going to replace him. will puts this to rest. he doesn't want to play dnd if it's not with mike. he only wants mike, he never considered moving on from him or replacing him. it was mike who was insecure about that.

and this whole conversation happens right before the mlvn scene. mike and will just resolved the rain fight, agreed that they both intend to come back to each other indefinitely. then el comes in between that, makes that impossible. she loves him. old people say that to each other, people who have committed to each other for life. that's what mike is realizing he's in for. and he doesn't want that. he wants to turn back the clock. he wants will. and it scares him. he's not supposed to want that over a life with el. he's been gifted her love on a golden platter, so why doesn't he want it?? why is he yearning for the past??

so i think mike gets stuck in a weird limbo where he pulls away from will, but not fully, but also won't fully commit to el, aka avoiding the word love. he doesn't know what to do, or what he's supposed to want. he's insecure and afraid of his feelings. "We're friends! We're friends!"

then he's confronted by el about not saying love, and the s4 escapade of will essentially convincing mike to say i love you begins. at the very least, mike knows that if he says that, then it'll be a lie, and he doesn't want to lie. but he feels like if he doesn't say it, el will see no reason to keep him around. he feels like he has no worth outside of being her boyfriend. then will swoops in and tells him how great he is, and we all know what happened after that...

holy shit mike just kiss him on the mouth it would be so much easier than whatever this shit is

[nerves-nebula]

Emergency funds needed for South Sudanese refugees

Hi all, long story short, Abdul and his friends need more money quickly as food is becoming scarce in his camp due to shop closure and an increase in refugees.

I've been supporting him as much as I can but I've only just started working again and have bills of my own which eat up most of my check. Any amount donated is immensely appreciated!

I want to end this by saying I'm incredibly grateful for all the help you've shown Abdul. Just a few days ago I had the honor of sending him a couple hundred dollars that'd been raised over the past few weeks. To see photos and videos of Abdul you can check out #abdulfund on my blog

Below I've copied a message of what Abdul has told me over whatsapp:

Hello my friend hopefully you are doing well today I would like to inform you about a very very important issue happening here at the camp, yesterday but one there happened a gun fire outbreak in juba capital between the army and the natives of different tribes and it left to curfews in juba plus all other places in the country,

Yesterday all shops in camp where closed but today some shops have opened but the army is patrolling the whole camp now we have been warned to stock food as the shop keepers cannot move to the capital to get us usages,

I would ask for some urgent support for food so that as we still not aware of when the curfew will end so please I am humbly asking you to help me with some funds so that I can stock food such that I don't starve in this miserable situation happening at the camp.

I hope you are able to see on internet what is currently happening in juba and the neighborhood centers in south Sudan.

The struggle left almost 50 people dead and also in camp the struggle left some police officers killed as well as a few refugees from Ethiopia but at least the security is a bit tight at the camp because we are some miles away from the capital as the camp is in the desert surrounded by military baracks it's what keeps us a bit safer from these attacks and UN has its army base close to the camp.

I will keep you updated on our situation

Thanks yours Abdul luyombya.

[boy-gender]

Hey there! Sorry to hear you're having a hard time figuring out your style, but I hope I can help some. I've had similar struggles during my transition, because typical american menswear doesn't appeal to me, but I didn't want to feel confined to my old "girl" clothes either. Below are some of the guiding ideas and questions I used to figure out what I liked best and what I wanted, and then I began building my wardrobe around those answers. Hope this helps!

1 Textures: I have autism, so I knew some textures in clothes were doing to be off the table for me, no matter how much I liked the look of them. If I had something in my closet I thought was cute but I hated wearing it, it wasn't really serving me, was it? Are there kinds of textures you like or don't like close to your skin? Can any of those be worn as outer layers over something else to make them tolerable? For example, I love wool, but don't like it touching my bare chest, since my top surgery scars are too sensitive. I can wear a wool sweater or vest as long as a t shirt is underneath, but no wool shirts. Try experimenting with different textures- and feel things while you shop! Don't just look at clothes visually, but touch them, feel them. Feel the inside lining- how does it feel against your arm? Chest? Neck? Feel the outside. Does it snag on your hair? Does it scratch you? Imagine what it would be like to wear something for an hour, 6 hours, an entire day.

