#malicious or not repeating the same thing over and over like a broken record is almost dogmatic

[toymoder]

I think unless you specify that "no" "stop" "wait" mean anything else all of those are withdrawals of consent, even in kink. When in doubt, check in. Not every scene is CNC. I'm really tired of stubborn and inconsiderate people, often doms, who refuse to listen to anything but standard issue safewords and colour systems. I've never accidentally said no when i didn't mean it and i know thats what I'm gunna reflexively say when i need everything to stop. "No isn't the safeword" is coercive at best when CNC has not even been discussed.

[nicknellie]

Anonymous requested: While on a walk to clear his head, Alex is attacked by Caleb as a warning to him and his friends. Shaken, he refuses to tell the band what happened, but he does tell Willie who is furious and protective. Fluffy ending. (This was edited/simplified just to make it shorter.)

Oooh, this was a really good request! All the details were really helpful too, so thank you for that. I really enjoyed writing it, especially the fluff at the end. I really hope this is the sort of thing you were after. Thank you for requesting it, I hope you like it!

TW: injury, blood.

Tripwire

It was safe to say that since Alex and the boys had left the dark room there had been a lot to process. Being dead, for a start. Adjusting to being a ghost had been a whole other ordeal too. Meeting Julie, forming the band, everything that had gone down with Caleb. Willie. Throughout those few months it had been non-stop, one thing after another, and Alex hadn’t had any time to slow down or take a break, not one single moment to really think about what was going on.

Now, somehow, all the difficult stuff was over and done with. Nobody had seen Caleb in weeks, Alex had managed to free Willie from the stamp, and the band had five more gigs lined up, plus a record deal on the horizon. While things were still definitely busy, it wasn’t so constant anymore. Alex finally had the time to just take a breather – or whatever the ghost version of a breather was, seeing as he couldn’t actually breathe. He had settled on his tried and tested method of going for a walk to clear his head to take the time to wrap his mind around it all.

The freedom of teleportation was nice, but it was definitely one of Alex’s least favourite ghost abilities. He couldn’t help but worry he’d somehow end up in the wrong place every time he did it, or that he’d poof out and never reappear anywhere else. It didn’t have the safety of walking through walls or being heard and seen when the band played together. And it might have been freeing, but it wasn’t nearly as freeing as just walking. Walking was slow and repetitive and methodical, rhythmic in a way that was relaxing. When Alex walked he didn’t have to think about where he was going – he could just let his feet take him there while his mind wandered elsewhere.

So that’s what he did. As he walked through the streets of Hollywood, Alex let his mind wander. He thought about everything that had happened since they came back, everything that might have happened in the twenty-five years before that, and everything that could happen in the future. Alex didn’t often think about the future; he didn’t like dwelling on things that were out of his control and the future was certainly that. But as he thought about it then, it didn’t seem quite so daunting – after all, nothing bad had happened in weeks.

As he was nearing the Orpheum, Alex suddenly felt as if something was wrong. It was an odd sensation in the pit of his stomach, a bad feeling that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Dread, maybe. Or perhaps just the intuitive feeling that something was coming and it couldn’t be anything good.

Ahead of him, no more than ten feet away, a mist was gathering, a light lilac cloud spinning faster and faster until it was so thick that Alex couldn’t see through it, growing taller and taller, wider and wider. The cloud spun so fast that Alex could feel wind rush past him from the movement of it, but it was gone as soon as it had come. The cloud dissipated with a soft whoosh, leaving behind a few sparkles drifting on the breeze it had created, and stood where the cloud had been was Caleb Covington.

While he wasn’t happy to see Caleb again after so long, Alex was glad to see he hadn’t lost his flair for the dramatic.

He knew he wouldn’t have time to get away, but he still considered it. Maybe if he ran instead of walking he could get away. He considered poofing out, but his mind had gone completely blank of places to poof to – all he could think of when looking at Caleb was the Hollywood Ghost Club, and going there was nothing short of the worst idea he could ever have had. So he stayed put, staring Caleb down, trying to stop the shaking of his hands and the hammering of his non-existent heart.

“Hello, Alex,” Caleb drawled. His hands were folded atop his cane and he wore a purple suit so dark it almost looked black, his cape wafting ever so slightly in the breeze, his top hat perched neatly on his head. Childishly, Alex wondered if he had the courage to walk up to him and knock the hat off his head. “Long time no see.”

“What do you want?” Alex demanded, trying to sound as if he wasn’t desperate to run away. He was aware that Caleb probably knew just how scared he really was, but if he didn’t show his nerves then he might have been able to convince himself that he wasn’t really frightened.

Caleb tutted. “Come now, is that really how you greet an old friend? I might have expected it from Luke but certainly not from you, Alex. I’m only here to see how you’re getting on without me!”

It felt like a trap, but Alex didn’t know what tripwire he was supposed to avoid.

“We’re doing fine,” he said firmly. “We don’t need you.”

“So you keep telling me,” Caleb replied. He flexed his hands, still grasping his cane. “Tell me, Alex – how did you and your little buddies manage to free yourselves from my stamp, hm?”

“Why should I tell you that?” Alex spat. It was a braver way of saying ‘we have no idea’.

“Oh, I don’t think you should,” Caleb admitted. “If you told me how you did it there would be dire consequences for you and your friends, but it would be extremely helpful to me. If you want to keep this newfound freedom with your silly little band, you shouldn’t tell me how you got the stamp off.”

“Then I’m not telling you,” Alex said.

“But,” Caleb continued, a malicious twinkle in his eyes, “if you want to walk away from this little chat unharmed then I suggest you tell me everything.”

Up until then, Alex thought he had been doing a very good job at standing his ground, maybe even looking a little intimidating. But the threat broke him. He felt himself freeze, his mind halt, and suddenly he was far weaker than the man in front of him.

“Unharmed?” he repeated. “What do you mean ‘unharmed’?”

Caleb cocked his head to the side like he didn’t understand the question. “Isn’t it obvious?” When Alex didn’t say anything, Caleb chuckled darkly. It sent shivers down Alex’s spine and made his stomach twist sickeningly. “Alex, if you refuse to tell me exactly how you got my stamp off, I am going to hurt you. And let me tell you, you’d be surprised just how much you can make someone hurt even after they’re dead and gone.”

Alex’s mind was spinning. There was no good option here, no way out. Caleb had trapped him in yet another impossible situation. He cursed himself for not poofing out while he had the chance.

But it didn’t matter how scared he was now, he would not let his friends suffer just to stave off his own pain. He had to take one for the team, even if he was dreading it. The smirk on Caleb’s face said that he knew he had won this round no matter what, smug and self-satisfied. Alex wanted to slap the smile right off his face, but he refused to give him the satisfaction of a fight.

He steeled himself, set his jaw, tried to look like as much of a threat as he could. “I’m not telling you anything. Nothing you do can make me talk. Do your worst.”

Caleb raised an eyebrow, looking almost amused, but he nodded. “Alright then. You’ve made your decision. I can’t say I’m surprised – you’re not as weak-willed as you look. But you’re still weak. I can still hurt you.”

He tucked his cane under his arm and stalked towards Alex. Too late, Alex wondered if he could have taken that brief opportunity to run away, but he would never know because Caleb grabbed his wrist. It was just like how he’d put the stamp on, a quick touch and a slight sting. When he let go, Alex looked at where his hand had been – there was a blood red mark there, swirling on his skin. Its shape constantly changed, but Alex was sure he picked out a blade before it twisted and morphed into something else.

“What is it?” he asked Caleb.

“You’ll soon see,” he replied, already walking away. He threw the words over his shoulder as he left Alex alone. “Consider this a warning to you and your friends. Willie, too. It isn’t over. There is plenty more I can do to make you suffer. It’s up to you to decide whether you’re willing to put yourselves through all of this just to stay away from me. I’ll see you soon, Alex.”

And he was gone.

For a moment, Alex was confused. This stamp, whatever it was, didn’t seem to be doing anything. It was just moving about on his skin, as fluid as water, like a cool tattoo. He wondered – hoped – if Caleb’s spell hadn’t worked.

But then it hit him. It felt as if he’d been struck by lightning and hit by a bus at the exact same time, unimaginable pain slamming into him and knocking him right off his feet. It was infinitely worse than the pain of the jolts Caleb had inflicted on them before which should have been impossible because those felt like death. And yet there he was, lying on the ground, winded and light-headed, pain surging through his body, unable to move.

Another one. This time it felt like he’d been kicked in the temple and had his face stamped on. He was sure his nose was broken even though that probably shouldn’t have been possible. He lifted a weak, shaking hand to his face and touched his upper lip – when his hand came away, his fingertips were drenched in blood. Alex had been sure that ghosts didn’t have blood, so he wondered whether he’d been wrong or if this was some sort of sick illusion Caleb had created. He decided it didn’t matter, not when he was vulnerable and hurting, in agony worse than dying.

Again, like being stabbed in the gut.

Again, like he’d broken his legs.

Again, like a knife twisted in his back.

It went on and on, attack after attack, pain after searing pain. It hurt too much for him to even scream for help, not that it would have done any good. All around him, lifers walked by without a care in the world, not knowing that he was right there, a snivelling wreck, bloodied and bruised. He curled in on himself and waited for it all to be over.

Eventually, it finished. The last jolt came like a punch to the jaw and when nothing else happened for fifteen minutes, Alex began to come to his senses. He opened his eyes and eased himself up into a sitting position. Even that hurt like hell. He studied his body – his legs, even though they felt like they had been snapped in half, seemed fine; there were a few bruises on his arms, but nothing major; every aching joint was killing him and his head was pounding; again, he touched his upper lip and felt blood crusted there, but none of it was fresh enough to be wet.

He could only imagine how pathetic he looked.

How was he going to explain all this to his friends?

Never mind an explanation – he needed to warn them.

Slowly, he picked himself up off the ground. He regretted it immediately as his head started swimming, he swayed on his feet, almost slumping right back down to the ground. He wouldn’t let himself be beaten by this, he wouldn’t show anymore weakness. His vision blurred (by pain or unshed tears, it was impossible to tell), he focused as much as he could on the studio and forced himself to poof back there.

The feeling of teleportation was uncomfortable at the best of times, but in such a state Alex couldn’t have imagined anything worse. He landed in the studio, his feet hitting the floor with such force that it sent shockwaves up his spine, nothing compared to what he’d just been through but still unbelievably painful. Distantly, he could hear his friends stop talking, muffled and indistinct voices crowding all around him, their faces swimming in front of his eyes.

“Alex,” came a voice. Maybe Julie’s, maybe Luke’s, maybe Reggie’s, maybe none of them. “Alex, buddy, you alright? Come on, speak to us, Alex. What happened? Alex? Alex?”

There was little strength in his arms, but he used it to push them all away and staggered his way to the couch. He collapsed onto it, suddenly feeling weak, somehow more vulnerable than he’d felt lying on the ground as Caleb’s stamp beat him bloody. He checked his wrist now – the stamp was gone.

He came back to himself a little at that; if the stamp was gone, he couldn’t be hurt anymore. He was alright now, he was with his friends, Caleb was nowhere to be seen. But knowing that didn’t stop the tears pooled in his eyes from sliding down his cheeks or his hands from shaking so intensely they might fall off his body. Someone – no, not just someone, it was Julie – crouched down in front of him and gently laid a hand on his knee.

He jerked away from the touch like it burned him.

“Alex,” came Julie’s soft voice. “Alex, please look at me. What happened?”

All he could do in response was shake his head and curl in on himself, body heaving with every sob he was too weak to suppress.

“Alex,” Reggie tried. Alex felt the couch cushions depress next to him as Reggie sat beside him. “It’s alright, man. You’re safe here with us.”

“You’re not alone, Alex,” came Luke’s voice. “Just tell us what happened. Who did this to you?”

But still Alex could only shake his head.

No one said anything for a while. The only sound in the studio was Alex’s laboured breathing and ragged sobs. He’d never felt so pathetic in all his life and death – he could make it through torture without crying like this, and yet just being around his friends after the fact was enough to set him off. He felt useless, he hadn’t even tried to stop Caleb in any way. He’d let this happen, he was the reason he was hurt. This was all his fault.

After a while, he heard the sound of one of the boys poofing out, presumably Luke because Alex could still feel Reggie sat beside him. Only a minute or so later, there was the sound of someone poofing back in, but Luke wasn’t alone now.

“Alex?”

His haggard breathing stopped altogether as Alex opened his eyes to see Willie in front of him, crouched down where Julie had been before. There was a soft smile on their face, reassuring, but Alex wasn’t blind to the tears in their eyes. Alex timidly reached out a hand to him and Willie interlocked their fingers.

“I’m here,” Willie said, his voice wavering. “I’m here for you, hotdog.”

At that, fresh tears began streaming down Alex’s face. He pulled Willie to him, wrapping him in a fierce embrace, holding them so tight that it made his new injuries sear with pain, but he never wanted to let go. The pain was worth every bit of comfort that simply holding Willie provided, every moment, every second, everything.

“We’ll give you guys a minute,” Julie said quietly.

“What?” Luke protested. “No way, I want to find out who hurt Alex and I want to hurt them.”

“Luke,” Julie said, gentle but firm. “That’ll come later. I’m sure we’ll find out everything, but right now we shouldn’t surround him.”

Alex, still holding Willie like his afterlife depended on it, heard the three of them reluctantly leave him and Willie behind. He was grateful for the most part, but a little bit of him still wanted them there. It would have been harder to tell them all what had happened at once, but he would have preferred not to repeat the story.

Willie just held him. They didn’t press for him to talk, didn’t let go before Alex was ready, he just held him in his arms and occasionally whispered, “I love you. You’re safe. I’m here.”

Alex couldn’t believe how lucky he was to have someone like Willie care for him.

Eventually, he pulled away. It hurt to see Willie’s face streaked with tears, especially knowing it was because of him. Alex softly tucked a lock of hair behind their ear.

“I was out for a walk,” he rasped, his voice strained from crying. “Clearing my head. Like the day we first met. Same place and everything. Then there was this weird cloud and Caleb appeared. He said if I didn’t tell him how we got the stamps off then he’d hurt me.”

“Oh, Alex,” Willie breathed. Alex could see their heart breaking.

“I wouldn’t tell him. It’s not like we know anyway. So he… he put this other stamp on me – it was like, red and swirly and it looked like…”

“Death,” Willie finished for him. Alex nodded, looking at the ground, trying to still his breathing again. “It looked like death.”

“It felt like it too,” Alex said dryly. “Or worse.” He choked on his words, remembered it all, broke again.

He fell limply to the side, but Willie caught him, pulled him into a hug as he cried. There were images racing through his mind, one after the other – Caleb’s mirthless laughter and sly smirk, the stamp dripping across his skin, himself lying on the ground covered in his own blood. He still hadn’t figured out if that blood had been real or an illusion, but he couldn’t bring himself to care anymore because right that moment he felt as if he couldn’t breathe and his legs were numb and the walls were closing in and he was losing his grip on reality and losing his grip on Willie and–

“Come back, Alex,” Willie said, his voice cutting through Alex’s hopeless thoughts. “You’re not there anymore. It’s over. You survived. You are in Julie’s garage, I’m holding you, nothing can get to you. Come back, Alex.”

Slowly, Alex dragged himself down from his thoughts. He focused on the feeling on his hands clutching Willie’s hoodie, the tickle of Willie’s hair against his cheek, the warmth of Willie’s hands on his back. He focused on Willie and it brought him back.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“Don’t apologise,” Willie told him, sounding almost outraged. He watched as Willie took a moment to collect himself, and when they spoke again their voice was much calmer. “You have nothing to apologise for. None of this was your fault. Please tell me you know that.”

Alex couldn’t have truthfully said so, and he wouldn’t lie to Willie. Bottom lip trembling as he held back yet more tears, he remained silent.

“Alex, this wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have known Caleb was going to attack you. You couldn’t have predicted any of this. And it could have happened to any one of us. We all would have done the same thing. You made it through, Alex. This wasn’t your fault and you’re not weak for getting hurt.”

After a moment’s pause, Alex weakly repeated back to them, “This wasn’t my fault.”

Willie pressed a kiss to the top of Alex’s head. “Good. Please remember that. You don’t need to feel guilty about this, alright?”

All he did was nod, closing his eyes and resting his head on Willie’s chest.

“I can explain the stamp if you want,” Willie said, carding his fingers through Alex’s hair. “It has some fancy Latin name that I can’t remember. When Caleb uses it on someone, it takes the most pain they’ve ever been in, and it multiplies it by a thousand. It’s a good thing he can’t use it on lifers because if he did it would kill them with the first jolt.”

“I’m not surprised,” Alex deadpanned.

“The first time he used it on me I thought he was trying to kill me. Again. Or force me to cross over somehow.”

At that, Alex sat up and stared at Willie, wide-eyed. “The first time?”

Gently, Willie pulled Alex back to his lap and laid him down again. “He would use it on me if ever I stepped really out of line. The last time was the day you guys performed at the Orpheum. But I’m free now, so as long as we avoid Caleb it’ll never happen again. If we all avoid him – me, you, Luke, Reggie – then none of us have to get hurt.”

“I don’t think we can avoid whatever he’s got planned,” Alex mumbled.

“Maybe not,” Willie admitted. “But let’s not think about that now. Right, hotdog? I mean, you made it out today. Let’s focus on that. Is there anything you want to do?”

Alex thought for a moment but all he came up with was: “I just want to sleep. And I want you to hold me.”

He could hear Willie’s smile in their voice. “Of course. Whatever you want, Alex.”

Alex felt his eyes drifting closed, sleep catching up with him all at once, the exhaustion being a by-product of the agony. He didn’t mean to say it, but he heard his tired voice breathe, “I love you.”

And just before he fell asleep, he heard Willie whisper back, “I love you too, Alex. Sleep well.”

[theatresweetheart]

For the bad thing happens bingo prompts: broken wrist and analogical? could you make it g/t too, somehow?

Student Struggles

Summary: He knew it was illogical and ridiculous to make such an emotionally biased decision. Yet, Logan did it anyway.

Warnings: Broken limb (non graphic), humans treated as lesser, main character referred to as an “it” (non malicious), fear.

Pairings: Platonic Analogical 

Characters: Logan, Virgil

Word Count: 3463 words

                                        ——————————

It was a precarious predicament.

It certainly wasn’t everyday he tried to sneak out of his university’s anthropology lab harbouring an injured and terrified human in his pocket.

As one of the more respected senior’s of his class, most of the professors that were still there hardly paid Logan another look as he left the lab for the evening.

Still, that didn’t change the fact that he was nervous. Smuggling a human out of the lab without a professor’s explicit permission was an offence punishable by suspension. The suspension itself wouldn’t last much longer than a couple days, but it would leave a bad mark on his crystal clean school record. It would change the reputation he had with his professors—all of which he had so carefully tailored right from his first year in the program.

In fact, most of them greeted him warmly. Asking about his classes earlier, wishing him a good weekend and giving a teasing reminder to study for the upcoming midterms. None of these conversations lasted longer than a few minutes and normally, Logan would have been glad to speak with them. But as of that moment, the longer he was stuck there standing with them, the larger the chance was of him being found out. He knew his professors were very well trained in spotting things that seemed off—an example would be students sitting in the very back row, the furthest away from the lecturer and still getting called out for not paying enough attention.

Long story short, if Logan got caught he was risking his entire future in this field.

A part of him still questioned if this whole thing was even worth the risk. Humans got hurt all the time in his practicum; especially when other students weren’t being careful enough. It happened, so why was this one any different?

Why was the human that had looked up at him with wide frightened eyes any different than the others?

Still, whether or not it was worth the risk, Logan was too far into it now to backtrack. Retracing his steps back to the lab may be considered suspicious, so it was all or nothing whether he wanted it to be or not. Besides, he was also positive that the doors would be locked anyhow, so backpedaling would be pointless. Not that he didn’t have a key to get back in if he truly needed to.

Logan ducked around another professor expertly and he went unnoticed, as the professor in question seemed to be engaged in a particularly interesting conversation.

Or so he thought.

Just as he was about to push the door to the building open, he heard the man bidding his quick farewells for the night before easily catching up with the student.

“Logan,” his professor greeted him with a grin, pushing the other door open before Logan had the chance to escape.

“Dr. Coleman,” he replied after a moment, shouldering his book bag a little more securely.

“You seem to be in quite the rush,” Dr. Coleman said, pulling his coat closer as the cool autumn air swept in through the doors. “Mind if I join you to the parking lot?”

As if he had a choice. Logan only gave a nod.

The squirming in his pocket started up again, this time with more vigor. Slightly paranoid that the little motions would show through the soft fabric, Logan make the quick decision to fully wrap his hand around the human—keeping it still and silent. While that stopped the slight movement from the outside, he could still feel the terrified motions pushing helplessly against his fingertips. Trying fruitlessly to budge his fingers. Of course, to no avail.

While he did feel bad about physically restraining it when it was so obviously in distress, Logan really couldn’t risk being found out this far into the endeavor.

He only hoped the little thing’s heart wouldn’t stop entirely.

However, during the entire ordeal he kept his features mindfully neutral, careful to keep from alerting Dr. Coleman of his current plight.

Dr. Coleman didn’t say anything for a long moment, his eyes flickered over the student and Logan pretended not to notice. Acting off would only make the professor suspicious. Something he really did not need right now.

The professor only hummed softly before turning his attention forward, toward the cars sitting silently under the streetlights illuminating the parking lot in a warm yellow glow. Logan must have spent more time in the lab than he had meant to, if twilight was already falling.

“Busy night tonight, I assume?” Dr. Coleman finally broke the silence and Logan only shrugged nonchalantly.

“You could say that,” he relented. While it technically wasn’t untrue, it wouldn’t be school work like the professor would assume.

Dr. Coleman snickered, reaching into his pocket to draw out his car keys. He clicked the buttons and his car’s headlights flashed in response. “Getting some studying done?”

In a way.

Logan forced himself to relax a little, knowing that the professor had no idea of his little stowaway. “Certainly. Can never be too over prepared for an exam.”

“True,” Dr. Coleman stuck his hands into his pockets. Logan felt relief wash over him when the professor reached his own vehicle. This was the very type of interaction he had been trying so hard to avoid. “This is why you’re one of my favourite students, Logan.”

The praise was nice, but really not what he needed right now. “I appreciate that, Dr. Coleman. But I really do have to get going, as pleasant as this conversation has been.”

As stinted as it had been too, it seemed. Usually, talking with Dr. Coleman didn’t take that much energy. He had engaged the professor in many heated debates over his four years of study. And he would be glad to engage in those types of conversations once more! Just as soon as the human was no longer on his person and in range of being confiscated, only to be placed right back into the same area where it had gotten hurt in the first place.

Whether or not this whole thing was the correct course of action, Logan was sick of witnessing humans getting injured and then being disposed of as if their injuries made them completely useless.

If given the proper treatment and time to heal, they would have a far less percentage of humans succumbing to their injuries or illnesses.

It was unfortunate that so many of his peers thought of the small creatures as disposable. While, no, it was not difficult for professionals to retrieve more right out of their lives on earth, it didn’t make the practice any less morbid or underhanded. Anthropology students should be learning how to assist humans in healing and recovering, not tossing them the minute they were no longer “perfect” in their eyes.

“Fair enough,” Dr. Coleman said, stepping back and placing a hand on the door handle of his car. “I won’t keep you from your studies any longer. Have a good night and take care of yourself. Don’t you be pulling all-nighters, understand?”

“I understand,” Logan repeated back as if on instinct. It wouldn’t stop him from doing it, but it was…nice, he supposed, to know that the professor cared.

It wasn’t like he didn’t have friends that wouldn’t check up on him, he did, but it was different when it was someone that was higher status than you were. Held more sway over what happened in the department. Dr. Coleman was the dean of the anthropology department and he had a lot of power.

The professor nodded his head with a grin, before pulling open his car and stepping in.

Logan let out a breath and turned on his heel. Quickening his pace to his own vehicle, he fished in his bag for his keys. He found them after a moment of struggling one-handed and unlocked his car. He slid inside just as Dr. Coleman’s headlights flashed over him and the professor pulled out of the parking lot, disappearing over the hill leading down to the highway.

Letting his head rest back against the seat’s headrest, he finally released the human from the confines of his hand. Using his now freed one, he ran them through his hair before pulling his glasses off.

What was he even doing?

So what if there was a cruel practice going on at the school underneath everyone’s noses? Just because he was privy to it didn’t mean he had to do anything about it. He was just one person. Logan had friends that were very much human rights activists and into studies and politics concerning the creatures, but none of their campaigns had really gotten the traction necessary to make a true difference. It was a difficult field of study to be in when there were people opposing everything you did.

While Logan always made sure his interactions with the creatures were careful and calculated, a part of him wished he could say the same thing for his classmates.

You would think, at a senior level of study, students would be taking it more seriously. Many of them did, but many of them still used this advantage to handle the humans they dealt with rough and carelessly. To which, the creature would get injured and would then be gone by next morning.

The human currently stuck within the confines of his pocket had been one of the unlucky ones. Injured thanks to a student who had been working in the lab outside of class just a few feet away from Logan—who had conducting his own experiments—they’d dropped the human from a dangerous height on accident, causing the little one to cry out.

His classmate had panicked immediately, obviously unsure of what to do or where to go from there. They’d even gone as far as to check over at Logan to gauge if he’d seen anything and snitch. The student had then gathered the human up as if nothing had happened. They’d packed their papers, shoved it all into their backpack and then deposited the human right back into the large glass terrarium in the middle of the lab, just waiting for someone else to find the injured creature in the morning and get rid of it.

Logan didn’t even have any connection to the human currently struggling to right itself in the soft fabric. Hadn’t conducted any studies with it, observed it or anything else of the such. He’d only heard the helpless cry and decided he wasn’t going to let it suffer in its own agony all night.

The move was illogical and he knew that. Yet, he was still risking absolutely everything for this one little human. His future career was banking on the hope he never got found out.

Logan slipped his glasses back on before sliding the keys into the ignition.

“The amount of trouble you could get me in is unbelievable,” he mused after a moment, unsure if he was talking to the human or not. Either way, the only reaction he got for his efforts was more struggling. So, pulling the gear shift out of park, he made his way back home.

—

“Oh, would you stop fighting me for five seconds,” the student groused, quickly managing to corral the human between his hands again without fully touching him. “If I wanted to hurt you, don’t you think I would have done that by now? Or perhaps, better yet, just left you back in the lab’s terrarium for someone else to find?”

The human only twitched away from his hands, just as he had been doing for the past fifteen minutes. Logan really didn’t want to have to pin him down to get the fidgety creature to be still, but he was quickly running out of options and patience.

“I don’t want to restrain you,” Logan’s voice finally seemed to get the human’s flickering attention. However, now the human’s eyes were locked solely on him, with an uncanny ability to follow his every miniature movement with unwavering attention. It was, all things considered, slightly disturbing to be watched so intensely with such obvious fright and distrust. “But I will if you force my hand.”

The human’s face contorted in an expression that resembled a sneer, before he tucked his injured wrist closer to his chest.

Logan pulled his hands back to himself, watching quietly as the human flinched further into himself. It was very much obvious the little one was touch shy and Logan really wanted to refrain from handling him as much as possible– lest he frighten the human so bad his little heart stopped altogether. “You must understand that leaving your wrist like that will only do you more harm than good. I can assist you in starting your healing progress.”

The human seemed open enough to the idea and Logan carefully extended his fingertips forward, a blatant show of nonaggression and allowing the creature to come to him in its own time. Giving the human the slightest semblance of control may make this entire interaction even the tiniest bit easier on them both.

Its eyes flickered uneasily from its wrist back to Logan’s outstretched hand. It twisted to look over its shoulders, as if searching out an escape route. It hadn’t worked before and Logan knew trying to escape wouldn’t work again. His reaction time was much faster than the human’s, so it wouldn’t make it very far anyhow.

The human in question turned back to Logan, almost as if waiting for the other shoe to drop. For him to act like any other careless student that was ready to mishandle him. The human’s wrist was thin as it was, but now that it was injured (and Logan speculated, broken), it was even more vulnerable than before. Giving up a vulnerable piece of you was a frightening thing and Logan could hardly imagine looking at it from any other perspective but his own. Though, he could safely assume that he, himself, would not be very fond of this situation either if their positions had happened to be switched.

Truthfully, there would be nothing about the human’s life Logan would enjoy. Depending on whether or not he came straight from the earth’s surface and nicked directly from his own life, or if he had been born into a breeding facility.

In all reality, he understood the hesitance in letting him assist. If the human had been handled as recklessly as Logan theorized he had, coming face to face with someone that wouldn’t mishandle him purposefully would be unknown, suspicious and daunting new territory.

“I’m not going to ask you to trust me,” he said finally, the human’s eyes flickered up to meet his own. Surprise lingered in those colourful eyes. “I know you’re frightened and that’s alright. It may be hard to believe, but I really can help you. Only if you’ll allow me, of course. Though, I do think you and I both know that sleeping on that hurt wrist of yours would be uncomfortable at least.”

The human’s good hand clenched, showing Logan the inner battle the little one was facing.

Wanting to ease a little more of it’s stress, he quietly urged; “I will not hurt you, you have my word.”

A moment passed and the human hesitantly stepped forward, his wrist extended enough for Logan to start bandaging.

—

“Why’d you do it?”

The sudden voice very nearly startled Logan out of his thoughts. Virgil had been sitting so quietly next to him, that he’d almost forgotten the human was even there in the first place.

When Logan’s attention fell down to said human, Virgil wasn’t looking at him. He was instead focused intently on his wrist, carefully wrapped in bandages and hanging in a makeshift sling, the best either of them could have done. Logan had almost no experience bandaging such a small subject, so getting it done and in a place where he was satisfied with it was difficult. And Virgil had been working one-handed, so getting the sling to hold properly had been a fight all in itself.

Though, the question was what really nabbed Logan’s attention. “Do what?”

Virgil gave him a look—Logan was getting very familiar with Virgil’s looks and they all usually meant something different—which was a mix between annoyance and genuine confusion, as if Logan really didn’t understand what he meant; which was untrue “Smuggled me out of the lab,” he clarified a moment later, his fingers trailing over the white piece of fabric wrapped around his arm and shoulder again. “You didn’t have to do it, we both know that. I just want to know why you did.”

That was the true question, wasn’t it?

An inquiry that had been on Logan’s mind since that night’s ordeal.

In all honesty, Logan wasn’t entirely sure what had metaphorically possessed him in that particular moment. And while he wanted to be able to give Virgil a straight answer, he didn’t have one.

Logan sat back in his chair, hands resting idly in his lap. The silence was thoughtful, if a bit awkward. As far as they had come in their acquaintanceship (maybe even going as far as saying tentative friendship), there were still pauses that felt tense and heavy. Virgil had certainly come a long way from the first time they had met and Logan was grateful for it, since he was no longer having one-sided conversations.

There were, of course, some topics that Virgil was still too sensitive about to really learn anything, but they were getting there. Logan really hoped that he would eventually get to learn more about what it was like for the human, and be able to go off of that firsthand information to do something. However, until then building his trust was Logan’s priority.

“I don’t exactly have an answer for you,” Logan said after a moment’s pause of brief deliberation. He knew that giving Virgil solid answers was more preferable, since it would ease his anxiety. But this topic was one where Logan, regrettably, didn’t have any solid answers to give.

“Oh.” There was that dejected slump of Virgil’s shoulders, a position Logan was also very familiar with when dealing with him. Disappointment was clear in Virgil’s tone, but he made no move to push for further answers.

Logan felt as though he had let him down somehow. Which was certainly not something he would let stand. He took a long moment, carefully mulling over and debating his next words. “I suppose I did what I did because I couldn’t stand the way they were treating you anymore.” Now that seemed to have drawn Virgil’s attention right back up to him, though he had a brow quirked in question. So, Logan continued. “I know we didn’t have a working relationship prior to my thoughtless, albeit successful, actions. Though, I do feel… better, knowing that you’re safe here.”

Going from whatever kind of relationship they had established here now, Logan couldn’t bear the idea of someone else getting their hands on Virgil. Especially if they meant him any harm. While he could be mean and sharp, there was that anxious and unsure side to him, which proved that a lot of his bark was worse than his bite.

It also did give him peace of mind that Virgil was safe in his care. No more mishandling, no more purposeful injuries and no more testing with stuff that shouldn’t be anywhere near a human.

Virgil’s nose scrunched. “That makes no sense.”

“I suppose it doesn’t,” Logan relented, the ghost of a smile gracing his features. He leaned forwards once more, returning to his laptop to type again. “Though, I’m sure it’s nice for you to know your arm will heal properly.”

Virgil shrugged his good shoulder, leaning back on his hand and looking up toward the student. “Still hurts,” he mused.

Logan hummed. “I’d be surprised if it didn’t.”

The two fell back into a more comfortable quiet. It was broken periodically by soft conversation, but it was mostly filled by the sound of Logan’s keyboard click clacking.

“…thanks,” Virgil eventually said, gently enough that Logan had almost entirely missed it. He paused his typing and his eyes flickered over Virgil’s form, whom of which was tucked comfortably into his hoodie, his eyes looking anywhere other than Logan. “For doing it, I mean. Even though you didn’t have to.”

Logan didn’t force Virgil to meet his eyes, as that would only put unnecessary stress on him. “You’re welcome,” he replied, “I find that your company is quite pleasant.”

While the consequences of his actions were still a very real threat, Logan couldn’t find it in himself to regret his decision.

                                        ——————————

[thoughtfullyyoungduck]

I know him

A/N: this was requested by anon, I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think! 

summary: could you do a reddie x daughter where she sees apparitions of penny wise but keeps it to herself. but one day when she’s w all the losers they mention pennywise in a short joke and she says she knows who that is n they all freak out wondering how she knows and ask her questions to confirm and somehow she knows everything that happened

warnings: fear of being stuck in an elevator so I guess small spaces, pennywise, a brief mention of vomiting and curse words

The old elevator scared her for as long as she could remember, it’s old doors creaking and closing leisurely, and the inside of it coated in a filthy substance that your dad avoided at all costs and urged you to do the same.  Many horror story that roamed the building hallways originated from said moving lift, endless cases of people getting stuck in there and injuring themselves, some minor wounds, some majors.

In one particular case, a man from apartment block B4 broke his hand while trying to escape the grimy space, reaching for help outside of the lift only to have the doors ruthlessly crushing his bones, inducing agony so severely that he had to have his hand amputated.

Or another one during which a woman found herself trapped in it’s confinements while a thunderstorm was happening, and ended up electrocuting and dying before morning dawn.

It’s possible that Richie made those story’s up however, and Emma is the first one to admit that her pops does have a track record of pulling pranks on her, but there is a sliver of truth behind the stories.

Several people reported the elevator for malfunctioning, and the tenant always promised to fix the issue, but he never did, and so the thing continued to be a problem. Emma rarely used it, and if she happened to make use of it’s services, she made she was always accompanied by someone who could help in case of an emergency.

June twentieth though, she returned home from school, secretly excited about the prospect of being on her own for the evening, as Richie and Eddie were going out on a date to celebrate their anniversary, and she already imagined all the junk food she bought and would eat throughout the night, when she stumbled upon a problem.

The apartment Richie, Eddie and her lived on was located at the top floor, the furthest away from the prying eyes of the public, in lieu of their future home being renovated, which meant that taking the stairs was a painstaking chore that left her drained of all energy by the time she made it up.

Normally, she occupied the escalator anyway, but she slipped and twisted her ankle at school that morning, and despite it not hurting too bad, Emma figured that using the elevator was still the better call, so her ankle had time to rest.

She hesitated only briefly, before confidently walking in the lift, and pressing the bottom for the eight-floor. Emma tried to make light off the situation, using humor the way Richie had thought her, telling herself that she better take a large gulp of air, just in case the door refused to open again once they slid shut.

‘I got this I got this I got this’, she murmured to herself, psyching herself up before panic overtook her. Using the elevator was an irrational fear she had, and no amount of times riding helped any good in overcoming it. Realistically, the worst thing that could happen was that she locked in, waiting until a neighbor also needed to use the elevator and noticed that someone was in there, then effectively helping her out, but the thought of spending even five minutes with no way out gave her chills, so she suppressed that thought and waited patiently until the lift moved up.

Only it didn’t. The doors latched shut, but no movements upwards preceded. Clearing her throat, Emma hit the floor number again, rationalizing that she pressed the number too soft to be registered, but the eight lit up and yet again no movement took place.

Emma laughed antsy, breathing in and out deeply, still convincing herself that everything was fine, and a firmer hand was needed to get the lift moving, but when nothing happened, she hurriedly thumbed the open button.

With a screeching sound, the doors began to open, wide enough that tears welt up in Emma’s eyes from relief, but then the doors unfolded just enough to see through them into the open hall, not big enough for Emma’s form to fit through, and then shut again.

Terror infiltrated every pore of her being, rendering her a anxiety riddled mess, her breathing shaking too much to properly inhale. Black spots danced on the edge of her vision, becoming faint enough that Emma stumbled backwards and had to grip the railing bar tight in order not to fall.

The temperature read 35° degrees Celsius, the room hot enough that sweat drops formed on Emma’s forehead, and she lost her cool, her mind conjuring up the worst case scenarios.

She repeatedly pushed the open button, wheezing fresh air in the nik of time, while begging to whoever was listening to save her from this mess. Changing tactics, Emma attacked the alarm bell, but then over-analyzed that too. She had no clue whether or not she was supposed to hold it for a longer period of time, or release it and attempt multiple times.

A phone that connected to the main office was also present, and when Emma perceived that, she lunged for it and held it to her ear as close as possible.

‘Hello, please help me’, her voice cracked, ’I’m stuck.’ Nothing but static greeted her, no person on the other line to help her or comfort her, no help on the way.

The tears began bolstering down her cheeks then, a single one leading the way for many others once the dam was finally broken. In spite of not receiving an answer, Emma repeated the same word over and over again anyway, unable to think of any other way out.

She feared that if she kept opening the door, that that too would stop working, and then the heat building would suffocate her. Or the elevator may crash down, killing her instantly, or starvation and dehydration would take her out before anyone finds her and saves her. The fears may sound un-rational, but to Emma they were very real, and she worked herself up into a near panic attack.

‘Please, please, please, I want my parents’, she continues to sob, hoping against all hope that someone apprehends her message.

Her prayers seemed to have been answered when a white glove creeps through the elevator slot, the fingers wiggling back and forth.

‘Take my hand Emma, I’ll help you out.’

Inhibitions aside, Emma allowed said hand to wrap around her wrist, and urged her closer to the edge of the lift, another gloved hand pushing the lift apart and jerking her through. Ignoring the way the stranger somehow knew her name and the way she was lucky she wasn’t crushed by the doors, Emma heaves down on the ground, her painful ankle all forgotten.

The jitters in her body making her stand on shaky legs until she dropped down on her knees. Lunch had already processed most likely, as she couldn’t hurl up anything solid, but a bad taste lingered in her mouth lingers in her mouth regardless

When the last flow leaves her, Emma sits back, still on the ground, her hands buried in her hair to ground herself.

‘You’re out, you’re okay, you’re fine,’ she reassures herself, refraining from rocking back and forth.

For the first time, Emma glanced upwards to look at the person who saved her. The man, if she could call it that, wore a clown suit, completed with a face caked full of make-up. She inched away from him when their eyes connected, certain that the eyes that stared back were yellow, but upon second glance, she notices they were blue, just like her pops.

‘hmm, are you alright there? You look a bit shaken up’, the man grinned with his teeth visible, yellow and sharp on top while his tongue licked over them like he was hungry. He creeped Emma out, but he did rescue her, so Emma felt obligated to give him the benefit of the doubt.

‘Thank you’, she breathed out, the tears in her eyes running dry. He extended a hand out to her, and she took it, pulling herself upright and shaking the nerves off of her.

‘Who are you?’

‘My names Pennywise the dancing clown,’ he giggled in a weird, unsettling tone, ‘you really should refrain from using that lift, I heard it’s,’ he paused and winked at her, ‘scare inducing.’

‘Right,’ Emma trailed off, the polite smile on her face never fading away. ‘Oh wait, you’re a circus performer right? I heard about it coming to town from one of the posters outside.’

At pennywise nod, Emma relaxed. Sure, he came across as frightening, but maybe that was just her imagination after the scare she had experienced, and it would provide a reason why he was dressed like that.

‘Yes yes’, he explained, ‘do you like the circus? Because I love it’, he twisted his body in a way that made bells go off, the smile on his face unusually large for his face. Speaking of which, his forehead was also massive.