2: Temperature: What is the climate you live in? What kinds of clothes are suitable for that climate? I live in a 4 season climate where summer is very hot and humid and winter is cold as fuck and dry. However, I run very hot all the time. I wear shorts in winter. But it's good to be prepared. Do you own at least one sturdy thing for cold weather, preferably something waterproof like wool? Do you own a raincoat or windbreaker for warmer but wet days? If you don't like to show your legs, do you own pants that can keep you cool in summer like capris, linen trousers, or baggy pants? Do you own things you can layer to build warmth- say a bra, undershirt, t shirt, sweater, coat- that you can also take off layer by layer if you get hot? Did you know you can also layer your bottoms, especially if you like skirts? You can wear leggings, leg warmers, a dress, a skirt over the dress (great way to style a dress you like the top of btw)? Do you own breathable fabrics like cotton or linen, or insulating fabrics like wool and fleece? Try to stay away from plastic type fabrics if you can, because they don't allow for much air flow. Natural fibers are more expensive up front, but last forever and are worth the price over the time, as opposed to cheap clothes that don't last long.

3 Colors: What colors do you love? What colors do you love, but not love on yourself as clothing? My favorite color is gold, but I don't own a lot of gold clothing because I just don't think it suits me in a fabric medium. I love to wear dark green, and am somewhat of a collector of emerald green clothes. I also usually have my hair dyed pink, so I try to think about what compliments that. Is wearing red with pink hair more garrish than I want to be (no, i love it)? If my hair is a cool toned pink, do I want to have all warm toned pink shirts? That may not match as well. Tone matters when picking colors, not just the color itself. There are all kinds of guides and stuff about finding colors that match your skin/hair/eyes natural tones, but I personally prefer to just wear the colors I like best. I want my clothes to make me happy and to reflect my personality, so I wear bright colors that make me happy to see them. There are some colors I avoid because I dont like them at all- for example, salmon or olive green- and then there are colors I dont mind in general but dont like as clothes. I am extremely pale, and if I wear beige, from a distance, I look naked. So I avoid beige.

4: Price point. Clothes are difficult to find that are cheap, resilient, nice looking, comfortable, and sustainably made, and in your size. Often you will not get all 6 of those factors. I highly suggest buying things secondhand from thrift stores, including online ones like thredup, or joining local buy nothing groups. There are even groups especially for trans people giving away their old wardrobes to other trans folk! Also, accept handmedowns! If something isnt to your taste, you can always donate or upcycle it, but if you do end up liking something, you got it for free! Clothes don't need to be new to be cute, and often anything made pre-2000 or so is more durable and lasts over time better than brand new things made of synthetic crap fiber.

5: Sizing. This is a struggle for people like me who are fat, but this is also a struggle for everybody in general. Take your measurements! Measure your bust, waist, hips, length of torso, inseam on your legs. Womens clothing tends to have less room in the crotch and armpits, while mens clothing doesnt have darts around the bust. Where do you need more room? Less room? Are you short enough that you need to buy specifically short or petite sizes, or are you so tall you have to buy long sizes? Do you need wide shoes instead of standard? For example, I'm a 7W shoe size- 7 wide- but if a shoe doesn't come in wide, I have to size up to a regular 7.5 or sometimes even 8. Also, check and double check your bra sizing. Remember a bra (a true wired bra, not a bralette or sports bra) has two size factors- cup size is the letter, and band circumference is the number. A 42B is a B cup with a 42 inch band. A 32A is an A cup with a 32 inch band. Make sure these BOTH fit. For band size, a bra should NOT be leaving marks or cutting into you. If you have lines imprinted on your skin when you take it off at the end of the day, that bra is TOO TIGHT! Go up in band size- the number. If your breasts are spilling out the TOP or SIDES of a cup- something sometimes called the double boob- your CUP SIZE is TOO SMALL. Try putting your bra on while bent over, facing down at the floor. If ALL that hanging breast tissue doesnt fit in the cup, your cup is TOO SMALL. Go up in cup size, the letter. You may have to seek out specialty bras, but remember that two comfortable well fitting bras are worth more than 6 shitty painful ill fitting ones.

6: Culture: Not all things that are feminine, neutral, or masculine in one culture are that way universally. In some cultures long hair is masculine, and in others, feminine. It can be hard to find a way to deal with a dominant culture trying to degender or malgender parts of your cultural heritage and fashion. For example, I'm Scottish. Kilts are something men wear, and I take pride in that legacy. I love the graceful flow of the Feileadh Mor, or great kilt, and I'm debating getting married in one. For me, being seen as a man, married in a formal outfit with a kilt, would be extremely validating and fulfilling. However, I also have fears that the kilt will be read as a skirt by a dominant culture that associates skirts with women, and thusly, will deny my gender and impose womanhood upon me. It's hard to find a comfortable balance here, and every individual comes to a different answer regarding it. At the end of the day, do what feels most affirming to you- you don't need to conform to a more dominant culture to have your gender respected. You are who you are, and cultural hegemony will never take that from you. I find the best way to handle this uncomfortable spot is to be a part of communities where your heritage and gender are affirmed- I talk to other dudes who wear kilts and we hype each other up. We are proud Scottish dudes in kilts, not women in skirts, and English/American expectations can suck my dick about it.

7: Have fun. There are no rules! Your clothes, at the end of the day, are for you and no one else. They should be comfortable and make you feel happy. If they arent comfortable for the person wearing them, they arent serving their purpose. If it makes you miserable to wear it, it isnt serving its purpose. I know it's hard to find a balance between "this is the way girls dress, and i am a girl and want to be seen as a girl, so i should wear what other girls are wearing" and "these clothes are less feminine but i like them better in isolation." How you prioritize that balance is up to you. Personally, I am a trans man, but masculine clothes tend to have duller or darker colors, less patterns, and in general are not as appealing to me visually. I might pass better if I wore them, but they dont make me happy, and for me that feels similarly to being misgendered. I want to be seen as myself first, masculine...not so important. I dont mind if my clothes dont look so masculine as long as they are things I like and I would wear. I also really love certain subcultures like emo, scene, and punk. I like certain aesthetics like clowncore, kawaii, and pastel goth. I like to wear merchandise from my favorite media, both to show my love of those things and to signal to other people who might also be fans so I can find a new friend maybe. My wardrobe is made of a mix of all these things, and different outfits I put together seem like they could be owned by totally different people. That's okay! You don't have to be pigeonholed into only one thing. You don't need one singular cohesive aesthetic. Remember, girls can be any myriad of a million things in combination, so, as a girl, you can dress as any million things. Your clothes are girl clothes because they belong to you. You are a girl in any clothes, or out of them! Only you get to decide what girlhood or womanhood or femininity will look like for you- so do what makes you happiest.

Today on campus, I saw one of the most beautiful trans women I've ever seen, but her outfit literally ruined my day. It was immaculate. I can't even describe it. Neuron activation type shit. Amd I haven't been able to stop thinking about it. When my egg first cracked, one of the things I was most excited about was fashion, because in lurking in trans spaces online, I learned that they have just THE best drip. But ever since I could physically dress myself, all I've ever worn was a t-shirt and pants/shorts. Seeing that woman's outfit ruined my day because it made me finally internalize that I have absolutely zero sense of fashion and have no idea how to shop for clothes or construct an outfit that looks good. It was one of the things I was most excited for with being trans, and it's over a year later and I dress the exact same way. Like, I don't even know how to learn or teach myself fashion. And it's not even one of those "wear what you want" or "wear what YOU think looks good" things because I don't even know. If you put me in front of a closet with every article of clothing to ever exist, you could leave me there for months, and I wouldn't be able to put together an outfit that I would be happy with.