‘Your fathers used to love the circus too.’ The admission sparked new interested within Emma, who perked up and listened to him with all her attention.

‘You knew my fathers?’ she asked, shaking off the worry that loomed in the back of her mind.

‘Why yes of course I do, we were all best friends, and we did so much fun things together. If you want, I’ll tell you all about it.’

Emma hesitated, she had never met this man, and he seemed to be sketchy, but at the same time her interests had been piqued, and she figured that the man wouldn’t have come to her aid if he had something malicious planned.

‘They lived in Derry, Eddie and Richie, and they have always been best friends. But the summer of 1989 was one they’ll never forget.’

Emma frowned, neither her dad nor her pops had ever mentioned the summer of 1989, nor had they ever discussed any other people outside of the losers club, but if he knew their names were Eddie and Richie, there’s no way he hadn’t met them.

‘Ow yes, the summer their nightmares came to live right before their very eyes,’ his voice lilts up in a sing song sound, almost a mocking tone, and he belly laughs, as if the prospect of facing your fears was that funny to imagine.

Emma’s heart began to pound faster when the memories of the lift resurfaced, and she couldn’t phantom anyone laughing at that.

‘It all began with uncle Bills little brother….’

When Emma awoke, she was laying down on the sofa, her legs stretched over side so her feet were dangling. She lifted her head and scanned the room in confusion, blinking away the sleep from her eyes.

She would’ve swore that she had a conversation with a guy, but maybe that was a nightmare that she experienced a little too vividly. The talk was strange to begin with, anecdotes including murder, brutal attacks and near death experiences presented as something that really took place, something her family endured.

A quick search on the internet let Emma to believe that she saw a hallucination induced by her distress, and so she never mentioned anything to her fathers when they returned home from their date.

Perhaps the man had offered help to Emma, and he was uncanny enough that Emma dreamed about him after he left, but the conversation was all in her head and never had never come to pass.

The elevator was at full service again the next day, so she never informed Richie and Eddie of that either, feeling no need to rehash how irrational she behaved.

She adamantly fought tooth and nail to never step near the lift at any time, and since her parents were good at parenting, they accepted that with no questions asked, although Richie would huff and puff walking up and down the stairs, his old man bones creaking in protest changelessly.

-----

‘Chug chug chug’, Bill chants, his hands balled in fist chomping down on the table as he viewed Richie gulping down his glass in one smooth sling.

‘I hate it here’, Stan rolls his eyes, downplaying the nearly there smile that graced his face upon hearing roared laughter.

Losers club meetings always brought a never seen amount of chaos and noise, causing them to be chucked out of restaurants more than once, but they’re never deterred.  

Stan advocated on multiple occasion to host the parties in one of their houses, but upon the suggestion of organizing one at his house, he backed down and dejectedly proposed a new restaurant they’re welcome at, for now.

This time, the choice alternated between a new Thai restaurant or a steak house that Richie tipped very generously for last time they visited, the new Thai place being a tad more inviting.

Emma loved losers meetings, because she always got to reconnect with her aunts and uncles, and also because the food was more than delicious.

She adored all the losers dearly, but the one she formed a special bond with was Mike, the history buff who knows more than Emma’s actual history teacher, and the one who somehow knows all the right words she must hear if she asks for advice.

The spot next to him is without fail the one chair that remains empty until she arrives, hanging off the tip of his tongue to hear about all the adventures he undergoes on his far off trips.

Today is no exception, Mike sitting on Emma’s left as she bolsters equally as loud as her uncles and aunts as liquid spills from the side of her pops’s face, staining the new shirt her dad recently bought and now belongs in the trash.

Eddie’s face is set in a scowl, as he thrusts out for a napkin and hands it over to Richie, who takes it with a smack kiss on the cheek as a romantic gesture Eddie repulses away from.

‘Dude, keep your disgusting bear filled lips the fuck away from me’, his face lighting up with a blush he tried but fails to suppress. His repulsion of germs decreases every day, but it’s not gone completely, the avoidance of touching the table with any skin proof.

‘Oh come on Eddie, it can’t possibly bother you that much, you married the guy’, Stan remarks, chuckling when Patty softy taps him on the arm.

A waiter pops his out from behind a wall, his face betraying nothing, but the murderous look in his eyes more than telling enough that this will be the last time they pop in this eatery. He refrains from saying anything though, walking away with a rigid back to no doubt complain to his coworkers about annoying table number five.

Thank god, they’ve only arrived an hour ago, and are still waiting on their food to come, and Emma is excited to try it.

‘Ben and I saw the circus in town two weeks ago,’ Bev steers the conversation in a different direction, bored with the current lack of anything but laughter.

The mention of the circus reminds Emma of the strange encounter that happened, the incubus she can recall in perfect detail. The duality of reality and fiction confusion her to this day. She’s pretty sure she dreamed the whole thing besides her being stuck, but then did Pennywise exists for real? And if not, then who helped her out?

The table turns abnormally quiet, so much so that it shocks Emma out of her thoughts. Stan’s face in particular drains of all color and he taps his fingers on the table to remain calm and collected, Patty scrutinizes his every move, but she is lost for how to react as well.

Ben sips his drink awkwardly, clearing his throat after and lacing his hand with Bev with a warning squeeze. Emma is a second away from asking what in the world is going on, but Richie’s got it covered.

‘Yeah, you saw any one familiar? Like a type of clown hoping we die gruesomely? It’s been a while huh I wonder how he’s doing these days.’

‘Richie’, Eddie hisses exasperated, motioning his head in Emma’s direction to remind Richie their daughter was still in the room with them.

Emma chortles at his joke, covering her mouth with her hand so that no piece of the chip she’s nibbling on accidentally lands on the table, the others following her lead easily. They remain at the edge of their seat, not yet settled, but Richie’s humor calmed them down enough that the tense atmosphere around the room fizzles out.

Emma, unthinkingly and mindlessly adds; ‘That someone happened to be named Pennywise?’

She continues to chuckle at her addition, right up to the point that a glass crack to her left, Ben’s glass splintered in tiny pieces on the floor as his big, shock filled eyes gawking at Emma as if she announced she’s pregnant.

The sound of glass relinquishing disturbs Emma’s laugh, the blast spooking her out of nowhere.

‘What? Her dad asks her pressed, and if she thought the losers looked keyed up before, the consternation they now display is in a whole different ballpark.

Trying to rail the topic back on track, Emma continues to jest the situation, reminiscing on the fictional things in her dream.

‘Yeah, you know Pennywise. The clown that transformed into your worst fears. Stan’s painting, pop’s clowns, dad’s gazebo’s, oh and of course we can’t forgot about breaking dad’s arm right.’

No one else laughs, all of them staring shell shocked ahead, unbeknownst to Emma thrusted back to the summer of hell.  

‘Emma,’ Richie address her, his palm rubbing across his chest on the left side, his heart burning with urgency to protect his daughter and his family without a second of hesitation.

Richie rarely uses her name in place of a nickname, so she drops the act and tunes out every other person and sound for the sake of paying attention to her pops.

‘Where did you hear all of that?’

A cold gust of winds breezes around the room, resulting in shivers that shake Emma’s whole body. All members of the losers club focus on her, awaiting her response to the question. Eddie and Richie in particular are most keen on finding out how their daughter somehow, without any of them telling, savvy traumatizing events of their youth.

‘I don’t know, a nightmare. Why is it so important?’ Emma inquires, enclosing her body with her arms in an effort to comfort herself.

‘A nightmare?’ Eddie clarifies, the intention behind his inquire not flying over her head.

‘Emma’, Mike interrupts to stop the impending flood of dread about to unleash over her before it even begins.

‘I know you know so much more than you’re letting on. I understands why this is scary, but it’s of the upmost important that you come clean now.’

Mike can read her better than a book, and that’s saying something for a librarian, so Emma gives in, overwhelming tears sticking to her eyelashes, the attention proving to be too much, begging anyone in the room to explain to her what’s going on.

‘The elevator got stuck in our apartment building, and this guy, Pennywise helped me out.’

‘Oh applejack,’ Richie exclaims, understanding now why she’s so resilient on trudging the escalator. Eddie scrambles up from his chair across from Emma’s seat, and tucking her away safely in his arms, her head underneath his chin.

‘it’s okay Ems, you’re safe, you’re fine.’ He soothes her, suppressing his own sobs at the knowledge that Pennywise had been this close to attacking his daughter, the light of his and Richie’s life. Richie joins him a moment later, pressing both Eddie and Emma close to him in spite of the difficult position they’re in.

‘Yeah, no fucking clown is coming near you again, well except for uncle Stan then of course. He gets a pass.’

Uncle Stan dishes out no jab, inevitably inciting more terror in Emma, who whimpers and hides behind the shield her dads form around her.

The night ends with a sleepover all the losers join in on, each and every one committed to creating a safe space for Emma, and if that means killing Pennywise again, then so be it.

[strangewhitegirl321]

Dazzling (11th)

{Not my gif.}

(A.N. Man, I would love to do a one-shot that's a Marvel universe x the Doctor Who universe. But, with specifically Thor and Doctor Strange interacting with the Doctor. Anybody else curious about how that would end up?)

Words: 2272

Originally posted to my Wattpad account.

   The Doctor knew he had messed up the moment the words passed through his lips. (Y/n)'s whole face dropped- her eyebrows furrowed and her face seemed to pale. Her previously frustrated expression faded to something more than disappointment, (e/c) eyes dropping to the floor.

   Taking in her stature, the Doctor thought over his words, "I wish Amy was here. Or Rose. They'd know what to do." The alarms blaring in the background seemed to fade, as (Y/n) turned away from him- never once raising her eyes to his again. Licking his lips, his hand reached to grab her shoulder just a second late before she hurried down the hallway- she was running from him. His own companion was so hurt by his words, she felt the need to escape.

   He watched as she turned a corner faster than even his own mind could comprehend. A few malicious shouts from behind him drew his attention, and immediately he was running after her.

   "(Y/n)!" The Doctor screamed over and over, his voice going hoarse. Searching the halls, he peeked around corners and into different chambers trying to track down his lost, hurt companion. The man knew his yells were drawing the attention of his foes, yet he continued to risk it.

   Even knowing the exact, short time it took for him to find her didn't help the fact that it felt like ages. Each step was a century as he replayed the sudden grief in (Y/n)'s usually bright eyes like a broken record. Her shaky, sunken form on the floor was heart breaking and caused the Time Lord to freeze in place for just a moment that seemed much longer than it needed to be.

   The Doctor had seen it before- he knew what (Y/n) was going through. The same emotion always seemed to creep it's way into her mind every single time he compared her to one of his past companions. It happened so often he knew it was a horrid thing to do to her- however, no matter how hard he tried he kept doing it. Yet, despite not fully understanding how she felt, he wanted to help her. First, he just had to stop himself from speaking the words that always seemed to tear her to pieces.

   When (Y/n) looked up to see the Doctor standing over her, she curled up into a ball on the ground, hugging her knees to her chest.

   "Oh, darling," He sighed, bending down to pry her arms from around her knees. "I am so sorry." Forcing her arms around his neck, he hauled her off the ground and onto her feet. With a choppy hug, he kissed her hair gently before pulling from her grip and tightly grabbing her hand.

   "We need to go. Now," The Doctor stated, his worried eyes continuing to scan her before fixing his grip on her to where his hand rested lightly on the small of her back as he forced her to quickly move from the scene.

   (Y/n) was barely aware of her dangerous surroundings, or the light yet firm hand that lead her to the safety of the TARDIS with haste. Not even an ounce of relief washed over her once the doors shut behind her, closing her in with the Doctor.

   The minute the adrenaline faded from both their veins, the Time Lord reached towards (Y/n). Even though her back was turned to him, he slipped his arms under hers and gave her a tight squeeze, hugging her body close to his own. Almost like a leech, he refused to release her. The Doctor didn't realise, however, that (Y/n) wasn't fighting against it like he had imagined. Instead, she took the time to enjoy the almost bittersweet embrace, resting her hands gently on his and pressing herself firmly into him.

   After a long, silent phase that appeared just a bit too short, the Doctor began to speak, mumbling, "I am so sorry. I didn't mean it, it just slips out sometimes."

   (Y/n) mulled over his words, softly sighing in despair before muttering, "Doctor?" Burying his head into the nape of her neck, he hummed, encouraging her as he nuzzled his nose into her hair.

   The poor man thought he was prepared for anything she might have said. Imagined himself reacting calmly, talking through whatever mental battle was taking place inside her- however he never dreamed the fight had already taken place. It was short, bloody, and the end result was nothing he wished for.

   "Can you take me home?" (Y/n)'s voice quietly echoed. Suddenly, the Doctor wretched himself away from her. He pulled his arms away from her so fast he nearly knocked her over, taking a step back so quickly he had to steady himself by grabbing onto a nearby rail with an iron grip. A hint of shock, a sprinkle of betrayal and the rest of his expression made from grief covered his face.

   Beginning to speak, his words were all over the place as he tried to shove all his thoughts into one sloppy, horrible mess of a sentence. His breathing sped up so bad he actually leaned on the railing behind him for support.

   "Why? What did I do to you?" The Doctor questioned, the only thing (Y/n) could comprehend amongst the jumble of messy words and random adjectives.

   Hesitating slightly, (Y/n) sighed before tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and explained, "You keep comparing me to other people. Saying you wish I was someone else. It's making me feel absolutely wretched."

   The Doctor's eyebrows furrowed, and he straightened himself up, shuffling on his feet and rolling his jaw before he surmised, "We can get over it. Work with each other-"

   "I'm not sure I can," (Y/n) groaned, feeling pathetic at how frustrated she was at the situation.

   Pausing, the Doctor looked her over, and apprehensively questioned, "You don't- you don't think we can work this out?"

   "No, no," (Y/n) nearly jumped to correct herself, startled with the thought she had given him the wrong idea. "That's not what I meant. I meant- Well, I meant I don't think I can get over..." Weakly, her voice trailed off, and desperately she tried to convey her feelings to the Doctor by looking him straight in the eye.

   Jaw clenching shut, the Doctor let out a heavy breath. Just then, he thought he had it figured out. An abrupt wave of what could be described almost as aggravation seemed to wash over him, and he about rolled his eyes with contempt.

   "Mind boggling," He scoffed, drawing (Y/n)'s eyes to his. "You're being melodramatic, now."

   (Y/n)'s eyes about bulged to the point they tumbled out of her skull, "What?"

   Scoffing a second time, the Doctor leaned forward, repeating himself confidently, "You're being melodramatic."

   "Oh, I'm sorry," (Y/n) seethed, taking a step away from him and running a hand through her hair. "I didn't realise never being good enough for someone- was- was- you- Take me home."

   Thinking over the defeat that took over her voice, the Doctor was hesitant towards giving her his aggressive answer, "Don't play games with me." He hissed, pointing an accusing finger towards her heart.

   "Since when have my feelings been a game?" (Y/n) asked, both offence and grief dripping from her words.

  At this point, the Doctor knew he was in the wrong. However, he continued to argue just for the sake of arguing.

   "Feelings?! For goodness sake, you sound like an eleven year old girl!"

   (Y/n)'s face was slowly turning red, and her eyes gradually began to overflow, "Well I'd rather sound like a child than a complete- a complete- I don't know! You! I'd hate to be you!"

   Throwing his hands in the air, the Doctor threw his head back in a sarcastic laugh before snapping his attention back to her, "Oh, poor me! Poor me, being pitied by a complete prat!"

   "You're being absolutely ridiculous!" (Y/n) poorly tried to defend herself, barely believing the Doctor's behaviour.

   "Oh, really?" He hissed, hand latching onto her upper arm, causing her to yelp. "What, am I not understanding you?"

   Attempting to pry his grip from her arm, her breath croaky and panicked as she tried to say, "You're just not making any sense-"

   "If I'm not making any sense, you better explain to me how!" The Doctor demanded, unaware of how harsh his grip on her was. Eventually, (Y/n) resorted to smacking his hand to force him to release her. Once he did, she stumbled back away from him and gasped.

   "Because- because I'm trying to tell you that I- that I-" She desperately tried to get words through the horrid, uneven breaths that shook her entire frame. Eventually she seemed to give up, and the Doctor grit his teeth in frustration with her.

   "You what?" He hollered, getting in her face and causing her to flinch.

   "I can't do this anymore!" She finally shrieked, before being taken over by a loud, hopeless sob. "You're hurting me."

   Finally, the tears that streamed down (Y/n)'s face caused him to truly think twice. In a moment of regret, he reached forward in an attempt to grab her and pull her to him. Instead of accepting his apologetic embrace, she slapped his hand away and stumbled back. Loosely, his gaze wandered down to her red arm, causing a pit to open up in the bottom of his stomach.

   "I'll never be good enough for you," She wept, turning away from him and hobbling around the TARDIS console. Said machine let out a whine, kicking the Doctor into action. Legs resembling jelly, he somehow managed to drag himself in her direction once again. Without giving her an option, he grabbed her by the hand and yanked her into his arms. Even through her struggling, sniffling, and sobs he held her up and against his chest. Several curses left her mouth as she tried to escape him, begging him to bring her home as he muttered apologies and lame excuses he knew did no good.

   "I am so, so sorry," The Doctor almost cried, feeling himself being dragged to his knees as the girl he held crumpled to the ground. "I never meant any of it. I just get frustrated. I swear, I just get frustrated."

   Sniffles raked (Y/n)'s body, forcing her to tremble as she shuffled around in his arms. Gently, the Doctor reached up and began to softly pet her hair in an attempt to calm her down further. Her begging and open sobs had stopped moments before, but his slow, careful movements caused her breathing as a whole to buffer.

   (Y/n) didn't quite no how long it took for her own tears to stop, all she had to go off of were her numb, prickly legs beneath her and the utterly soaked spots in the Doctor's jacket.

   The Doctor's voice drew her away from the surrounding distractions, and he delicately asked her, "Please, don't leave me." His voice cracked so lightly she almost missed it, and with a bittersweet laugh she once again attempted to pull away from him. However, instead he forced her back against him.

   "Please," The poor man practically begged.

   With a frustrated whimper, she softly pounded her fist against his shoulder, "Give me a reason, then." Her voice was muffled by the fabric of his jacket, but he heard her clearly and immediately pounced on the idea. With no hesitation, he rested his hands on her shoulders and leaned back to look her straight in the eyes.

   "I have so much to show you," The Doctor began. "So much you can't even imagine- or believe, until you see it. You mean so much to me, it's insane." A smile accidentally crossed his face as his hands shifted to cup her own.

   "You've helped me more than you let yourself believe," He continued, before correcting himself. "More than I've let you believe. And I am so, so sorry for that. But, I swear, I'll fix the problem. And then we can go, rescue whole planets and all the like. Stay with me, because I need you."

   Just as (Y/n) was about to scoff and give him the final shove, he planted a kiss on her nose and gushed, "Darling, you are so, so dazzling. I don't know how I'll be able to get on without you beside me. It'll never be the same. Never." Just for a few agonising seconds, they sat in silence, staring at each other. Slowly, the Doctor's face began to loose all hope and completely drop. Just for the satisfaction, (Y/n) watched his whole face morph before allowing a small grin to take her over her face.

   "Who's getting dramatic now?" (Y/n) jested light-heartedly, giggling at the obvious relief that showed through the new grin on the Doctor's face. He chuckled, throwing his head back and seeming to hardly believe she had taken the moment to throw a joke into their argument.

   Suddenly, he gasped and his head snapped back down to look at her. His eyes were aghast, his mouth gaping slightly and his brows seeming to anxiously twitch.

   Licking his lips slightly, he opened his mouth but appeared to slightly falter before he asked, "But do you forgive me?" Tilting her head, her eyes still red from her earlier distress scanned him lightly. She pursed her lips and straightened herself up.

   "Quite possibly," She began to state, taking her time in warning him. "You will have to make up for it, though."

   The Doctor nodded immediately, gulping and thinking over what he could do to please her, suddenly his eyes lit up and he grinned, exclaiming, "I know just the place!"

[trashy-drarry]

#FreeKesha

I want to take a moment to talk about Kesha, Dr. Luke, and the situation between the two. I know this isn’t Drarry, so it’s not exactly what any of my followers are here to see exactly, but I believe this to be important. 

In October of 2014, Kesha sued her producer Dr. Luke - real name Lukasz Sebastian Gottwald - on the grounds of sexual, emotional, physical, verbal, and gendered abuse, specifically rape and forcing her into an eating disorder. The goal of the lawsuit was to no longer be forced to be physically around Dr. Luke or have him constantly looming over her and her work. She wants no association with him.

In retaliation to the lawsuit, Dr. Luke filed a counter-lawsuit on the grounds of defamation in attempts to break their contract, saying that she does not want a continuation of creative differences.

On the 11th of October, 2019, it was made public that she was denied to have her recording contract with Dr. Luke broken by the courts and that she was set to face trial next year. 

The DailyMail published an article that released this information with a statement directly from Dr. Luke’s lawyer, “Kesha and her representatives repeated her false accusation that Gottwald had purportedly drugged and raped her in countless public forums,” as well as that Kesha “spread a knowingly false and wholly defamatory accusation that Gottwald had purportedly raped another female recording artist.” On top of that, the article came with these quotes of previous statements by Dr. Luke within deposition(s):

As you can see, Dr. Luke has said that Kesha has not contacted any doctors or medical providers about the alleged forms of abuse she suffered prior to when she filed the lawsuit in 2014. He also directly states that Kesha is a liar, with some of his examples within the article being jokes that she had made, such as her saying Mick Jagger is her long-lost father.

With that, Dr. Lukes lawyer makes a statement about the supposed defamation Kesha is trying to cause, using the court documents of a conversation between Kesha and Lady Gaga about Katy Perry and rumors of sexual abuse as an example. 

However, I would like to touch upon a few things:

Dr. Luke stated that there would be no records of Kesha discussing the abuse she suffered to medical providers or doctors, yet there is--court documents (that Luke had fought to be made public) showed that Kesha discussed the abuse to her therapist in 2011 and 2012, three years before she sued him.

Usually, these would mean essentially nothing; someone thinking something isn’t the same as actually knowing it. It could’ve been possible that Luke said there would be no records because he genuinely believed it. However, he knew of these documents. He was the one fighting against Kesha to have these been made public. Dr. Luke had deliberately lied within the court of law, to lawyers, in order to push a narrative that Kesha was a liar. He knew of these therapy records and deliberately tried to manipulate the situation.

Not only were there discussions between Kesha and her therapist, but phone records were submitted to the court showcasing that Kesha had contacted multiple people as well as medical providers directly after the supposed assault.

With the phone records, there was also testimony by a handful of people saying Kesha called them after the alleged assault, distraught and confused, or that her mother had called her own friends, upset by what she just heard.

These are directly conflicting with Dr. Luke's statements of there being no history to back up Kesha's claims of contacting multiple people to report her abuse, something he seemed to be sure of. With that though, there’s still more:

Dr. Luke and his lawyer claimed that Kesha was the one to spread the rumor of Dr. Luke sexually assaulting Katy Perry in attempts for her to slander him and create more peer pressure to have Sony drop Luke and have the court break the recording/producing contract between Kesha and Luke.

Yet Dr. Luke had leaked the court transcript of the private conversation between Kesha and Gaga, something Kesha had expressed both after the fact and even within the transcript itself that it should stay private.

Luke and his lawyer are deliberately trying to paint Kesha as an awful person that was spreading an incredibly malicious rumor that Luke (and Katy) have said was not true. However, as you can see within the screenshots, the conversation between Kesha and Gaga was private and Kesha had objected to making the conversation public (as it was not her place to do so). It also shows that neither Gaga nor Kesha was the one to actually create the rumor either.

These texts were released on a very specific day, though--on the day these were released, just before the texts came out, an artist called ‘Becky G’ sued what is called ‘Core Water,’ claiming Dr. Luke forced her into an unwanted deal and was threatened that he would ruin her career.

With the counter-lawsuit still going on and being focused on something that wasn’t even Keshas doing but rather Dr. Lukes, as well as additional lawsuits against her and her family he has filed, it’s clear that he’s trying to drain her of her income due to speaking out--punish the victim, that’s a pattern he seems to have.

Firing lawsuit after lawsuit at someone in attempts to drain them of the money they have is a common tactic he has done whenever someone has spoken out against him reusing songs or stealing someone else's, or to anyone who details bad experiences with him.

Throughout the whole ordeal, Dr. Luke has stood by his defense of calling his own innocence, yet his lawyers have used common victim-blaming tactics that try to shift the blame (of a rape Luke swears never happened) onto the victim.

There has also been multiple testimonies detailing what they know about Kesha, what they know about Luke, and their professional relationship with Luke.

Lady Gaga testified that she had found Kesha in only her underwear in the backroom of Dr. Lukes studio and that she knew Kesha was going through trauma. 

Kelly Clarkson within a deposition that Luke was a habitual liar who rarely had women who wanted to work with him. She described her experience with him as “unpleasant.”

Sharon Osbourne has gone on to describe Dr. Luke as a “bully.” 

Monica Cornia, Keshas former manager, had said that while recording her second album, ‘Warrior,’ she would always want her around as she was scared of being alone with Luke.

P!nk has gone on record saying “he’s not a good person” in reference to Dr. Luke; allegedly she almost jumped him due to being so furious at learning that he recycled a previous song he worked on for the artists The Veronicas and used it for her. Since then, she’s refused to work with him.

Charli XCX has been outspoken even before the Kesha trial on her disliking towards him; it’s alleged that he body-shamed her, much similar to what he did to Kesha.

Avril Lavigne and P!nk and pink have both sworn within court that the reason they no longer collaborate with him on music is solely based on their own bad experiences with him.

Bebe Rexha came forward about a “terrifying” experience at Dr. Lukes house which left her in a bad state of anxiety, fearing she may be sexually assaulted. 

The American court system has failed, holding an assaulter in safety and protection while letting and encouraging that man to ruin the reputation and livelihood of his victim and possibly more. I have nothing more to say other than #FreeKesha and I hope she one day, hopefully in the not-so-distant future, gets the justice she deserves.

[okimargarvez]

UNCONDITIONED REFLEX

Original title: Riflesso incondizionato (come uno starnuto)

Prompt: 14x15 if there were been Luke and Penelope in the place of JJ and Reid.

Warning: none.

Genre: angst, romantic, comedy, family.

Characters: Penelope Garcia, Luke Alvez, Emily Prentiss, David Rossi, O.C. (unsub).

Pairing: Garvez.

Note: oneshot 48 in Garvez collection. 

Legend: 💏🔦🎈.

Song mentioned: 10 mila scuse: Interludio, Tiziano Ferro.

GARVEZ STORIES

UNCONDITIONED REFLEX

 -Garcia, but are you still here?- the voice behind her makes her jump and fright causes her an uncontrolled cough. She remains turned away from the intruder who dared to set foot in her personal temple until she can calm herself down enough to be able to formulate at least one meaningful sentence.

-Yes, why should not I?- then she exclaims, showing herself determined and convinced, as well as distant and superior, as if she didn’t have time to take care of him. -I have things to finish.- she adds with the same stiff tone. -And I could ask you the same, you know?- she points out to him, while a pleased smile borns against her lips. The man remains silent and this convinces her to be on the right path to get rid of him. -At least I don’t have a girlfriend waiting for me anxious at home, but only a cat.- still silence from the invader. -Poor Lisa, I don’t know how she could bear you...- the joke dies in the bud when she sees change in the expression of his colleague.

Luke runs a sad smile and scratches his head, in a gesture that she has now learned to interpret as a manifestation of extreme uncertainty. -In fact, she didn’t.- he says simply, in a tone not too pained, neither joking, rather... neutral.

For the first time since he entered the bat-cave the woman really looks at him, from being human to being human. -What do you mean?- she squints, trying to catch any signs that will make her identify a possible lie.

Luke, however, doesn’t seem to have any intention, in fact, seems simply exhausted, as if he was fresh from a marathon or as if he had just finished chasing an unsub along the steep peaks of a mountain. -She broken with me.- he shrugs and manages to reject a principle of hysterical giggle. -Before you start with a monologue to weave her praises and to demolish me...- she looks at him as offended by his accusation, but he ignores her -It had to go like this. With this job... but I don’t even know if it's just the fault of the job or just mine.- he raises his shoulders again; Penelope can’t remember the last time she saw him so confused, in which he didn’t clearly articulate a concept. Although she has spent at least a year, first Luke's year in the BAU, to demolish him, she has never denied within herself his numerous capabilities as a federal agent. -Anyway, it went like this.- he adds, perhaps only to fill the emptiness of that silence caused by the reflections of the blonde in front of him.

Which changes completely attitude, feeling a strong pain in the chest and another, a little less strong, in the lungs. -Oh, Luke, I didn’t want to hurt you, I'm sorry if I have...- he raises a hand, as that time when he had asked her to give him five in the name of the dynamic duo, and at the same time she coughs so many times, silencing any possible delirium of tangled excuses.

-It's all right, Garcia, okay?- she nods, although she doesn’t seem particularly convinced. -Let's talk about your influence.- it's the man's turn to completely change his attitude. It vanishes that insecure and fragile air that had almost moved her and suddenly he seems so convinced and determined. For a moment she can’t replicate anything. Then, suddenly like the rest, indignation emerges.

-I don’t have the influence.- she says, turning her back, aware of her red nose, by dint of blowing it all evening, when she wasn’t in connection with the team, of course, and eyes shining. -I'm... I'm fine!- she hears the echo of her own voice that says to him that same sentence, just as liar then as today. -You can also go to your house to... Roxy.- she corrects herself at the last. She feels the steps of man approaching and manages to remain perfectly still.

He puts a hand on her shoulder and does nothing else, but she turns to him, as if he had pressed the right button, had typed the correct sequence. -No offense, Garcia, but I know how you look when you're okay and now... it's not one of those times.- it's just a fleeting impression, and yet, for a second, she thinks she has reading malice in his brown eyes, which she had always believed much darker, while now, which she is so close to him, sick and with defenses (not only immune) so low, can capture all the various nuances of his irises.

She takes a while to awaken from the spell. A good cough intervenes in her defense, this time single but harsh and dry. -Alvez, how dare you say such a thing?- she prays all the gods in the celestial spheres that her cheeks haven’t become the same shade of her nose. I... I... achoo!- and then here is making its cameo a sneeze, probably jelaous for the space that had won the colleague.

Luke makes no effort to disguise his complacency. -Bless you.- he tells her, politely, and for a moment she sees a version of her colleague at the time of high school, perfectly combed hair, good clothes, his mother who repeats the same recommendations, in the churchyard. -So, still convinced of your position?- he asks her with obvious amusement as he torments her.

-Obviously.- she replies, this time promptly, turning back and returning to take care of her work, typing with the left hand while the right is struggling in the search for the lost handkerchief.

-Ok.- she hears him reply, only those two letters, a syllable, and the thing should already be suspicious. But even in her most daring dreams she could never have imagined him endowed with so much courage. The man walks around her chair and overlaps his hands with that of the blonde, quickly pressing just two buttons, activating the forced shutdown of the whole system, that a second before starting sets in motion the automatic saving of all the last actions. Penelope opens her eyes, freeing two tears that perfectly brush her face until they reach the chin before the final jump. She also opens her mouth wide, but nothing comes out for a moment.

Then, the voice returns to her. -What did you do?- she shouts, congratulating those who decided to build her bunker completely soundproof. -Are you crazy? Have you lost your mind?- she asks him, leaning with the intention of grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him, but the other part of her can’t even take the idea of touching him into account.

-Unfortunately, good manners don’t work with you.- Luke replies simply, with that condescending tone that is used with madmen, children with attention deficit and animals that are considered stupid. -And now, c’mon, take your stuff, I'll take you to your house.- she doesn’t know if she's more mad with him for interrupting her work (and who could imagine that he knew that sequence?), for having accused her of be stubborn and want to be right at all costs, or for this last sentence, expressed in tone too natural and spontaneous, as if he were her boyfriend and had the right to tell her what is best for her.

-But... but... but...- for this she can’t do anything but repeat like a broken record the same word that perfectly expresses all her unease and her uncertainty. Man doesn’t seem to have pity for her at all. Taking her by the shoulders, again as if it were the most natural thing in the world, he forces her to rise from her chair.

-You, hurry up.- and Penelope almost ends up on the ground, looking for a way to get away from him. But at the same time a thought starts turning in her head. How sexy is he when he plays the authoritarian role...? Why did I think such a thing? It's wrong. He sees me as a friend, nothing more. He would do the same thing with Tara. -Do you need a hand to wear the coat?- she observes his hands towards her like the claws of a bird of prey ready to grasp her and take her to his nest.

-NO.- she says, a bit too strong and with a look and attitude in general too terrified. She forces herself to slow down the beats of the heart and calm the breath, but this costs her another cough.- No, no.- she repeats, more satisfied with the result. -I can do it.- it’s unclear how her legs hold up her just enough to reach the hanger that is so lopsided that Kate gave her so many years ago that she almost can’t believe it's been so long. -Are you happy now?- is a rhetorical question, and in fact she doesn’t wait for a reply, grabs the bag and starts out.

-Quite.- she still hears him exclaim. As soon as Luke is out of her bunker, she types the security code to block access to unauthorized people, everyone except she, Prentiss, and anyone above the head of the BAU. -Penelope?- she warns the man's gaze over her body as if it were tangible.

-What?- she sighs, focusing on the last digits. It never happened to her to do it wrong.

-Are you sure you can handle it, alone at home?- a slight hesitation, just as she completes the operation and starts walking towards the elevator. Another feeling of deja-vu, and she can’t make fun of herself to the point of saying that she doesn’t know what it refers to, what exact moment actually happened between them. -Because I could...- she anticipates him, pressing the call button and this surprises him so much that he is silenced.

-No, no.- she shakes her head, wrong choice: for a moment everything goes around her as if she were on a carousel. -I'll have a hot tea, I'll take an aspirin and I'll go to bed right away.- she list diligently. -Okay, daddy?- she repents instantly of the last joke, but she just can’t help it. In the meantime, the elevator arrives, empty.

-A new nickname?- he asks her, but is probably not talking  to her as anyone else. -It's a bit too weird even for you.- he gives her one of his ultra-malicious looks and this time paralyzes her, and the blame is all her weakness. When she manages to free herself from that spell, the price she is forced to pay is another fine series of perfectly alternating coughing and sneezing, like in a monotone symphony. -All right?- she can deny how much she wants, but he's really worried about her, about her health. But this doesn’t mean anything, and she repeats it until she believes it.

-Stop to worry about me, Alvez.- she says, looking at him for a second, she can’t allow herself any more, otherwise she might catch in his net again. -My head is spinning a little.- she admits, because she actually fears to skid against the elevator walls. But Luke doesn’t take the opportunity to make a joke or reiterate how he was right.

-C’mon, it is better if you hold on me.- he says only, without traces of malice, complacency, only... sweetness, damn, it seems sweetness. And it wasn’t the first time that she grasps that nuance in him when he is with her. -Trust me, I don’t bite.- he adds, this time giving her a brief smile, but not one of those with half-crooked lips, of when she still called him Newbie, no, one of those as when he had given her that anti-stress.

-You're so stubborn...- she exclaims, closing her eyes and signing her surrender. He doesn’t wait for anything else, surrounding her shoulders with his arm, so big, powerful, that it seems made for that task, because she is not really the smallest woman on the planet. Not that it was the first time he did it, no, it had happened when they brought Lou to Phil... but Penelope decides to send her pride to the hell and even puts her head on his shoulder for the short ride that separates them from man's car. She seems to hear a sigh of restrained joy, but it must have been just her impression. Why should he be happy to have her weight on him?

Too soon she feels herself snatching from that comfortable torpor in which she had fallen and without understanding how, she finds herself sitting in the passenger's seat. -Do you prefer a little silence, or I turn on the radio?- he's asking her (it’s hard to admit it) savior.

-No, the silence leaves too much space to my thoughts.- she answers extremely sincere and doesn’t get too angry with himself. She is just "wake up" and has the defenses completely lowered and already today she feels no good... -Better the radio.- she decrees and he nods, turning on the first and then starting the engine.

And you provoke envy in people, because of who is great, but doesn’t realize it... with ten thousand excuses the world devours you, you laugh and make fun of it... you direct love at all, but stay out of groups, those who talk a lot, think a little less... come from confidence and an the idea that looks good, the medium is important, but the aim is the person, and only love is important, you keep it too much, that’s why you are special…

Only rarely she gives him a quick glance, while the man's eyes remain fixed on the road. She wonders what he's thinking right now, surely to Lisa, even if he tried to make her believe he wasn’t feel too bad. They had been together for how much, at least a year, no? He couldn’t have come out from it as if nothing had happened. But Luke is in a completely different kind of elucubrations; he is in fact meditating that he could so easily dedicate to her some of the phrases of this song that he has never heard before today. An annoying sound breaks his thoughts before they can become deeper.

-Oh no, I think that we have a case.- Penelope exclaims, in a desperate tone. She clears her throat, to probably prevent other coughing from interrupting her. From the corner of his eye he sees her grab her cell phone and press a button; the speakerphone. -Go ahead, Emily. It's me and Luke.- she declares quietly. A pause of a few seconds. The woman on the other end of the phone is in fact assimilating the information received, fighting against her perplexity. How come those two were together at this time?

So, the head of the BAU perks up. -I called to warn you that Rossi has decided to hold a kind of collective bachelor party and invited the whole team for tomorrow night. He instructed me to pass the word...- this time she does nothing to hide the relief that seizes her.

-Oh, thank goodness, for a moment I feared that...- even the other woman easily reads her mind. She can imagine the smile of the friend spreading on her face.

-No, no new case, don’t worry.- she reassures her, with a chuckle. -And, Garcia?- she adds, just to the last. An infinitesimal exchange of glances between driver and passenger that remains of an uncertain nature.

-What?- then she asks in turn, trembling inside.

-Are you sure you're okay? You look a little... weird...- Penelope looks up at the sky and then looks at Luke as if she wanted to hit him; the man merely giggles almost imperceptibly. Too low for Emily to hear it, luckily for him.

-I'm fine, and anyway, Alvez is taking me home, so don’t worry.- the man makes another completely silent smile. -Night, ma’am.- the blonde says.

-Good night.- Emily echoes.

-Night, Prent...- but the conversation has already been closed. -Hey, I was still talking!- Luke protest. -What is it?- he then asks, taking advantage of a stop to look her in the eye.

-Come on, say it.- she urges him. -You can’t wait to do it, you are quivering with the desire to reproach me. C’mon, don’t be shy.- then he understands what she is referring to.

-If you insist...- he says, enjoying another nice round of those eyes that have captured his from the first glance. -Have you seen? Even Emily has noticed that you aren’t the same.- Penelope immediately breaks the eye contact, preferring to focus on the unattractive landscape that is beyond the window.

-Damned profilers...- she mumbles. Then, a sudden lighting. -Oh, hell.- though he is careful as he drives, the man hears her and immediately starts thinking about the worst. Seeing her hand on her chest, he is afraid that she may have a heart attack.

-What? What happened?- he exclaims alarmed and not hiding it in any way.

-Nothing.- however, the colleague answers, stubborn to the end. She would also be able to die, rather than admit that he was right.

-Penelope... I don’t let it go, there is no way.- he clarifies it with a hard, almost angry tone. -Then speak.- he doesn’t intend to give her a way to escape and this time she falls badly, because she is aboard his car, he could lead her where he wants, even at his home, and the silent treatment will not work. At the cost of stopping and spending all night on the side of the road.

-Oh, what the hell.- she seems to realize it. Just when she is about to start explaining she is caught by some cough; the less they are numerous and the more they increase in intensity. -I remembered only now that I don’t even have a medicine at home.- she manages to say, with the fluctuating voice that comes and goes, but the man still understands the general sense of the sentence.

-It’s not a problem, there is a pharmacy a little further on.- there follows a pause where only the music of a digester's advertisement is heard. Then Luke turns expressly towards her, almost in slow motion. -Does that mean you admit you're sick?- he's so pleased and so beautiful with that expression, those shining eyes, that she finds herself confirming her knockout.

-I admit it, ok?- she doesn’t have time to hide the shadow of a smile also on her own lips. -Satisfied?- he still doesn’t comment on it, not out loud, at least.

-Partly.- here in the night shine the green light of the cross indicating that they have reached the goal. Luke parks, then he unties his belt. -Wait in the car, I'll come back in a moment.- he says, and he has already almost half a foot on the asphalt, when he hears himself grabbing by the edge of his jacket.