So anyway yeah if anyone has any advice on how to dress myself I'd really appreciate it plz and thank you

[utilitycaster]

Here’s my C3 hot take: I think Matt just messed up. I think att just didn’t do a good job DMing this one, and I’m sad but I don’t think the players could have solved the problems entirely on their own. The lack of a session zero makes no sense, but more to the point I think Matt just has to much Catholic Trauma tm to have told this story. His blind spot to religion v. Personal worship in his world building is to big to stick this one. His excitement about the culmination of these narratives after 9 years made him play story beats to close to his chest looking to surprise and shock his players, and also, because he was so tied to it, he didn’t pivot, or change the story to guide the players through. The pacing, especially at the beginning feels like he was entirely to excited to get to the clever plot.

Honestly… and this makes me sad, a lot of the issues feel like he sort of started believing his own mythology. I am so happy for him to be self confident but this all feels like a story guided by someone who thinks their terribly clever and so don’t have to rely on the same level of hard work, collaboration, prep, planning etc. of previous works (and also wanted to be novel, I just think of their original campaign announcement where they said “anything might happen” and sigh a little).

My bit of hope? That’s a really easy thing to come back from! I hope they reflect and improve going forward!

p.s. this isn’t to say the others couldn’t have made things BETTER, they could have, for sure.

Hi anon,

I disagree with most of this. Most crucially, this is not the form of campaign I think would come of Catholic religious trauma. Matt's mentioned he was raised nominally Catholic but he's also mentioned his parents were artists, hippies, and D&D players, and he seems to be on pretty good terms with them. I think this is a vast overstep on your part that came from basically nowhere, especially since the logical outcome of a Catholic Trauma campaign would in fact be one that actually did portray Vasselheim as a vast controlling force within the world regulating the worship of the gods across it. A pretty massive hole in the worldbuilding, at least as this campaign demands we see it, is that we really haven't seen religion as an oppressive force except in one highly specific case, and even that was spearheaded by mortals and not the gods and is indistinguishable from a purely political land grab. Like, the blind spot you mention is actually a sign that he was not raised particularly religious; someone who was raised strictly Catholic would be extremely aware of religion as a highly organized hierarchy with clear rules and a vast worldwide network and not "a few missionaries who didn't kill anyone or even forcibly convert anyone, Vasselheim seen as a good meeting spot for a worldwide conference, and Ludinus's grievances are all highly personal." Like, the Catholic Trauma version of Exandria has Vasselheim at war with the Empire for their banning of half of the prime deities, or going full Inquisition/Crusade on Hearthdell.

I want to be clear: when I accuse fans of projecting religious trauma it's because they outright have said shit like "I always like when a narrative kills the gods bc I'm a white southerner who was raised Christian". I do not say it just because they are affiliated with a specific religious denomination.

I also don't think the issue is so much believing his own mythology as much as the one major correct thing you said, which is the lack of not just a session zero but a heavy hand in character development, coupled with a very specific plot he wanted for this campaign. Campaign 1 worked because he tailored a campaign heavily to the interests and stories of the characters, and built a world around them. Campaign 2 similarly allowed for that same give-and-take; characters like Trent and Uk'otoa and Marion and the Gentleman came from the backstories the players came up with. Some of the players' ideas were changed as part of that heavier hand in character creation. The guidance for that campaign (morally gray and complex) was actually accurate, and when the characters took a sharp turn away from the planned story, Matt was able to pivot quite gracefully.

The problem really is that it's clear Matt had a very developed vision of this campaign and didn't realize that the characters of Bells Hells largely failed to fit within it. I don't think hard work wasn't done (I think there was in fact a TON of prep that we haven't seen, eg, I 100% believe Matt has an extensive amount of work done on Otohan, Ozo Cruth, Marquet, the Apex War, etc that Bells Hells simply did not see); I think, in fact, that like three hours of work that probably would have resulted in scrapping or drastically changing the characters to fit the intended story would have fixed the vast majority of problems here. It is only, frankly, because the characters are such a bad fit that the issues we're talking about (little establishment of organized religion vs. personal practice) even became issues! But it's literally that - it's not realizing that even a longform campaign can live or die on character creation. It might even be that too much prep was done ahead of time and he was too unwilling to abandon it.

[drawloverlala]

January status update

(˶ˆᗜˆ˵) So I'm back from my break! and I'm ready to start the year proper!