-No way.- now she too gets out of the car. -I'm not dying, Alvez, and I will not let you pay for my stuff.- she says firmly and stubbornly, then she opens her eyes, hearing again her voice. -God, it seemed like a drug addict' phrase.- he closes his car door and observes her do the same, then he inserts the allarm.

-A little.- he doesn’t even try to hold back a giggle. -I imagine that this is the consequence of feminism.- but this time she doesn’t seem to find his joke particularly amusing. They are walking a few centimeters away, they don’t notice it, but their steps are perfectly synchronized, like two soldiers during the official parade on July 4th.

-Don’t think about things bigger than you.- she admonishes him and he understands that there is no need to reply. -Hurry, I don’t want to spend more than ten minutes with you.- she picks up the pace and goes over him at the entrance. -I can’t bear you anymore.- Luke, however, can’t help but laugh again, hearing her complaining about his company, making her anger, but the woman decides to concentrate on choosing the medicine to buy. The truth is that there are too many kind and that each has a stranger and terrifying name of the other, it wasn0t that now she has learned them by heart, by dint of looking for digital traces for cases of unknown subjects with dependencies of all kinds... she not even realize that is entered a man who seems pretty nasty, sometimes the judgment on the book given only by brushing the cover with the look is extremely accurate and sometimes, the clothes makes the man. She jumps, ending with her back against her colleague's chest when the first shot resonates in the building, shaking all the windows containing non-over-the-counter drugs. Luke gives a quick glance and realizes that there are only two (three) people besides them and the gangster: an old man, with a stick and walker, who is holding his chest (he hopes he is not having a principle of a heart attack, but it would not be so strange, in this case) and a mother with a stroller decorated with Hello Kitty. Without speaking, he grabs Penelope by the shoulders and turns her towards him; he makes her understand that she has to be silent and doesn’t move. He directs himself sneaking towards the man, who wears neither a mask nor anything that could prevent his identification. Bad sign. He hears a moan of fear coming from behind his back, but he doesn’t turn around to scold her. She isn’t used to living these kinds of situations. And then he could never say bad words to her.

He still makes two steps and is exactly behind the man, what he should do is shoot without identifying, because this would make everything much simpler. He is an excellent shooter, he has certificates holed up in a box that he has never opened at home, to testify this. In this way, the robber (he wants to keep believing it's just this) wouldn’t have time to hurt anyone. But he took an oath, and, above all, what would Penelope think of him if he killed a man in that way? -FBI, weapon on the ground and hands up.- then he shouts, completely entering his role. That man doesn’t move. -You heard me? Weapon on the ground and we can talk.- he repeats, trying to give a calm, serene and peaceful tone to his voice, but at the same time decided and authoritarian. Sometimes it's just a matter of who screams louder.

-FBI, uh?- he says, finally, turning around so that he can looks him right in the face. Brown hair, standard length, brown eyes, white, about thirty years old. If it weren’t for that look, he would seems as any of the American tax payers. -I have three hostages at my disposal.- he points out, with a sick smile that perhaps he believes particularly original, but Luke has seen it too many times on too many different faces. -If you shoot me, I'll have time to bring one of them with me.- the man continues, becoming more and more sure of himself. Behind him he hears a noise, but he doesn’t want to think that it could be Garcia who has followed him. -Do you like the risk, federal agent?- he asks him directly, amused in a way too obvious by the use of that title. Almost Luke was nothing but his job. But he wants to believe that he is also other, for example, Roxy's dad.

It is the thought of his dog that gives him the right charge. -Good, then let's do it, we put down the guns at the same time and then we'll talk.- he proposes, even sketching a smile, so fake, because he was never good at pretending these things, like Hotch, like Rossi, or like Emily and JJ. Perhaps he is still the hunter of men who believed that profiling was stupid. -What do you think?- the other, however, seems not too attentive to his words, look beyond him, and Luke knows what it means, but still basks in the illusion. Denying, always denying, beyond the evidence.

-I say, don’t take it out, I would prefer to exchange a few words with your blonde friend.- until his most horrendous fears are confirmed and he is forced to smash his face violently against them. He makes a big mistake, unable to disguise his emotions, he closes his eyes for a moment so as not to faint, stunned by the horror that is revolting his guts.

-What blonde friend...- he tries anyway, one last try. Then he hears that noise again, and this time he recognizes it, clear and precise. A sneeze. A moment later someone' hand, delicate skin, soft and silky, takes his wrist.

-Sorry, Luke, I tried to restrain myself, but...- she begins to justify herself, but Luke shakes his head and weaves a single finger into hers, trying to pass on what he thinks.

In any case, the man, which is, now is clear, certainly not just a robber, doesn’t seem willing to let them talk. -Make a deal, federal agent...- Luke anticipates him, gaining some points. But he is losing this match 4 to 0.

-Luke, Luke Alvez, but you can call me Luke.- the voice comes out too uncertain, almost careless, it is as if the language no longer wanted to respond to his commands. And that blonde who vibrates imperceptibly next to him doesn’t help keep him cool.

-Good, Agent Alvez.- he does it on purpose, still calling him with the title and to prefer his last name, thus rejecting his implicit proposal to manage the thing amicably. In fact, he prefers it because he thinks of something that he might have read or perhapsReid had told him about the value of the proper name of divinity and city. And if that bastard didn’t call him by name, he couldn’t dominate him. -I'll let all the hostages go if she plays with me.- he adds with a lascivious smile.

Luke trembles, but for the blind rage that assails him. -Play with you what?- but his question is totally ignored, because Penelope passes in front of him, and goes over a few steps towards the asshole with the gun still pointed in the direction of the young mother.

-I'm in.-she says, her voice firm. The man can’t help but feel so proud of his colleague, and, at the same time, also angry with her, because it is not up to her to play the role of heroin in this show.

-Wait, Garcia, don’t be hasty...- he tries to stop her, but she drives him away like an annoying insect.

-Shut up, Luke.- she silences him abruptly. -I said I'm in.- she turns to the other man and gets a little closer. Luke feels the useless weight of the weapon in his hand. He reaches her, supports her and tries to concentrate only on the asshole.

-Tell me.- he repeats, a hoarse growl at the bottom of his throat. -What do you want to play with her?- who knows what the hell he expects, but nothing could displace him more than the answer of the man.

-Truth or dare.- he exclaims, never turning away from the blonde. -If I realize that you lie, honey, your friend will get a nice bullet in the body.- he explains, stroking his gun as if he were already anticipating the moment when the bullet will pierce the epidermis of the federal agent. -Understand?- he adds with tone a bit more serious and even evil.

-Understand.- she nods, slightly bowing her head, showing herself submissive. But is it a performance or does she really want to surrender to him, do everything that he asks for?

-Garcia, you don’t have to lend yourself to this thing.- he tries again to dissuade her, he doesn’t even know why, because he understood that by now the mechanism has started and there is no way to stop it.

-Luke, stop getting in the way.- she replies, but the fact that she has called him again by name is equivalent to a kind of secret signal to tell him that she hasn’t completely lost her mind, that she will not give up so easily as thinks the unmasked asshole.

-You heard, Agent Luke Alvez?- this time the other also calls him by full name. He goes back, walking without looking where he puts his feet, and yet he doesn’t stumble, until he reaches the door, he must have blocked without anyone noticing it, he throws it open and gestures to the hostages to get out of his way. Only then Luke thinks about the strangeness of the lack of workers: why was not there even a pharmacist? Should not they necessarily have to do the night service? -Now, good, put down the gun and kick it, towards me.- the cold voice of the asshole brings him back to reality. He does it without objecting, then he observes him even more powerless, tying the wrists of his colleague. He clenches his fists until he hurt his knuckles. Then he does the same with him and also gives him a boost, taking advantage of the fact that he has no way to keep his balance. - Let's start.- he says. -Truth or dare...- Luke feels a knot in his stomach, understanding what is about to happen. No, don’t don’t do it, he tries to communicate telepathically to her. Don’t tell him your real name. But she can’t hear him.

-Penelope. My name is Penelope.- she replies in fact. She coughs and blushes, perhaps because of the shame of not being able to cover her mouth with an hand, as they taught her. -And I choose truth.- she adds, showing himself decisive, like a convict who knows he is going to meet his destiny, proud as Joan of Arc at the stake.

-Great, Penelope.- he doesn’t hide his perverse complacency. -What are you doing here with him at this time? In other words, what is your relationship with him?- he hastens to clarify, confusing her by mixing the two questions. In spite of himself, Luke realizes he is deeply interested in what she will say. -Think well on what to answer, because I will understand if you lie.- he warns her in a bored tone, as if it were a phrase he repeated too many times. And maybe it's like that. This is not an amateur, he must have done it before. And what happened to his previous victims?

-We... we work for the same unit.- Penelope begins to explain, interrupted by another cough that doesn’t seem to catch pity from the asshole. -Behavioral Analyst Unit.- she specifies. -I am a computer technician and he is a special supervisor agent. We are work colleagues.- all here. Colleagues. But hadn’t he done the same thing when he'd introduced her to Lisa on their first date? So why should he feel entitled to be... hurt, offended?

-How boring.- even the other man doesn’t seem happy, and fiddles with the weapon, making it dangle for the handle. -I was hoping for something more, honestly.- he shoves it behind his back and starts walking toward them.

-Don’t come any closer her, don’t touch her, don’t dare!- Luke jumps, unable to contain his anger as he watches that man move his dirty hands along the body of Penelope, looking for a document that he could easily find if only he looked in the right place and most obvious, her bag.

-A little too protective to be just a colleague, don’t you think?- he is aimed exclusively at the blonde. Then he follows Luke's telepathic advice and finds the woman's badge and takes a second to capture the Latin one as well. -I seen you told the truth.- he nods, to himself. -It is not allow omitting the details, however.- he adds, at the last, with a completely different tone and also his gaze, his eyes, change, almost another entity had taken the upper hand in him. -Maybe I should show you that I'm serious...- he turns with a jerk and pulls the trigger, just in the direction of Luke's leg, where Penelope herself knows that the femoral artery is located and that would mean only five minutes of time to intervene before the man bleeds to death. The thought provokes her yet another attack of cough, but she manages to reject it with the few remaining forces. The cry dies in her throat when she hears only the empty click, the shot without the result of the weapon. -Oh, I forgot to tell you that we are also doing another game.- he laughs, a coarse and vulgar laugh, but definitely less frightening than that look. -Do you know Russian roulette, Luke? This time you were lucky, but Luck is a fickle thing that never ceases to turn...- the man rotates the section of the weapon, only now Luke recognizes it, a revolver, where the bullets are. There are only two, enough to kill both. -So, truth or dare?- he asks re-establishing the initial distances.

-I want to take part in this.- the federal agent intrudes, noticing Penelope's shining eyes and wondering if the cause is really just the flu or a hell brooding.

-Do you have any burning secret to reveal, Luke?- for the first time, he seems to have been able to capture his attention. -A weight to get rid of?- the other hesitates. -Otherwise you're not very interesting.- he concludes, shrugging.

-I'm filled of secrets.- he exclaims then, and in fact, he's not lying at all. Since he's been part of the BAU the situation has changed a little, but there are a lot of things that his colleagues ignore about his private life and his previous life.

The asshole looks really pleasantly surprised. -Well, let's see.- then he backs to focus on the blonde who is becoming red to prevent a sneeze or yet another cough. Almost as if it were a sign of unforgivable weakness. -But remember that if you lie the sweet Penelope will take a bullet... let's say in her leg.- he understands that with the mind the slimy is caressing her thigh and that, if he were to die, it could really happen. He could even do it while the blood, together with life, flows out of her. -Are you still convinced you want to play?- he nods, planting his teeth in his lower lip. -If you are happy... Truth or dare?- the easiest choice he has had to make since they have been here.

-True.- he replies, while a sneeze resounds beside him.

- What's the thing that makes you ashamed more, of all the things you had to do for your work?- he asks without hesitation. -The one that make you feel more guilty, I mean something that, even after the years, doesn’t let you sleep well.- Luke bends down his head, because he has an answer, and the asshole will like it so hard.

He closes his eyes, shielding himself from the rest of the world. -Before I joined the BAU... there was a guy, a criminal. Daniel Cullen.- he is no longer in this pharmacy, on the floor, with his hands tied. -He tormented my partner, my best friend... almost killed him. He has ripped apart him.- he's back in time or maybe in a memory or in a fantasy, as long as there is a difference. -I should have been in his place.- he says, raising his eyelids, but being careful not to look at Penelope. -It's been six years, and yet I keep waking up sweating in the middle of the night, and doing the same nightmare, identical.- he is not lying about it, and perhaps that also helped push Lisa to make that decision. And he couldn’t blame her.

-Did you want to kill him?- the asshole pricks him, completely immersed in his black tale. - Or did you do it?- Luke vibrates, meditating for the first time on the possibility of lying to him, to preserve the image that his colleague has of him, at least that she will want to speak again with him, as long as they will survive all this.

-Yes, I wanted to kill him with my hands, see the life flow away from his eyes and no, I couldn’t do it.- in the end he opts again for the cruel truth, not for beautiful lies. Killing and even wishing to do so is one of the ten sins punished by his religion, but even this can’t stop him. -Unfortunately.- he adds, digging his chasm a little further.

-Wow, this is a great revelation, don’t you think so, Penelope?- that man smiles, waiting maybe that the blonde could do the same. -You’re safe, for now, even if it seems to me, Luke, that your words have hurt her more than any bullet.- the man is forced to see that he is right. The blonde is trembling and her big eyes, wide open, are ones of an animal caught in the headlights. -You shocked her, poor girl. You didn’t think that your coworker had so dark thoughts inside him, didn’t you?- she doesn’t nod nor denies. -It’s your turn, now. Truth or dare?- wearily, as she wouldn’t have any alternative, she answers him.

-Truth.- that man beats an hand on the other and play for a bit with the gun, while he seems think about what he could asks her this time.

-What do you feel for your colleague Luke, especially in the light of his revelations?- he finally asks, and in fact it is strange that he took so long to get there, because in the movies is one of the first things, almost two kidnapped people have to end up getting together... if both remain alive until the end credits.

-Penelope, the team will arrive soon, you don’t have to say anything you don’t want.- he gets in the way, tonight it seems that he hasn’t done anything else, and for a second she looks at him.

Then, however, she shakes her head. -No, it’s not. It’s my fault if we had to stop here.- two other tears run along her cheeks and the man hates he couldn't do anything, the fact he can’t dry them with his thumbs. -Luke, I… there is no way to say it, and If I ever thought about this moment, I never imagined that it would been in a pharmacy, hands tied behind the backs, and a fool who is pointing his weapon to our heads.- the asshole doesn’t seem to take it badly, he is probably used to it. -But I say simply the truth, as he asked me.- now Luke trembles for another reason, so different from the ones that have shaken him until now; because the way she has talked and her gaze… it’s possible that she is really about to confess what he thinks? And why that idea makes him so happy? His priority is to save her, save both of them, so he could take her to the hospital, to a medic… and they could understand what she has, because his instinct, that bastard who is always right, tells to him that there is not just a flu, there is something worst under it and a cruel hourglass that signals the the time available. -I don’t think about you just as a coworker… you became important for me, don't mind how much I tried to keep you from doing that.- here they are, she is about to say it, really, maybe it will be just a distraction, yeah, in fact it would be the right thing to do. A good love confession, a fed gossip could confuse the asshole just enough to… -I… I love you and I can’t handle that you could be hurt or even dead because of me!- she says, and almost the effort to say all those things had been too much for her body, she bursts into a series of convulsive cough attacks, this time longer, deep and sinister. -Are you satisfied now?- then she asks, nose, eyes red and full of tears. For a moment Luke fears she might die suffocated.

-Well, let's say that this time I will not shoot him.- yet that asshole is not even satisfied, it even seems... disappointed. -It's your turn, Luke. Truth or dare?- the federal agent sighs, before answering, meditating on how much time can actually be passed, ruthless hourglasses apart.

-Truth.- why the team is not here yet? The hostages didn’t back to their home pretending it’s happened nothing, right? Whoever would warn the law enforcement. Sure, from this to call the BAU…

-Perfect, as I guessed.- he makes turn the box containing the projectiles again. -And you, Agent Alvez, what do you really think of your colleague?- here, his turn has arrived. --Remember that her leg is always at stake, if you try to be clever.- he doesn’t give him time to reflect. -And I add: is there anything else you've never told her, and would you like to confess?- but unknowingly, he provides him with exactly what he needed: an escape to not find himself confessing his love in such a situation drab. -This could be the right time, also because it could be the last one.- that warning, however, puts everything at stake.

He turns to her, how much the strings allow him. -Penelope, I…- and he understands that he is really about to throw himself without parachute. What good would it do still living with his intact pride but in a world without her?

-You don’t have to answer, Luke.- she seems say the same as him a moment ago. -I was already shot, I can handle it.- and she is right, that shit of Battle dared to do a similar action, but just because at that time he was busy to dodging bullets on the front line of a war that he never understood.

-But he can’t, I’m right?- the asshole seems so easy reading his mind, yet, he decides consciously to try to trick him.

-Penelope, do you remember Phil?- he start to say. -You remember that the day he died you asked me if he had asked about you and that...- he bites his lips to make them bleed, but never removes his eyes from her, despite the shame he feels. -I lied to you, and I lied to him too. Since he saw you, he did nothing but torment me to know if you were already dating someone or if you were free, and I...- the mouth that so much wanted to taste bends downwards. And it's his fault, only his.

-Why, why did you do it?- Penelope asks, sounding more confused than hurt.

-Yeah, Luke, why did you do it?- echoes that human shit that keeps on keeping her under his sight.

-Because… because I didn’t want that my private life and work mixing too much.- it’s a bullshit, and it’s so obvious, yet he really said it. -I know I was selfish, but…- his words are covered by a thud that sounds to their ears as a rumble.

-Wrong answer.- without adding other word, the man points his gun exactly at the level of the knee of the blond and pulls the trigger. Luckily, even this time they hear just a empty noise that means the missing of the bullet in the chamber. For the scare Penelope bursts into a coughing crisis that makes her eyes tear up and turns her whole face more red. Luke can’t have the time to scream his terror, fearing that he has condemned his colleague to death just for his inability to confess the truth, even in a such moment. The asshole is right, he could not have another occasion to do it. -You two were lucky, even this time.- he says, not happy, looking at the empty chamber as it had voluntary betrayed him. -Who knows how it will go the next.- he sight. -Penelope, truth or dare?- probably nobody expects the next move of the blonde.

-Dare.- she answers with an uncertain tone.

-Interesting choice.- in fact comments the asshole. -Well. You must hit your friend and dear colleague, as hard as you can, I want to see a good mark. That's what you want, deep inside of you, after what he told you and especially after he showed how much he doesn’t really care about your life, since he lied even though he knew what was at stake.- he steps that distance them and cuts with a single gesture the ribbon that wraps the wrists of the woman, so little careful to make a slight wound on her arm. Luke watches the red liquid gush out and feels his pulse increase; Penelope, on the other hand, doesn’t emit sound. -Or, if you prefer, you can use this.- he makes dancing in front of her the knife, like a hypnotizer in a magic show. -What are you choosing?- Penelope looks at the cold weapon and then her own hands, free.

-Don’t worry, Garcia, do what he want.- Luke tries to reassure her, understanding that she needs his approval. -It's all right, it will not hurt me and he's right, I deserve it.- he even manages to give her a small smile. The blonde closes her eyes and nods. Who knows if he has understood that she had to concentrate on the people who, many years later, she hated more in her life. She brings the arm back, the not injured, to give the right push and hits him. The psychopathic asshole this time can be said to be satisfied, because she left a nice mark on his cheek, in which all the fingers are perfectly distinguished. Yet, the slap doesn’t burn and he doesn’t even feel pain. All his concentration is on her, who falters kneeling before him, but free.

-Luke, please, I'm sorry, I...- before the asshole can put her brusquely to shut up, she has another attack of cough, so deep and intense that it seems to shake her body entirely, silencing her. The other makes a sign of denial with his head, as if to say that he doesn’t approve of this manifestation of remorse, while he ties her hands back behind her back, taking advantage to leave a slimy caress on her backside, which causes anger in the federal agent.

-You are right, you're trained to bear the pain, uh?- he passes the tongue on his lips. -Too bad. But she has respected the pacts, so I can’t shoot you.- again that sense of regret. -Where have you learned such techniques? Afghanistan? Iraq?- he nods to the last option. -I guessed.- he shrugs. -So, Luke, truth or dare?- he smiles at him, as if to suggest to him what he could do, if only he would let himself go completely.

-I will never choose dare.- but Luke fights, because he is certainly not less stubborn than the asshole. -You will not force me to hurt her.- he explains calmly and decisively, like death. -I prefer to die.- he concludes, and is neither lying nor joking, nor exaggerating.

-I assume you've still chosen truth.- he yawns. -You ae so boring.- he plays again with the revolver, in a kind of circus number, while Penelope surrenders to another series of coughs. -Have you ever betrayed a woman?- the man realizes how the blonde has totally unbalanced to better hear the response of her colleague and his dilated pupils, and this makes him smile with evil satisfaction.

-It depends on what is meant by betrayal.- Luke answers ambiguously. -If you mean the classic being with two feet in the same hoof ... never physically, never concretely, not even a kiss.- he admits, proud of himself, for once. -If you extend the concept... with the mind, often.- he just staring at the asshole in the eye, keeps his eyes fixed in his, not at all scared by the prospect of being sucked from his abyss. -I was with Lisa and I was also fine, but I always ended up making comparisons with another woman... one that I didn't even deserv to look.- he doesn’t know if he can guess that he is referring to Penelope. -Fortunately, she left me, because I'm so cowardly I would never have done it.- not even that is so difficult to admit. -And if we want to go even further, I cheated on my mother when I enlisted in the army even though I knew that this would cause her a heart attack.- which was not fatal just by a whisker, he only adds in his head, but after that, she wasn’t the same woman anymore. And he could ever forgive himself?

-Damned, I wasn’t expecting an answer like that, good job, SSA, you managed to amaze me.- he claps his hands, pleased, holding the weapon with a single finger. -Yes, Penelope, there's still a bullet that can’t wait to get stuck in your colleague's flesh filled of secrets.- Truth or dare? - she has no doubts this time, because she certainly can’t risk he could forcing her to put an end to her colleague's life... how could she not think about it before?

-Truth.- she answers in fact, in a tone without nuances. The head is about to burst, and the heart is on its way to reach it, not to mention the lungs, which burn as if she had inhaled live fire.

-You reacted so badly when he told you he lied about Phil... I bet he's the same friend who was tortured in his place.- he ignores the grimace that appears on Luke's face and confirms his suspicions. It is really true that the best profilers are the unknown subjects. -So... were you in love with him?- incredibly, the question manages to surprise her and she almost laughs, but she knows that it wouldn’t be a good choice, especially for her body, she doesn't care of what the asshole would do to her. She still feels condemned to leave this earth tonight.

-No, Phil... I liked him, very much.- she admits, and to think of him hurts. -I think that if I had been given the chance, I could have fall in love with him, but...- she catches a glare and seems to have been the only one to notice it. -...at the moment, and even now, my heart is already busy...- she starts talking, pretending to be more lost than it is and surprising for her ability to dominate the cough. -I couldn’t tell how long exactly. I think from the first time I saw this person...- she continues to stay on the vague, the glow increases, perhaps now also Luke saw it, but he is good at pretending to be in turn focused on that strange confession. -I think I immediately got a crush. And then gradually I fell in love. I'm in love with one of our colleagues.- she says, feeling everyone's attention catalyzed on her. -I understand, Luke, how you behaved, he was right, you lied: it wasn’t to not mix work and private life, it was because you thought I wasn’t enough for your best friend...- she abruptly changes the subject, but the asshole doesn’t have time to notice it, because a red dot appears to him exactly in the middle of his chest.

And then, that shout, finally. -FBI, you're surrounded. Give yourself up or we’ll shoot.- the relief is such that the sudden inflow of oxygen causes her a terrible pain in the chest, but she ignores it. The hands, still tied, are intertwined as a sign of hope.

-If you shoot, I take with me in the afterlife the blonde .- he replies, repeating the initial comedy. -What do you say, Penelope, do you want to take a trip?- but that is the last joke that he declaims on the stage of life, as Shakespeare loved to call it and before him a Spanish wrapped in the same shadow of mystery. Luckily, man falls backwards, right in front of the IT.

Prentiss makes her way through the agents and reaches them. -Luke, Penelope, are you ok?- she starts to untie the friend, while she is reached by Rossi who does the same with Latin. -Is anyone of you hurt?- she asks only for security.

Luke speaks first. -No, but she is sick, I don’t know what she has, I think it is a bronchial pneumonia, she has almost never ceased to cough.- he explains and Emily remembers the impression that she had just... one hour, at most an hour and half ago, on the phone. -It would be better if...- she nods and helps Penelope to stand up, noting the cut on the wrist, the blood now clotted.

-I understood.- she calls the paramedics. -Come here, it's here.- the lights finally stun the poor woman, who tries to stop them from taking her away in an ambulance.

-Please, Emily...- half of the sentence is absorbed by yet another cough -... don’t listen to him, I'm...- and the other from an even stronger attack. She understands that it is not worth attempting and she abandons herself, like a dead body, to the care of someone who can really help her. From the stretcher she still manages to see her adventure companion approaching one of the doctors.

-Can I go up in the ambulance with her?- she hears him ask, but his voice sounds distant and muffled, perhaps she has only imagined it because it was what she wanted to hear.

-Only if it doesn’t interfere with us.- a paramedic replies, abruptly, but then contraddicts himself with a half-smile, as if he too had become a profiler and had sensed what is between them. Yes, but what exactly is there between them?

As soon as they leave, she loses consciousness. Luke, trying to stay as much as possible on the sidelines, looks at the standard procedures to stabilize her and understands from their speeches that she is not so serious... but she is not even good. After having intubated her, the paramedic with whom he spoke earlier, beckons that he can now approach and tell her what he wants, but also to be brief and not to agitate her too much... or they will be forced to get rid of the excess ballast. -Penelope, darling, don’t worry.- he begins, realizing that this is the first time he calls her that way, but it's so good. -I will never leave you alone, as long as they allow me to be near you, understand?- she can’t answer him and her eyes are scared, frightened by that thing that prevents her from breathing in a normal way. -I'll always keep your hand.- he says, gently caressing her. -Do you want to answer a question? I promise that tonight is the last one.- he reassures her and understands that in another moment, she would have laughed at his joke. -A single squeeze for means yes and two for no.- Penelope proves to have understood the mechanism. -Ok. Is it true what you said in there, that... that you're in love with someone from the team?- another sign for the yes. -Well. Is a woman?- two squeezes. -No. So, it's one of the men... is he busy?- a longer pause than the previous ones, because Penelope is about to nod, but suddenly remembers that Luke told her that Lisa had left him. -This excludes Matt and Rossi.- he deduces, many intelligently. -So... is Reid?- the last fateful squeeze. -No. So... it's me. You're in love with me.- and this time there's no question mark at the end of the sentence. -No, don’t shake, I told you. I will not leave you alone. Everything will be all right and when you're better, when we're sure you're okay, we'll talk a bit.- he says, continuing to stroke her hand, the only thing he can do in a similar situation. How much is missing at the hospital? -Do you think you can forgive me for lying to you about Phil?- he breaks his promise.-It wasn’t because I thought you weren’t enough for him, and not even to keep the private sphere separate from the professional one, but because... I was jealous of you. I didn’t want to... that you were with another man.- but he also had to get rid of this burden, he couldn’t allow her to end under the knife without knowing the truth. -I know it was selfish behavior and I apologize, I will spend all my life apologizing, if you will allow me...- Penelope raises her arm just enough to be able to gently caress the man, who understands that is the only way she has to reassure him. -Falling in love with you was inevitable, like an unconditional reflex, I couldn’t do anything, like when you have to sneeze or cough, and you can try hard to hold it back, but in the end you have to let it come out.- he adds, even if in a low voice (he is not sure that she has heard it, because her eyes are closed), just as they enter the hospital entrance.

TAGS: @theshamelessmanatee  @arses21434 @kathy5654 @martinab26 @reidskitty13 @jenf42 @gracieeelizabeth27 @silviajajaja @smalliemichelle99 @charchampagne14 @thinitta   @myhollyhanna23 @garvezz @mercedes-maldonado  @shyladystudentfan @cosmicmelaninflower

[haxorus-imp]

Alien Affections - Villainous/Reader - Chapter 16

It was the next day when you got up and out of bed. Last night was great! The clouds were gone and you got to learn more about Flugs' world this time around! It was nice to stargaze with a friend. As it really helped to fight off the encroaching loneliness and homesickness that was eating at you earlier that same day. You learned about constellations and their history. Even if they weren't the same, it still comforted you to know that even THIS Earth has named stars after great superheroes in fiction. Just like your Earth with its' folklore. You got up and stretched, also ignoring the slight itchy feeling that came from your covered bite wound, now donning your 3rd set of shirt and pants. Unlike your rocketship shirt and your 'I see Aliens' shirt, you were now wearing a plain black shirt with a glow-in-the-dark design of a stereotypical alien that was smoking a blunt. There was also a tagline underneath the image that said 'Take me to your dealer.'. You found the shirt and fell in love with how funny it was. Thankfully, you weren't wearing this shirt on the night Ass Hat mauled you. Your pants were also different than your other plain pairs. These pants were black with small green stars that dotted various areas around the pants. Your socks were still a plain black and you chose to wearing a bright green set of sneakers. Your third outfit was in full swing! You eventually left your room and headed out into the hallway to go visit Dementia. Apparently, something bad had went down yesterday at noon and got Dementia very sick, as you learned that from 5.0.5 when he brought you some breakfast. Nobody had said anything about what happened that caused Dementia to fall ill, yet you decided to visit her today. As it has been two full weeks and Flug had left to go out and restock on food and supplies today. Which means, you could either build something for yourself or visit a sick friend. You didn't feel like working on anything at the moment, curse your laziness, so you decided on the second option. You grinned as you made your way through the maze-like hallways. You weren't in charge of caring for her, 5.0.5 currently was, but it wouldn't hurt to get to know the girl, right? I mean, you both haven't seen and interacted with each other at all that much. So...maybe this would be a good time to visit and possibly get to know her! You stride to Dementias' room, which was on the other side of the manor, adjacent to your own. Passing by some artifacts and priceless decor on your way. Looking at some of them as you passed. You couldn't help but laugh at one as you passed. I mean, who could blame you? It's really weird that Black Hat would have a Hero's ass mounted on his wall. 'I guess that means he's an ass man.' You mentally joke. You lightly chuckled to yourself as you reached Dementias' room on the other side of the manor. You knocked lightly on the door, not hearing any complaints or murmurs, you twisted the knob and let yourself inside. The decor of the room looked like it was kinda like a messy, punk-loving teenagers' room. As there were some messy worn-looking dolls, a few posters of punk-looking rock bands on the walls, and an overly large stereo set with a guitar next to the dresser. The room looked to be unclean. As there was some crumpled notes lying across the floor, some punk records piled on top of one another, and 'How to get your dream man~!' mags strung akimbo across the floor and various surfaces. There were also pictures of reptiles and rubber lizards all over the place for some reason. Even if the room looked like a war zone, you stepped inside to visit your once-loud housemate. "Dementia?" You whispered, walking over to the moaning mound in the bed. "Mpprprrpph?" Came a disgruntled voice from under the pink and black blankets that were also dotted with crossbones. You looked at the mound in slight confusion as you pulled over a chair and sat down. Only to yelp and stand back up after a sharp jab stabbed you in the butt. You glared at the plastic dragon-looking lizard that was sitting in the chair, as you picked it up and sat it on the desk. Then you sat back down. "Dementia, are you okay? It's (Name). I decided to come visit you today." You explained, lightly tapping the mound. The unseen Dementia grumbled again as she slowly retracted the covers. It was slightly difficult to see her, as the only light source in her room was the slightly torn lamp that was perched on her desk. The dark pink lampshade didn't help at all either. But, you could see her now and she looked just awful. Her eyes were slightly sunken in and tired looking. Her skin was as pale as snow and her hair was unkempt from not properly taking care of it in over the last 24 hours. She was sweating slightly as the cool rag on her head had long since been warmed and lost it's cooling properties. "Oh my!" You gasped, picking up the warmed damp rag and feeling Dementias' forehead. To which she purred at the coolness of your palms and whined when you pulled away. "You're burning up! Here, let me go get a cold rag and some icy water! I'll be back in a second!" You exclaimed, picking up the used rag and hurrying from the room. Looks like you'll be doing more than a simple visitation today. -- You hurried back into Dementias' room with a cold glass of water and a cold rag. Walking back over to her bedside and sitting on the chair next to the bed. You sat the items on her nightstand, then prepped the rag and a straw so that it would allow Dementia to take a cold sip of water from the drink. Dementia sighed in slight relief the moment the cold rag was introduced to her heated forehead and she took a nice long sip from the straw that was in the chilled drink. She gave out a sigh at the brief relief she felt. "T-Thanks..." Dementia murmured, her voice hoarse. "You're welcome, Dementia." You replied, setting the drink on the nightstand beside your bed. You observed her again. Taking in the sight of her sickly form. "Yeesh. It looks like you caught a bad case of the flu, Dementia." You muttered, shifting the slightly askew covers back into place. Dementia then shook her head. Confusing you slightly. "Well...yes. I know it's not the flu. I just heard from 5.0.5 that you fell sick. Though, he didn't explain from what. He just shrugged when I asked him what it was." You pondered. Dementia then began to make humming noises and shift around in her bed. Muttering something. "I'm--I'm sorry....what?" You asked, leaning in slightly. Dementia took a steady breath. "It...experiment. Smelled...great...ate it! Was..in...much...pain...brought...here. Black Hat...Flug...about...you." Dementia croaked, her sentence was broken. Though, her message was clear. Something went wrong with an experiment. Apparently, it smelled great and Dementia ate it. Then...she was suddenly in a lot of pain before being moved here. Then, something was said about you between Black Hat and Flug. You began to get suspicious. The strange behavior you witnessed yesterday, before you went out on the roof that night, came back to you. It was only Flug and Black Hat that were behaving strangely yesterday and you didn't find out about Dementia's illness until this morning from 5.0.5! You squinted at the thoughts. That's a VERY convenient time frame for all of this shit to go down. Then that also explains that strange behavior that Flug was showing when you caught him looking at that vial-!!! You suddenly look back at Dementia. "Dementia! Did what made you this sick come from a safe in the lab?!" You asked, looking over to her. She appeared lost in thought for a moment. Before she nodded. "Vial." She coughed, confirming your suspicions. You looked away, slightly hurt that FLUG of all people would attempt to keep it from you. But...he doesn't look like the liar type. He doesn't even look that malicious! I mean, he's more things than that! He's intelligent, nice, fun to mess with, listens to your worries and problems, skittish, shy....he's a good friend, he would never lie without a reason! . . . But, somebody else WOULD. You squinted your eyes at the other thought that crossed your mind. You bet it was fucking Ass Hat that made him do it! Dementia did mention him talking to Flug about you. Though, you didn't know what was in that vial, but you know it has something to do with your blood. As the transfusion from yesterday, you look at the bandage on your arm for emphasis, was as suspicious as can be. Approaching Black Hat about this would be too risky, case and point from the scars on your back and the bandage that was on your neck and covering the bite wound. So, that means that it would have to be Flug that you would have to approach about this topic. It certainly won't be pretty, if Flug has a panic attack from being confronted...you have to go about this cautiously. You got pulled from your thoughts when Dementia began to mutter something else. "Oh! I'm sorry, Dementia. Did you say something? I, uh, wasn't paying attention." You scratched the back of your head. Dementia rolled her eyes and pointed to the television that was sitting on her large desk. "TV." She repeated. But, you did what Dementia asked, stood up, and turned on the TV. Which blasted music the moment it was turned on. Seemingly have been left on a channel that featured punk rockers and rockstars alike singing and preforming. You quickly turned it down and sighed in relief while rubbing your ringing ears. Cripes, how did Dementia deal with that!? You then heard someone grunting. Turning around, you could see Dementia attempting to reach for the remote on the farthest place on the nightstand. You hurriedly walked over and retrieved the remote for Dementia, who hummed in appreciation at the gesture, and began to flip through the channels. You simply sat back down on the chair and waited for Dementia to find what she wanted to watch. You could say that you were very confused when she stopped on the NEWS of all things. But, you didn't complain. This was Dementias' TV after all. You began to watch in slight interest as the news anchor was giving out information on a recent attack that happened, to which they switched over to a live reporter who was currently on the scene. There was a female news reporter on the screen, dressed in a light tan dress and appeared to be reporting on some damages of a recent fight that occurred between two superheroes and a crazed villain in a mech-suit. It wasn't native to Hat Island, but it appeared to have happened on the mainland, apparently just nearby. In another city that goes by the name of 'Suit City'. You rolled your eyes at that. Of course it would be named that. Why stop at Hat Island? Just keep going! You might have a street that's called "Bowler Hat Lane" or "Classy Boulevard"! You shook your head at those ridiculous assumptions an continued to watch the news. "It is recommended that civilians avoid Classy Boulevard until the damage has been cleared by professionals." The news reporter explained from the TV. You blinked before you turned slightly and face-planted into Dementias' sheets. To which she lightly patted your head, despite the confusing behavior you just expressed. 'Dammit. I was just kidding! Ugh!' You mentally groaned. Letting Dementia pet your hair slightly. Suddenly, there was a tune that was being played on the news, along with a siren-like effect playing in the background. Both of you and Dementia looked toward the TV in confusion, you still laying your upper torso on the sheets, turned your head to see the news channel switch out it's 'Daily News'to 'Breaking News'. Then, a news anchor appeared on the screen, looking quite worried about something. "This just in! A sudden attack from a local villain happened earlier this morning in 'Current City'!" That nabbed both of your attentions as you fully focused on the TV. "It started out as a normal day for the locals of Current City, when the local villain and troublemaker, Galvation, suddenly attacked and confronted the town hero, Blade Runner." "The fight started out rough for Galvation, as the civilians had fled to safe distances and were cheering for Blade Runner on the sidelines of the fight, but this story doesn't have a happy ending for the brave hero that fought against the hulking form that was Galvation. The villain had pulled out a secret weapon that was fired from his wrist, striking Blade Runner in her side." "The hero was hit the mysterious projectile and began to experience a sudden loss of her super speed. She then began to stumble around as if she was dizzy. Galvation took the opportunity and let out steams of erupting fire from his mouth, singeing our local hero to her unfortunate death. But, the mysterious projectile that pierced Blade Runner had managed to be successfully salvaged from the body of Blade Runner. Galvation had long since fled the battlegrounds when the Hero League finally showed up, along with the state police force." "This is the image of the weapon that was used on Blade Runner." The woman reported, as her face was changed over to an image of a shot-like device that was black and white, with only a Top Hat icon on the side. With white-pinkish fluid slightly dribbling out of the tip. "The remaining liquid inside has been confiscated by the Hero League for testing. This unknown device held substance that had managed to weaken a hero and made Blade Runner loose her super speed and weakened her enough to have her killed. Our condolences from channel 9 go out to the family and friends that have been affected by the death of Blade Runner." "The burial for Blade Runner's ashes will be held this weekend at the Hero's Country Graveyard in Suit City. We can assure you, the villains that made the poison that ended Blade Runners' life will be brought to justice! This has been 'Breaking News' from Channel 9. Stay tuned for the weather and sports report coming soon at 12PM." The news lady said as the commercials came on. You and Dementia both blinked in silence. You couldn't believe what you just witnessed! That liquid! That Top Hat design! You never stood up from a chair that fast in a while. That was the same liquid from the vial that Flug was trying to hide from you! You suddenly ran from Dementias' room, leaving behind the confused woman in your wake. You darted down the hallway, sprinting past all of the garbage that Black Hat kept in the halls. You could feel yourself panting and your legs burning. 'I can't believe Flug would hide this from me! ME! He's using MY blood to cause damage!' You felt so frustrated that you could cry, yet you sucked it up. You knew Flug wasn't capable of lying to you. You knew that it was Black Hat that made him do it. But, to be sure, you're going to get the answers from Flug. Even if he has a panic attack. You have the right to know! You NEED to KNOW! You skidded to a stop in front the stairs that lead down to the foyer. Just in time to see Flug disappear into the lab. Looking none-the-wiser. 'Just the man I wanted to see.' You mentally growled, stomping down the stairs. 'It's time to tell the truth, Flug.' You mentally said, striding after Flugs' form and into the lab. -- Meanwhile, within the dim solitude of his office, Black Hat was watching the recent news report that appeared on screen. His grin was wide and menacing as he watched the pictures of his clients latest work. Galvation, in short terms, was a large hulking brute. Sharing the appearance of a lava golem with the ability to breathe fire and crack city streets with his weight. However, he was rather slow. Which is how Blade Runner would always get the upper hand in their encounters. But not this time. Black Hat felt a shiver zip down his spine as he watched the news report on Blade Runners' death. Laughing when the news reporter gave her condolences to the 'friends' and 'family' that Blade Runner had. An official death from a product he made. It felt so good to see something work out in the end. "The burial for Blade Runner's ashes will be held this weekend at the Hero's Country Graveyard in Suit City. We can assure you, the villains that made the poison that ended Blade Runners' life will be brought to justice! This has--" Black Hat turned off his large, motor-operated TV that came from the floor in his office. "Oh. I'm SURE we'll be brought to justice, my dear." Black Hat mocked. "I mean, it's not like I have 4 more clients that paid for their fair share. Best part is, I still have 9 more to spare~!" Black Hat cackled as he looked over to the vial display, showing off 9 more of the vials in question. "Better yet!" Black Hat exclaimed, looking off to the side. Eyeing his haul of hefty stacks of green dollar bills. "They bid like crazy for my product!" He cackled, pulling up his stacks of cash that he made off of the poison. Grunting as he sat them down on top of his desk. He mentally counted the money stacks for the 5th time that day. Picking one stack up and dragging his thumb across the end of it. Making it sound like a deck of shuffling cards. To which it sent pleasurable shivers down his spine. "Ah~! The lovely sound of a mornings' work." Black Hat sniffed the money stack. Relaxing in his seat as he did so. He began to count down from 5 with his fingers, as he knows his clients watch the news regularly for any deaths or working products that are effective against heroes. And as he predicted, his desk phone started to ring when his last finger went down into his fist. He gave another sinister smile as he reached over to pick up the phone. "Lets make heroes a little more dead, shall we?" He laughed evilly as he pressed the answer button to his office phone. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Next> <Previous ~First~

[creepynoodleheadcannons]

Creeps High School-4th Period

Rating-Probably F

Fuck man this shit is getting cool now.