🌼Regarding commission info

I've been trying to update my carrd site, which is where my commission info is and also I've been trying to update some prices and such, but I haven't yet finished with that

I'm hoping to be able to do that and announce next commission date on Sunday at most though!

just really hoping the new layout of my card will be easy to navigate in general lol

though there's something I'd like to ask, I've been wondering which option is better should i take chibi and sketch page commissions on Ko-fi or do I take them on my email?

it's fine either way but I wonder which option would be easier for people to order 😅

🌼New listings?

and well besides that I'll be offering ink/black and white commissions! that is to say an ink drawing, I currently don't have too much examples though but I'm hoping to get some after I open commissions

and I want to add background options to the chibis! and I haven't made yet some examples but I'll probably be doing that later this week and I'll be also be making the line art a bit smoother!

I'm also thinking on adding some variations to the sketch pages

🌼Ko-fi shop

It may still not be open but I want to work on some new items for it! and I also gotta get some new supplies, this year I want to focus more on stickers but I won't stop with some stationary stuff like notebooks and bookmarks.

And well last year I really wanted to go sell to an art market here in my region, I applied to one but I didn't get chosen for it, which honestly was a good thing because I was very much unprepared and busy with commissions lol 😅

I'd like to try again this year so I'm hoping to set a better balance when it comes to the time I spend on making products and working on commissions.

so yeah that's all for now, really looking forward to giving my best this year!

I'll comment more on the things I did on my break on another blog post later this week, I'll also start using a different tag for these kind of status updates, so any info regarding commissions and shop isn't mixed up with personal or unrelated stuff 👍

I'll be also posting some commission work I did last year here! so yeah! ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

[munnmolads]

"Who are you?" - Rafayel's Nightly Stroll Theory/Headcanon

My thoughts about Rafayel's jabs about forgetting MC during Nightly stroll and theory on what might have happened before the game events. Spoilers for Nightly Stroll, Under Deepspace main story and Rafayel's story branch.

Recap from Nightly Stroll - Rafayel gets injured and gets into the hospital. He calls MC to visit him in the morning, and she arrives there late at night. Angry at her lateness, Rafayel pretends to forget MC.

Later in the story we learn that this is a jab at MC actually forgetting him. They met much earlier as kids and made a promise to meet again the spot next year.

Only later in the story branch MC gets to know about her forgetting Rafayel.

Something I want to point out with the branch relating to their meeting even if it's slightly off-topic, their meeting happened 14 years ago, so MC was around 7-8 years old, and Rafayel was 10. I believe MC is referring to the experiments that we can read more about "Sealed in Dust" World Underneath story, and her age during those experiments was specified in Under Deepspace Chapter 5-1. MC still doesn't know the full extent to her experiments and doesn't connect yet that those memory losses are related to them.

While Rafayel says that he didn't ACTUALLY wait for her, he still seemed to hope that they would meet again. As if this isn't heartbreaking enough, I have wondered one thing... How he knew MC truly forgot about him?

In main story chapter 2 when they meet "for the first time", he doesn't seem to be surprised about the fact that she doesn't recognize him. He seems like he already knows she has forgotten about him, and keeps up the facade of not knowing who she is. Only after chapter 7 he shows how bitter he is over it.

Then going back to him mentioning "settling a score with her"... While I feel that we might never know what that actually meant, I feel him "forgetting" MC back is one of his ways to get back at her, in a very specific way. In addition to Nightly Stroll, he very momentarily pretends to forget MC again because he's angry with her. If you don't log in for 30 days, you will get a new interaction with the guys in the cafe, he will say this:

(thanks to SORAII for uploading a video of it, I am way too obsessed with this game to do this)

While this moment is shorter than in Nightly Stroll, it has the similar theme: He asks who MC is, and mentions that she looks kind of familar. I don't know about in other languages, but in EN voiceover he also raises his pitch a teeny bit here, and in Nightly stroll it's obviously higher.

Here is where my theory/headcanon comes in; MC has said those words to him. They met again after MC forgot everything, and ironically, has forgotten about it. And he's mocking her for it.