This day could not get any worse.

First, my tech teacher is a pot head with red eyes.

Second, my home ec teacher is a paranoid maniac.

Third, my biology teacher is a blind, grey, thing.

And now I’ve embarrassed myself in front of my crush at least three times.

I was just trying to walk outside to the ag building, when I tripped on the stairs. I fell straight onto my arm, cocking my wrist back.

And that hurt like a bitch.

And of course, Parker had to show up. Right behind me, too.

He helped me up, taking a glance at my sore wrist. “That’s gotta hurt. You okay? Seems like you’re having an off day.” “You could say that. I’m the new girl. Everybody here knows everybody.” I avoided his gaze. I didn’t need him seeing how ashamed I was. “It’s okay, you’ll get to know everyone. You know me, right?” He chuckled softly, and I joined in.

We ended up walking to class together, the teacher inside.

Jesus Christ.

This guy seemed normal at first. Tall, brown hair, warm, hazel eyes, jeans and a t-shirt. But then I got a longer look.

His forearms were bandaged with thick, black gloves on. He had a huge bandage over his cheek, and a scar on his forehead. But the weirdest thing was that he ticked. He jerked around a lot, cracking his neck repeatedly.

I was wrong. So damn wrong.

When he finally spoke up, he stuttered. And not a minor stutter, one that repeated the first letter or sound, like a broken record.

“H-hey guys. I-I-I’m Mr. Rogers, a-as you can-n tell. I-I’m teaching a-agriculture this s-semester, a-and next. T-this class I-is what the title says. A-agricul-lture. I-it doesn’t s-s-suck that much, I p-promise.” He laughed a bit, cracking his neck again. “N-now I d-don’t have much to t-teach t-today, so…” he trailed off, trying to think of something.

“Well, j-just talk or s-s-something. I d-don’t really have a l-lesson today.” He walked towards the back of the class, setting some cables and shit on hooks.

I turned towards Parker, who was standing in the row behind me. He smiled warmly, walking over to me. “Hey Alice. How are you?” “Same as before. Embarrassed, pissed, the usual.” I smiled a bit, trying to hide my flushed cheeks. “Come on, it’s not that bad. What do you have next period?”

I shrugged, about to fumble for my schedule, when Mr. Rogers spoke up. “Okay guys, t-the bell might r-r-ring in a moment, so g-get everything together. S-see you tomorrow!” He smiled, part of the bandage coming up.

There was…nothing.

And I don’t mean like there wasn’t any wound. I mean there was nothing there. Just a hole in his face. The edges looked burned, his teeth showing through. He quickly pressed it down, laughing lightly. “S-sorry guys. It happens.” His laugh seemed more forced this time, his eyes meeting mine. His eyes had a malicious look in them, the kind of look a wild animal has.

The weirdest part was that nobody else saw, or they just didn’t seem to care. What the fuck is with this school?

Crazy teacher? Weird students? Confusing classes? What is wrong here?

Thank god. The damn bell rang.

I almost ran outside, grasping my schedule in one hand.

5th Period-Band, Mr. Merrick and Mr. Kralie, Band Hall

[jugs-and]

the last couple of months

I have attempted to explain the entire story to various friends - it’s a mighty long story. It’s been a mighty long year, more than I realised before I started writing this account. 

I’m probably the asshole in this situation, but it’s my blog so eh. I needed to say it somewhere for future records because I may be scatter-brained but I take intense pride in record keeping to make up for it. 

0.

19th April - We didn’t talk for a week - she said that she thought I’d given up on her.

1. Opening blows. 

2nd May. It was the most innocent of days - we were just bantering about life. There was nothing really different about the day, it was just the normal Saturday night conversation - I’d just returned from a run, so I was just relaxing with my hairy legs on the table and mixing G&Ts. The call is always the highlight of my week and I was just free-wheeling as the night grew darker and darker. 

I asked about her university time - well, really I had initially opened up about my time in university, and I was recounting it. She has always been deeply fascinated with the enigma of N- and She then just on the train of thought as well, and she recounted, and recounted deeper, with more stories than I had heard before - about attempt to enter the medical exam, and then failing the second time as well. Then she went silent - just completely mute. 

This was a Saturday, so I hung up, and left it. Thinking that I’d be able to continue this the next day. She didn’t say anything the next day, and the day after when I sent through a photo of my breakfast. 

6th May. She sent me an email on the Wednesday about how down she felt - the email was horrific: 

> After our talk last Friday, I felt low, so down like I have never felt in years.

> I just wanted to have a fun, warm conversation with my friend and here I was, buried in my memories, of shame and self-deprecation.

My heart dropped to the bottom of the ocean. The thing about E- is that she remembers everything - she will remember incorrectly as well, if it makes her look worse and in a bad light. 

I had said some thoughts out loud, about her ex-boyfriend being her only support system and I finally realised that it was no small feat to strike out alone to move to New Zealand those three years past. These thoughts which were probably not quite appropriate to say out loud or how I wanted or intended them to sound.

I replied straight away, outlining that I didn’t enter into the conversation with any ill-will or maliciousness. It wasn’t really a good time to point out that her version of events was quite erroneous which is leading to a lot of the misunderstanding - but I didn’t want to be seen as gas-lighting. 

She didn’t reply. 

2. Restarting the Conversation

11th May. A week later, I sent another email because I was honestly just feeling lonely at the time. I thought we were going to go into a hibernation mode where we don’t talk for a number of months and we’d just be in a cryogenic freeze. As tradition, I initiated the email contact with a mindless paragraph with everything on my mind at the moment, how helpless I felt in the midst of all of this to resolve the situation and distance created. 

She replied the next day, which was surprising. I didn’t know what to take from that. She tends to wander off and not return for a while, and act like nothing had changed. 

13th, 14th, 16th May. Throughout the week we continued to trade emails on the topic of expectations and the nature of support in the context of friendships versus romantic relationships. It was sort of like normal, she said that she found the support outside of me, which sort of hurt. I know the words are not really there to injure, but it injures me like someone who was deeply invested in their favourite television show. Here I was watching the series finale unfold in slow motion - with the sinking feeling that I’d been cancelled much too early.

17th May She encouraged me to call her whenever I was ready to discuss. I moaned that communication was hard - I don’t know, she came back discussing tantra practices. 

3. Talking restarts 

19th May - She sent me a Jean Paul Gaultier facemask - but normal talking resumed and it was strangely normal. Photos of nature, everyday things - I was scrambling to get enough content to drag up to the next weekend - but no, we did the normal flirty talks with innuendo and BDSM, which any normal person would see as intensely sexual. 

The next week was fleeting conversations about what was going on in life. It was toward the end of COVID19 restrictions and one of the days I was back in the office with Ashley and Summer. We were going to call that weekend, but postponed because I was at Colin’s house for a bbq on Saturday, and calling Mum on the Sunday. I postponed it out of annoyance, I guess.

4. The beginning of the end 

25th May - E- shared about her weekend, both Saturday and Sunday. We’d been typing for a couple of minutes, so I decided to call. I remember calling outside the meeting rooms and on the way to the central lifts. I remember being surprised she picked up - I was sat in my car for most of it. The first two hours were wonderful, but then we moved onto the topic of religion.

I was so tired and slightly broken. I was increasingly attacked by some earlier comments she’d made about my tortured state-which I thought was sort of unfair. She was also really dismissive about the moment I talked about how busy I was, and alluding to, oh gosh. I could be doing so much else right now. 

There was an unprecedented arrogance to the way I said things - and a few things on yoga, namaste and the spiritual pursuit - I said a lot of things I still probably won’t back down on, but said in incredibly poor taste. E- has a good skill of taking sentences out of context and finding quotes to match and justify the feelings in her heart. It was a four hour phone call, and the last hour was the most difficult hour of my life. I was so defensive, and every part of my body was screaming to burn all the bridges.

26th May - She talked like normal. After I apologised, she said she wanted to move on and We had a conversation like normal - she sent through quizzes to do with inherent biases, and I responded like normal, somewhat, whatever that means. Across messages, and I was in a bridge burning mood. I poured out everything about how dismissive she is sometimes, and they are not respected or explored, even if she doesn’t agree with them. 

I didn’t talk for a week. I was travelling to Cape Reinga that weekend, so I didn’t pursue it anymore. 

5. Silence

Since that conversation, we’ve spoken sparingly. I sent a photo of the signpost at Cape Reinga pointing at Vancouver, recounted about the guy who shouted racial epithets at us in the carpark.

We’ve called twice. Both times, I’ve left very quickly, and I don’t know what I was going to say. 

05 June - The first one, I called, and asked how she was. She’d been distant as always, and I’m not sure if I was supposed to be surprised. She told me about her weekend, and I left after 20 minutes. She was in a shop, and a bit distracted, so I didn’t think too much about it. 

08 June - She returned the favour and called me. Talked to me about her knees, and what sort of state they are in - I’d asked her about them during the weekend because she sounded in some sort of discomfort. She discussed the movies she’d been watching, and I was slightly irritated that she made no attempt to relate the movies to me, but it was a recurring issue which I’d ignored somewhat. 

6. Cooling down

I guess we’ve traded one-line messages over the past week with increasing weariness - and on some level, it feels like the end. I’m greatly relieved that she is doing much better, and it gives me a lot more peace in being able to let go. 

The most irritating is hearing things I told her three years ago, but talking like she’s stumbled on them by herself. I’m realising how little she listens, or trusts in other people. She repeated the same things like it’s the people that are going to save you - the same things I’d been telling her three years ago - fuck dude - that was me. 

The urge in my heart is to say that I feel I’ve never truly been listened to - I’ve never had my words of encouragement, my words of caution, my words of love - they’ve never been treasured. I’ve been chasing after the girl beneath the layers of insecurity, anxiety and longing for maternal care, and full of chronic emotional distance - I don’t know if she is there anymore. While society couldn’t see it, I know I was her first ever real friend, and now I just look like I’m crazy desperate. 

I don’t think she realizes how hard I’ve worked to support and be a friend to someone who has been incredibly hard to be a friend to the past three years. Where she’s had literally no one on the other side of the world - I’ve ignored a lot of bullshit and I’ve always prioritized her above a lot of my other friends. I’m only holding on for the moment because I spent so much time and effort, but I have zero affection whether platonic or otherwise.

7. Burning bridges

We called for a hour on Sunday (28th June), it arose organically, she’d been out for a sushi dinner at one of the top restaurants in Vancouver. I knew she was with H-, so I didn’t really want to call. But she turned on the cam to show me everything about her apartment - shit-talked with zero regard regarding finding people online, and I excused myself as my parents were up for the weekend. At the end she faced the camera towards herself and said “Thanks so much for calling, I love it” with the warmest, cutest smile in the world. 

I’m just here, writing this record. I have a lot of these records, but I don’t think I ever post them, and they become out of date - so they just live in my inbox. But I very much feel like I want to burn every bridge right now. 

[themoosewhowrites]

The Sirens of Pella, Iowa

Three girls sit beside a pool.

They weren’t the same girls from yesterday, the girls from yesterday all had red hair and cute freckles that dotted their face. They weren't the girls from the day before, either, the girls from the day before had caramel skin and curly hair pulled into a topknot, with deep-set golden eyes that shone, stark against their dark skin. Somehow, the people of Pella knew they aren’t going to be the same girls tomorrow either, the girls from tomorrow will have an infinite number of features, their different coloured eyes blurred into one. The girls from today had hair that was black and wavy, coming down to their waist, their narrow-slanted eyes looked like two black holes bored into their skulls, black enough to give chills to whoever dared to look in them.

Some days, they talk, their low and melodic voices travel across the water in low hums.

They talk in an ancient language, a forgotten tongue, long been abandoned by men and left behind by their own kind. Sometimes, it sounded sad, the tone of their unfamiliar and jarring words float across the air and dispense a blanket of tears across the town. Those days, the air felt heavy and the children lie in bed, refusing to get up.

On other days, they just sit beside the pool silently, with their legs perpetually dangled in the water, their eyes dead set ahead. In that state, they didn’t look much like three young 20-ish girls hanging out at a pool, they looked like predators, lying in wait, sharpening their claws, ready to pounce out.

Ready to kill.

  Children of Pella didn’t like the girls much.

In some sense, children were like dogs, able to smell out insincerity and evilness, look past the pretty faces and perfect hourglass figures that adults often cannot see through, and see with clarity, the shivered up old women behind those faces.

Over time, those feelings developed into a fear of the swimming pool that eventually turned into an overwhelming fear of water. They cried whenever they came into contact with water, screamed when their confused and panicking mothers forced them into the bathtub and kicked and bit and sobbed when their angry fathers took them to the swimming pool tried to take them in.

Doctors did not have any idea what was going on with the children of Pella, Iowa, they determined that they were healthy, but just with a sudden, inexplicable fear of water.

So, mothers took off swimming classes off the timetables and fathers cracked their knuckles in preparation of wrestling their child down for a weekly bath, and the children stared in dreaded horror at the slightest mention of water.

  The people here, who were, much like their small-town European ancestors, quite averse to change in their normally peaceful lives. Day after day, night after night, they became obsessed with the idea of the supernatural invading their homes, slipping through quietly under the door frames and the cracks in the windows, soon, the relatively small and quiet town of Pella begun to stage their very own witch hunt.

It was strange, to say the least, a practice that had gone out of date due to science or common sense for at least 400 years now, emerge once again, 1000 miles out from the location of the most famous witch trial in history, in a 21st-century small town.

It was strange, how quickly humans lose any sense of rationality when things out of the ordinary arise.

  The first thing they did was burning down the swimming pool.

Hundreds and thousands of them, the entire population of this tried town, carrying matches and flare guns and lighters and flamethrowers. They marched like a tireless militia, except their destination was not glorious conquest of some empire, it was the glorious conquest of the local swimming pool.

They threw open the cast iron gates of the pool, bursting in, an army of suburban mums and redneck dads and those who have seen better days, they flipped tables, looking for any signs of the supposed witchcraft, they poured gasoline on the place that they once loved as a community and set the whole place ablaze.

Through the flames, three girls screamed, maybe they were just teenage girls hanging out in the swimming pool for fun, maybe they were something more, more ancient, more terrifying.

Whatever they were, the town didn’t care, because after all, the ends justify the means.

Right?

  That night, when the air still smelt of gasoline and fire and fear, when all the townsfolk went home with screaming in their ears and regret gnawing at their hearts (because after all, human are sentimental creatures).

That night, as the clocks strike midnight, all the babies and the children woke up crying, mothers are pulled from their dreams and fathers lay on their bed pretending to be asleep.

The very next day, all the water that came out of the taps was red as blood and tasted like ash.

  The elders were the first ones to be turned on.

Ripped from their homes, the fragile beings whimpered with every movement, their saggy skin shook as they were condemned by their fellow humans. By those who had once called them family, friends, acquaintances, by those who had once looked upon them for the wisdom of their days.

They watched in silence as their children and grandchildren tied them to posts in the middle of the town square, as their own flesh and blood pour gasoline on top of them, drenched them in foul-smelling liquid, as those whom they had known since forever flicked open a lighter and threw it down amongst their feet.

There, they died, surrounded by family and friends, screaming as their own flesh bubbled and boiled, and died hearing the cries of angry men and desperate women and scared children who had just watched their grandparents go up in flames.

“Witches!”

“They were going to be the death of us.”

“Mummy, why did grandpa burn?”

“Because he was evil, darling, he was what made you sick, he was what made the waters red, now shush.”

And amongst those grieving and those yelling, three girls stood in the midst of the crowd, their eyes dead set ahead, and their mouths pressed into a thin line.

And amongst the noise of the crowd, three distinct whispers rose above the rest, repeating one sentence over and over again like a broken record.

“You think it’s all over?”

  The whispers made good on their promise, the very next day, the heavy fog coated the town, choking them with it.

Maybe, deep in their hearts, they had known that killing their kin would not do anything to relieve the situation, but they were desperate, they were scared, and they turned.

In a house near the swimming pool with a slanted roof and square windows, a woman woke up with a knife pressed against her neck and a dozen people staring down on her. Through the chilly night breeze, her screams were chilling as they shot her in the stomach and left her there to die. Through her pain, she saw her friends whom she had brunch with just a week before, she saw her husband, looking tired but not guilty, she saw her children, their large eyes filled with tears as they were pulled away from their dying mother.

An angry mob marched up to the church, they poured gasoline everywhere, over the chairs that they had used to sit in every Sunday. When the priest fell down on his knees and begged, the mob didn’t waver, they left the church burning, drowning the town in screams.

A man woke up to fire and the smell of his own burning flesh, he died in his home, with his wife and children watching from the outside.

The town found evil in everyone and everything, they were paranoid and fearful, and humankind was at their worst when they are paranoid and fearful. Mothers turned on daughters, sons turning on fathers, former best friends smiled as the other were dipped in oil and set on fire.

They were slowly destroying themselves, and they didn’t care.

  In the dark, three teen girls smile from the shadows, their blonde hair shone in the sunlight and their lips red with blood.

“I have missed this, I don’t think I have seen anything as beautiful as this.” The first one signed, dipping one finger into a pool of blood and ashes and burnt human flesh.

“They don’t even realize, do they? They don’t even realize what they are doing to themselves,” the second girl laughed, “but then again, where would we be without that.”

They all smiled and looked at each other with gleaming eyes that didn’t look like they belonged to a teen, too old and too malicious to fit comfortable on such a young face.

“We should all be on our knees,” the third smirked, “thanking them for their ignorance, thanking them for their bloodlust, thanking them for the feast that they so willingly provided,” she smiled, pausing to lick her fingers clean of blood, “poor bastards, they don’t even know.”

“No, no they don’t.”

[ohyangchon]

Compromise (Defendant x Pied Piper)

A Korean fan, 96taru tweeted a mashup of Defendant and Pied Piper’s villains, and how they would react meeting each other. They proposed something rather interesting though (either that or Bing mistranslated), so I’m putting pen to paper to see how it works. 

My iteration of Heesung is taken from the Impairment series of my own Pied Piper tag. It’s not canon, simply my take of what happens to him post-drama. He is also a major spoiler for the later episodes of Pied Piper, so tread lightly. 

Minho is also my own iteration, taken from my interpretation of the tweet’s translation. 

OOC Edit: This mashup was created because both actors (Yoon Junsang and Uhm Kijoon) are good friends in real life. 