I imagine Rafayel did approach her after finding her - being ecstatic that he finally found her, only to hear those words. It also makes sense considering how convoluded his methods of trying to involve himself into her life have been but still never approach her until the main story starts. Also, considering how bitter he is about it and how he sincerely wanted MC to use the bond to make him not to hold a grudge anymore.

And for her, she thought she just met some guy who mistook her for someone else.

[nakateleeli]

2024 retrospective

A retrospective on 2024… I don't actually feel like this was an eventful year, so I didn't think I was going to have a lot to say. It turns out it sure was eventful, just not in the way I was thinking, and somehow this post became this long.

Here on the channel I've been spending a lot of my solo time on the Kirby series. I originally started the All the Kirbys series because I felt like I was in a constant state of having to find something new and didn't have any strong enthusiasm for anything. I wanted something that I could rely on for a while to keep me out of that funk. As the series has gone on I've found that I've already done most of the major Kirby games, so the ones I'm covering for the series are mostly side-games and spin-offs. Games that haven't gone through the refinement process as much as the main games and I've found myself struggling with them. This led to a few breaks this year where I just needed to play something else for a bit. This did allow me to get to some oddball games that have been living in the back of my head for a while. I also finally got to show off R-Type Final 2. This also means there haven't really been any "big" projects on the channel lately. We are very near the end of All the Kirbys and while I do love Kirby games I'm ready for it to be done. There are so many other games, even large ones, that I would love to get to. I feel like I've spent most of the year playing hard or frustrating games so I'm excited to be free and maybe play something I'm more enthusiastic about.

In the co-op sphere I usually let Ogre choose what games we play, but I've found myself choosing a fair number of games last year. This has given me a chance to play some other weird games I've wanted to show off like Ninja Saviors, Psychopomp, Diablo, and I outed myself as a Hololive fan (this was not the first time). Ogre's choices have been more nostalgic, with him taking a look at some of my childhood favorites like Super Metroid and Link to the Past, and him getting me to play through the early Dragon Quest games. I'm really happy with a lot of the game choice on this end and I feel like it's been a bit of a release for me from my solo stuff.

Of course I also stream several times a week and that as well has been a mixed bag. For starters on Thursday I would typically stream as Vivian.exe. Vivian's development has a bit of history that stems from some self-identity issues I've had for a very long time, and my making the Vivian model and later giving her her own voice and persona have been a way for me to explore that. Late 2023 I ran into technical issues and burnout that made me retire her. Though her streams have never been terribly popular a few viewers were sad to see her go, so I made an attempt to refine her model to something I was happier with and solve my technical issues. My hope was resolving these issues would also make me happier to do her streams, and for a time it did. I brought her back in early 2024 with most issues resolved. We came back with Outer Wilds, an amazing game, and it was my first time seeing the expansion. I got to check out a few other games I'd been wanting to play as Vivian but eventually, between House Flipper and Control, I started to burn out again on playing the Vivian character. I was originally wondering of it was the technical issues that made me burn out and was thinking that resolving them may prevent that, but no. The issue is partially the games I chose to play but largely I think, as far as my self-identity issues go, I'm starting to figure myself out and wasn't really getting anything from playing Vivian any more. So as the holiday season ramped up and I got busier I decided once again to retire her.

I also stream on Fridays, just as myself, and I've had a wonderful time there, by comparison. I've played and discovered a number of games that have gone on to be some of my all-time favorite games, like Voices of the Void and Lunacid. I've also played a number of games that were given to me directly by developers that actually looked at the content I make and thought I might enjoy. These games, like Goldenheart and Mars 2120, may not have been to the same quality as some of the other games I streamed but they were still amazing experiences and I'm really happy to have been given the chance to show them. I've also been happy in this slot because of the model I've been using. I really love the chocobo, it feels the most "me" out of everything I've used thus far, which is probably another reason I've been less satisfied with Vivian. I've even had some fun changing the model for the seasons. We changed to pink for most of the year and very recently I changed to blue for winter. I have a tendency to lean more towards feminine representations and I think the pink was part of that, but I feel like the blue actually much more fits my personality.

The Saturday streams have also been a bit of a mixed bag. Saturday is my work night. I stream mostly as a way to hold myself accountable while I get work done on any number of my personal projects. I have spent more than the past year working on replacing all of the standard Doom 2 monsters with enemies from the Jumping Flash series. This is done to accompany my prior mod which replaced the player with Robbit. This was a long, painstaking process that I knew would not pay off in any real way since it was just a monster replacement pack. That said I did an absolute ton of work that I'm unbelievably proud of. I finished the pack and finally released it late last year. I learned a lot, did a ton of work, and it's all work that I really impressed myself with. The only parts of this project I'm not as happy with are that I knew it wouldn't really be worth the trouble from the start, and that it took me so unbelievably long. Time that could have been spent on other projects. But this is now done, released, and I can start planning for the future.

I've been working on other projects as well, though not streaming them. I released Clean Up Hell, a Doom mod that turns the game into a cleaning simulator; and I'm still updating Beyond the Horizon, an idle game available on itch.io. I managed two updates this year and I'm happy to see people attempting (and sometimes failing) the new boss. I've got another update in the works.

My wife has also drug me out to a few anime conventions last year (for work, not play), which were the first I had ever been to. Though I do have a strong interest in anime and the community I still felt very uncomfortable there. Largely I just felt out of place and scared I'd be recognized. I felt like a grumpy father just there because he was drug there, despite that I was actually interested. I'm mostly just socially anxious and worried about how I appear. Similarly, I take my separation of personal and online lives seriously and was worried someone might identify me by proxy of being with my wife. I did, after a short time, find a kind of mask that not only hides my identity but also makes me feel more like I'm supposed to be there, like I'm one of the people there, excited, all walking around in some kind of love-filled cosplay. Once more comfortable I really loved this experience. I loved seeing everybody in costume, seeing everybody so excited, enthusiastic, and yet also so comfortable, often even expressing a wide range of self-representation. This did a lot to improve my own mood and also learn about myself. This also contributed a lot to figuring out myself, what I want to do with myself, and how I want to appear. This certainly contributed to my not feeling Vivian was necessary any more, as well as my want to redesign my chocobo to be something I think better represents how I want to be represented (and not copyrighted). Mostly a lot of personal growth here that I can take advantage of going forward.

Emotionally things were looking up right up until the end of August when I hurt my back. It was a muscle strain, no nerve damage, but it was the worst I had ever hurt my back in my life, and I am not a stranger to back injuries. I was chair-ridden for a week and it was difficult to move for a month after. To this day I still have to be careful and I will probably never be the same. Especially for someone like me, who is known to throw themselves around and push themselves physically, this is really disempowering. I wasn't able to get any physical work done for the rest of the year and started falling into depression as time went on. It hit me hard. Over time my back has felt better and I've even gotten more and more recognition at work which has helped improve my mood. I'm feeling much better now, both physically and emotionally, but I pretty much wrote off the last three months of last year. It was a bad time.

That said, the year is over and next year is looking much better. We're nearly done with Kirby and I'm excited to start something new. Vivian is retired and for the moment that slot is going to be reserved for tying up loose ends. Jumping Flash Doom is done and I can start working on new projects. I'm currently modifying my chocobo model to better appear how I want to be represented (and not copyrighted). It's been a bit of a slump year I feel, but a year is a long time for nothing to go wrong. My channel has also been all over the place in representation until now. I've got Miss Naka as my avatar and on thumbnails, a chocobo on my stream thumbnails and as my stream avatar, and then Vivian making an appearance in effectively her own series.

Going forward I'm excited to turn over a new leaf. We're going to be starting new projects on almost every front and I'd like to soft rebrand under a consistent brand. This may not be quick, as I am just one person who can't do any of this full-time. Thank you all so much for supporting me and the things I do, especially those of you who have been around for years and years that I just can't scare off. I'm going to be counting on your continued support in the coming year, and I very much hope you enjoy what I have in store.

[cripplecharacters]

hi, i want to write about/draw/generally create post-canon content for a character. specifically, a character who survived being lit on fire right before the end of the book (as in, we dont see how the fire effected him in the longterm, as the story is cut off pretty much as soon as it is put out). however, of note is that hes the main antagonist of the story (a spree killer to be specific). ive seen a lot of discussion from burn survivors and other people with fds that you shouldnt be writing evil characters with burn scars or other fds due to the harmful messages that perpetuates, and i want to know if that applies here as well? should i not portray him with scars from the fire, since he is never portrayed with them in the original material? or should i give him scars, as it is the very likely result of him surviving the fire (although not explicitly stated, the way hes described immediately after the fire is put out indicates that he probably has 3rd degree burns over most of his body)? thank you for your time

Hello,

in this situation you have essentially 4 options;

Don't portray him with the scars. Yes, realistically speaking, he would have scars. Obviously. But 95% of action characters should also have some sort of permanent disability from getting hit on the head over and over, and yet they don't. Characters will get brought back from the dead after getting crushed to pieces and still be able-bodied, I really wouldn't get hanged up on whether an injury's outcome is realistic.

He initially has scars but they heal up. Again, realism doesn't really matter. Just throw some first degrees on him and call it a day.

Give him the scars and have the only burn survivor be the most offensive stereotype that's out there. It is what it is, you can't write your way out of a burned spree killer.

Give him scars and introduce another character who's not a murderer (or other big stereotype). If the character survives his burns, he's visiting a burn unit (burns are a life-threatening injury, he's not going to just go home after this). That's where new burn survivors are stored and 99.9% of them are normal people. I don't know whether you will be adding new characters, but even just adding a regular ass person who happens to be a burn survivor would make it better. If you don't want to add anything then I guess it's more complicated, maybe the (presumably good/less evil?) canon character who lit him on fire/put out the fire also got caught in it and got burnt too?

As you can guess, option three is the worst. If you decide to do that one, I'd consider not acknowledging the character as a burn survivor in the meta context. I wouldn't go anywhere near something tagged as "#burn survivor rep" if I saw a spree killer mention anywhere. It's just not what anyone is looking for when trying to find stuff featuring burn survivors. Spare us.

There's no one good convenient way out of this I think, you have to sacrifice something to make it work - either realism, potential disabled readers, or plan for the story. The advice above is just my take on what you could do here.

Hope this helps,

mod Sasza

[cogentranting]

What's interesting to me about Jod and his relationship with the kids by the end of the series is that it's so in-between.

It's not "actually I've come to care for these kids and I will give up my plan to protect them" but it's also not just that he's evil and doesn't care about them.

He does betray them and he does a lot of harm. He threatens them and their families and their home in a very genuine and traumatic way. He brings destruction and danger down on their home. He does not make the turn to help them or side with them against the other pirates. He stays on his course, stays a bad guy.

But at the same time, as much as he threatens them (in the pirate horde, in the ship and on At Attin) and their family, he doesn't actually hurt them. (in fact I think the only ones we see him actually physically hurt are 1. SM-33. 2. The werewolf pirate guy 3. the supervisor droid). And I don't know that the threats are empty, but he's certainly very reluctant to actually enact that violence, and his plan might not have fallen through if he had been more willing to hurt them. He's not willing to stop for the sake of the kids, but he'd much rather get through his plan without harming them. And when he KB is falling and he thinks she probably died there is real fear and regret in his face. He didn't want that.

All of this is an outpouring of his misguided worldview. Because again, Jod isn't a villain who can't recognize right and wrong. He knows what Good is, he's seen it. But his problem is despair so he believes that Good is not worth it, and is not powerful enough to make a difference. And because of that he becomes the manifestation of the cruel place he believes the world to be. The good in him is THERE but its not strong enough to really change him, but it's because his despair doesn't believe it can be. And so he becomes the very thing that made him-- he watched his mentor/parental figure killed in front of him, and he stands there threatening to do the same thing to Wim and Fern.

But he doesn't, because he isn't quite the villain that the Empire represents. Even though the difference doesn't come from him actively making a choice for Good, it does come from there being Good still in him, even just in the form of hesitation. Good is still powerful even when he's denying it. And then little ember in him is not what saves the day--that's the kids and their families and the New Republic. But it is there and it does mean that even though he stays a villain there is that moment of Wim calling out to him, there is still that spark of hope that Jod can be saved one day too.