There was a slight noise as Heesung rolled through the narrow corridor, a table with some materials mounted across his lap as he controlled the movements of his wheelchair by sipping and puffing to create motion. Just as claustrophobic as I remembered the rooms to be, the mechanical voice hummed to nobody in particular, and he finally stopped short in front of the heavy metal doors where Seungchan was waiting for him. 

“You’re late,” he snapped, and Heesung rolled his eyes, “We’re meeting a death row convict, and you’re taking this like a joyride.” My apologies for hardly being outside, retorted the scathing mechanical voice, Heesung giving a minor tilt of his head as the doors clattered open for them. Two guards warned them to not spend too much time in there, for the criminal was ‘incredibly unstable and manipulative’. Seungchan shot Heesung a look at the description, and Heesung merely blew a raspberry at the other man as they both entered, Seungchan sitting in the foldable chair with his usual lazy posture while Heesung parked across the other man in the room. 

Truth be told, Heesung despised men like the one across him- men who bought off people of power to silence their wrongdoings, and assumed they could get away with whatever they wanted. He barely hid this compared to his companion, however, cracking his jaw in annoyance at the frail, cowering figure that had finally witnessed the brunt of how cruel the prison system was to people like him. Seungchan leant forward, placing his hands on the table and watched the other man flinch visibly at the noise, immediately detecting the apprehension from the other. They weren’t here to discuss reconciliation or cooperation from him: they just wanted to get him mentally stable to serve a life sentence. Heesung would’ve rather he died. 

“Your father had a history--” Seungchan began, peering at his file as the other man finally looked up, his unfocused eyes seeming to dilate in fear at the mention. “Don’t mention his name,” snarled the prisoner lowly, “Don’t even talk about it.” Maybe we could discuss your twin, then, Heesung added thoughtfully, effortlessly going in for the kill, The twin who stole everything you wanted. He watched the fear melt away into full-blown rage with a detached calmness, merely staring when the prisoner jumped to his feet and swung his handcuffs blindly at the duo before him. “Don’t say his name,” he repeated, the threat uttered through gritted teeth while Heesung shook his head, “I don’t know who you are or what you want. I’m not telling you anything.” 

One could almost feel the shreds of Seungchan’s patience fade away: if only Myungha was here. “Cha Minho-sshi, we’re not here to get you to tell us anything. We’re trying to lighten your sentence,” the man ventured benignly, his tone barely betraying the annoyance he felt. Heesung showed disgust at this- it was so typical of Seungchan to throw morals away for money, but he knew where the other was coming from. Lightening the man’s sentence meant securing a huge chunk of funds for the Negotiation team, a startup fund they desperately needed, and as much as Heesung felt it deviated from his crusade, he let Seungchan be. Maybe I could speak to him alone, he typed to Seungchan, eyes drifting to his direction as he watched Minho stew from the corner of his eye, It might be something ‘psychopaths’ could connect to. 

Seungchan clenched his jaw at this: as much as he knew how good Heesung could be with criminals that aligned with his thought process, he still didn’t trust Heesung to be amendable with someone that was staunchly against all he believed in. Still, he figured if Heesung was requesting this, he probably had something in mind. With a squeeze on the other’s shoulder, the man got up and excused himself, going to the other side of the one-way mirror to see how things would go. It was when Heesung was alone that he allowed the contempt to creep into his expression, not that he had always been able to control his emotions very well in the first place. 

I heard you were assaulted in prison, the mechanical voice began, emotionless as it projected through the room: Heesung’s grin widened as the prisoner froze, before beginning to shake uncontrollably, Friends of someone you killed. Who was he again? Lee Sunggyu. Just a little boy who went down the wrong path. Whose life you ruined. His face returned to passiveness once more, an unmistakeable scowl of disgust etched upon his features- the moment he had done his research and stumbled upon the articles about the boy, whatever negotiation he had wanted to conduct with this Minho was gone. He had as little patience as Seungchan, and he couldn’t be as magnanimous as Myungha. 

Heesung watched, however, as the fear seemed to ebb away from the other as quickly as it came. “I countersued them for battery and assault,” Minho added, his vacant eyes twinkling with remorseless malice, “They had it coming. Ruffians need a good lesson to beat them into shape.��� Another jaw clench passed through Heesung, before he quickly relaxed. Your corneas were damaged when you fell on the shattered glass used to assault you, continued Heesung, trying to tamp down his fury, Which is why we’re opening this conversation in the first place. You could cooperate with us, or wait for the gallows to find you- we wouldn’t be here if your...ah, lover hadn’t contacted us. 

That was enough to elicit a reaction from Minho, whom immediately dropped the malicious swagger to something almost concerned. “H-how is she? Is she eating well? Did she come back from America yet?” His questions were heartbreakingly earnest to those who knew of his plight, “How about my son? He should be starting elementary school by now. I hope she took my suggestions to enrol him into an international school. They have a bilingual system, he needs it.” I’ll answer that...if you want to cooperate with me, Heesung added plainly, and he watched Minho bob his head furiously in assent. “I-I’ll cooperate. I’ll do anything. Let me hear her voice,” he begged, raising his handcuffed wrists to give Heesung the gesture of ‘one’ with his index finger, “Just once. And my son’s. Please.” Heesung took this opportunity to turn to the mirror, waiting for his earpiece to crackle with Seungchan’s familiar voice. 

As the room fell silent, Minho grew increasingly agitated, sweeping things off the desk with his hands before burying his face into them. “Stop lying to me...stop lying to me...she never contacted you...did she?” he finally whimpered, the voice of a broken man. With the explicit approval of Seungchan, Heesung’s eyes darted over to the voice calls, blinking to allow the voice to waft through the room. 

I’m sorry to have to call you for this favour, mister Joo. This...this is Na Yeonhee, the female voice began, I know I shouldn’t, but please...save Minho. He can’t keep staying in prison, and I know you’d be able to talk him through things. You, miss Yeo and mister Yoon are the only people I trust that would be able to break him down. He’d listen to no one else- record this conversation and tell him...tell him that I’d wait. Please don’t let him die. He shut off the rest of the conversation: it was but mere discussion of prices and Seungchan selling his soul to save Myungha’s dad’s lifeblood, before he shot the visibly shaken Minho a slight half-smile. 

Will you cooperate, the mechanical voice stated flatly, and Heesung too began to speak. “We...can help,” he slurred out, managing to keep his tone even while he struggled with his words. Under the fringe that obscured Minho’s eyes, Heesung watched a fire ignite in the other, as though something his ‘wife’ had stated had finally a switch in him. “I’ll be good,” eked out Minho in a small, terrified voice, “Do your worst.” Heesung felt his malicious smile return to him once more, triumphant in the face to this. He waited for Seungchan once again, allowing the other man to give him directions, before his eyes searched the tablet before him, casually blinking and typing out his next words. 

Let us begin then, the voice rang out, and Minho turned his terrified but unfocused gaze to Heesung, seemingly convinced that they were holding his ‘wife’ hostage, My name is Yoon Heesung. You might be familiar with my name elsewhere- 

I am the Pied Piper, and this is my job now- to punish people like you.

We might not be on the same page now, but we will eventually be. They always end up on the same page as me. 

[anundefinedwoman]

Satirical Love

“What you do not master in childhood reappears in your adult lives as inappropriate responses to people, places, or things. It is these inappropriate responses that cause you discomfort.  They are outgrowths of the pain and fear experienced in childhood when basic needs were not filled. 

You need to feel safe with your caretakers and receive the support necessary to accomplish the other tasks that accompany each stage of development. If your needs at each stage aren’t met, you don’t have the foundation to master the tasks. You survive by developing faulty ways of responding to others and to the events that take place in your lives. In childhood, these faulty behaviors are functional because they help you survive. By adulthood they become inappropriate. They no longer bring you what you want and need. You continue to repeat these behaviors as adults because you know no other way to respond. These behaviors express your fear of love, your criticalness, your ability to say no, your shame. And they result in patterns that interfere with your professions, your self esteem, and your capacity to claim your place in the world as an adult.“

The Inner Child Workbook Cathryn L. Taylor

Free word association exercise.  My therapist thinks this will be good for me.  We shall see.   

Love – n.    1.  An intense feeling of deep affection “babies fill parents with intense feelings of love.”  Synonyms: fondness, tenderness, warmth, intimacy, attachment, endearments, adoration, doting, compassion, care, regard, concern, kindness, sympathy, unselfishness. 

 Love. Moments ago I was able to free associate so fluidly from my mind while I was eating lunch or remembering something. I was thinking of my mother and then my stepdad came into my forethought and the word “love” just struck me. Maybe because my mother would always make it a point to say that my stepdad loved me.  And it just made me think that love was a joke. What love was shown to me as child?  A part of me feels shame and guilt for thinking this because I was always afforded a roof over my head. That’s more than some kids have. What do I have to complain about? I was always provided clean water and food, and even medical care. My upbringing has taught me that these things are enough. That I should be grateful for this. To complain or to question otherwise is to be ungrateful. 

But back to love. How was I taught love? What did love mean to me? What did it look like? Love was very confusing. There were mixed messages. I couldn’t trust it. I still don’t. It looked like, “I love you BUT I don’t want you.”  “I love you BUT you are living with strangers you’ve never met.”  “I love you BUT I’m going to dump you off states away and just walk away.”  This is my very first memory ever. Sobbing for my mother in the arms of another woman as my mother walks away from her child. I was maybe 4 years old, and either my dads sister or mother is telling my mother to just go because her lingering is upsetting me. So much of my childhood is a complete blur and details are often sketchy. Love. 

I remember when my dad came for me after a few months of living with his sister.  I was so happy. And I felt loved. But I was apparently mistreated and neglected after I went to live with him.  The story goes they weren’t giving me the gifts my mom and her parents were sending.  They weren’t  allowing her to talk to me. And she was especially afraid she would never talk to me again if they moved. So my mother flew up to Michigan with her father to get me.  I was waiting for her all alone next to the street curb with only a box next to me. This is her story. Not my memory. But it isn’t the last time I was told I’d be waiting on the curbside of a street for a parent. Love. 

I was always the pawn in their nasty divorce where the bitterness never ceased to exist. In order to protect myself from both of them using and hurting me,  I think I probably made the decision somewhere down the line to take a side. My mother had such a deep hatred for him and he never was a part of my life, never made an effort, so as far as I was concerned (at least to my mother) he didn’t exist. I had to pretend to hate him as much as her. It broke my heart. I never stopped wanting my daddy. Love. Love will break your heart. Abandon you. 

“I love you BUT I’m going to live in the same town as you and have my parents raise you while I party and do drugs and galavant with men.“  Love. 

 Now my grandparents definition of “love” was something different. It was taking me in and becoming my legal guardian. It was telling me how much of a no good mother I had. It was telling me I was stupid or as my Japanese grandmother would say “Baka” with the pop of the head usually with a ruler. It was telling me that they used to remind my mother that they hope she is cursed with a child just like her. Love was never spoken growing up. At least not the kind defined in Webster’s.  I don’t actually remember hearing it ever when I lived with them. All I remember were verbal, emotional abuses and physical beatings. Love. I was terrified of the belt and having to go and pick my own switch from a tree. But as a child this was normal. This was love. I didn’t know anything outside of this existed. Ok well “The Love Boat” and “Fantasy Island”. But I was a young child and didn’t even quite understand what I was watching. Love. 

I’m so thankful that so much of the “love” from my childhood is blocked out. They are other people’s stories. When I hear/d them, they make me sad because I know I was mistreated and neglected so badly. Love. 

Love. It makes no sense. I had no role models. Love. “Your dad doesn’t love you. If he loved you he would send you presents. He would pay child support. But George (current husband and stepdad) loves you. He was more of a father to you than your real father.” I hear this any time my dad comes up. Love. “Your grandparents are tougher on you because you are MY child and it is to punish me.” Love. Broken promises to a little girl who just wanted to see her mommy. Love. “But I love you.” Grandparents say, “…parties and friends come before her daughter (you).”  That wasn’t the last time that would become a reoccurring theme in my life either.  Love. 

Love. I finally go and live with my mom at 11. She wants me or so it seems. Years later I find out the truth. Her husband wouldn’t marry her if she didn’t take me. He didn’t think it was right that someone else was raising her daughter. It took him telling her this? Love.  This was very painful to hear and I don’t think anything malicious was meant by him telling me. I don’t think he even knows it hurt me. Love.

Love. Give your 11 year old daughter a diary.  Not only read said diary, BUT have the audacity to write in it. I wonder if this was the moment I knew that as far as my mother was concerned, my thoughts were not my own?  Love.  At 11 I am quite certain I didn’t have enough insight then. I wish I had kept that diary. I don’t ever remember keeping a diary after that. I knew it would not be private. Love.

Love. Never feeling like I could measure up to my mom. Growing up during the years I did live with her, everything felt like it was a judgement, a competition, or it was being measured. My entire adolescence was being put on one of her diets. Only being allowed X amount of soda or popcorn a day. Love. As an adult I understand the value and health benefit of moderation. I understand the risks involved with the consumption of too much sugar and the long term health effects. But that isn’t how it was presented to me. This 127 lb. max teenage girl was never at risk for such things. It was always, “ You could be so much prettier.” Or “You have such a pretty face.” Or “You could look like me.”   Love. The perfect 5.  I would never be the perfect 5. I was taller than 5’. My shoe size was larger than a size 5. I was not perfect.  I am not perfect.  My mom pointed out all my flaws. Love.  I don’t think she ever complimented my attributes. All I ever knew were flaws. Some of these flaws I have obsessed over my entire life. I see it plain as day in photos and I worry others do too.  Then I was measured in ways where things always seemed to be a competition like you would do with 11 year olds. “Let’s sing and record ourselves” and she would do it better than me and almost gloat. When my friends would come over she would be really cool and try to act like one of them and she would show them all the cool clothes she got. She would pay them all compliments. She essentially became the opposite of who she was behind closed doors. My friends found her interesting, cool and many loved her. I just kept quiet. Love. 

Honestly there was so much “Love” in my life I cannot bear to write about it all at one time. It’s too much. I cannot even address the Love in my later years. How that “love”has impact my life. How it has jaded me. 

But I will say that it wasn’t until the end of high school and especially college that my friends saw my mother for who she truly was. They saw how she treated me. Even though I never wanted anyone’s pity, it was nice to finally have that acknowledgment and not have friends that were so easily fooled by her. I persevered or at least that’s the dream…To be loved. 

[battybat-boss]

Texas Judge Sanctions CPS $127K for Wrongfully Taking Couple's Children and Lying to the Court

There is joy in the Bright household after just rulings to sanction CPS. Photo: Michael Ciaglo, Houston Chronicle / Staff Photographer

Commentary by Terri LaPoint Health Impact News

There are elements that are common almost to the point of being universal in cases involving children taken from their families by Child Protective Services, including false allegations, lying by social workers, falsified medical records, failure of social workers to follow their own policies, laws broken by CPS, and the failure to consider evidence that refutes CPS allegations.

However, there is one thing that remains rare in CPS cases – that is, for anyone within the system to be held accountable. Repercussions for social workers, the CPS agency, or doctors involved in taking children from innocent parents are very rare.

On Thursday, November 8, 2018, a judge in Houston, Texas, called CPS on the carpet, issuing what the Houston Chronicle says:

…may be the largest-ever sanctions against Child Protective Services, forcing the state to come up with new training for its workers and pay more than $127,000 for wrongfully removing a couple's children and allegedly lying to the court about it.

This follows a decision that Judge Mike Schneider issued last month involving parents Melissa and Dillon Bright, the same family whose children were medically kidnapped by CPS and Texas Children's Hospital.

See:

In Unprecedented Move Texas Judge Orders CPS to Have No Contact with 2 Children Removed without Warrant – Social Worker Pleads 5th in Court

Houston Chronicle reporter Keri Blakinger writes:

It's an unusual case that offers repeated examples of CPS missteps, but the Brights' attorneys say it's also a sign of a “broken system” and the need for more accountability from the agency tasked with making decisions as to whether parents are fit to keep their own children.

While we would agree that more accountability is certainly needed, we at Health Impact News have found after years of in-depth investigation of hundreds of similar cases that the Bright family case is anything but “an unusual case.” On the contrary, their story is typical of what we see on a regular basis.

Melissa Bright and her baby, who was seized from his family in an all-too-familiar scenario. Photo: Michael Ciaglo, Houston Chronicle / Staff Photographer.

The details of the story are in the Houston Chronicle piece. The essence of the story is this:

There was an accidental injury when their 5-month-old baby fell off of a chair. Melissa Bright called 911, and the baby was taken to Texas Children's Hospital.

Like most children's hospitals, Texas Children's has a Child Abuse team. They deemed the baby's injuries to be “consistent with child abuse,” which ultimately led to CPS seizing custody of the Brights' two children.

The children were taken without a warrant in an “emergency removal,” and the social worker lied in his reports to the court about the facts of the situation.

Other doctors discovered that the baby had an underlying medical condition, a blood-clotting disorder, but that information was ignored by CPS.

The parents were not told about the emergency removal hearing or given any opportunity to defend themselves when their children were taken.

Again, there is nothing in this account that is any different from any other story that we have covered over several years.

The difference lies in the conclusions by Judge Mike Schneider, who is to be commended for standing up for what is right, in both last month's hearing and yesterday's hearing.

“It is not possible,” Schneider said in court last month, “to look at the facts and imagine that the agency actually felt there was any sort of urgent need for protection to remove the children.” (Source).

Judge Mike Schneider. Photo source.

Attorneys for the Brights requested, and got, sanctions placed on the CPS department for their blatant failures in medically kidnapping children from innocent parents.

In the sanctions hearing which concluded yesterday, attorneys Dennis Slate and Stephanie Proffitt:

…argued that the agency's efforts to take the kids were based on such groundless arguments that they should be forced to pay the family for legal fees and other costs – a total of more than $127,000.

Now, attorneys for parents Melissa and Dillon Bright are calling for the firing of the CPS workers involved and asking for prosecutors to investigate and consider criminal charges.

Unqualified Social Worker

The Houston Chronicle reports:

Over the course of five days, the court heard testimony from the Brights, a program director and supervisor Edwards who drew incredulous looks in the courtroom when she so frequently claimed that she didn't know, couldn't answer or didn't understand the questions that Slate eventually asked whether she had any knowledge that made her qualified to make decisions.

Lies by Social Workers Are Not Acceptable

The family's attorneys presented evidence that the social workers lied repeatedly to the court:

“They lied in their affidavit, they lied in their sworn removal testimony and they have – when questioned about those lies – taken the Fifth,” said family lawyer Dennis Slate.

“When the Harris County District Attorney [Kim Ogg] ran for office said that she would investigate perjury claims within the Harris County courts. She needs to live up to that campaign promise and look into this case and bring the appropriate action.”

Note: DA Kim Ogg may be reached at 713-274-5800. Her office is also on Twitter here.

In October 1016, Child Protective Services attorneys in Orange County California tried to argue to the 9th Circuit of Appeals that it was acceptable for social workers to lie about parents in order to take their children. Like Harris County Texas judge Mike Schneider, the 9th Circuit judicial panel didn't buy that logic either.

See:

Judges Reject Claim That Social Workers Didn't Know Lying In Court to Remove Children Was Wrong

CPS Has Immunity, or Do They?

The Houston Chronicle continues:

Stephen Dieu with the Harris County Attorney's Office, which represented CPS in the hearing … argued repeatedly that the agency was protected by sovereign immunity.

“There are legal remedies but this is not the one,” he said. “The department cannot be sanctioned.”

But a look back at agency records would show that's not true.

Seven years ago, Slate and Proffitt won a $32,000 sanction in another case involving a “groundless” removal where the agency didn't tell the parents about the emergency hearing and waited hours to take the kids after courts closed.

“When we got the sanctions in 2011, we really thought that would open somebody's eyes,” Proffitt said. “There are only a handful of cases in Harris County that have even filed for sanctions. There's no repercussions.”

This time, there were. [Emphasis added by HIN].

Judge Slaps CPS with Fine, Orders New Training for Workers

The Houston Chronicle states:

In a scathing ruling from the bench on Thursday, Schneider dinged the agency for being “dishonest” and possibly “malicious,” saying the entire removal and subsequent legal battle never would have happened if the agency just told the Brights about the emergency removal hearing and gave them a chance to defend themselves at the start.

“We do need to deal with the issue of how we make sure this doesn't happen again,” he said, before ordering the agency to pay $127,000 and giving them two weeks to create new training for its workers.

But, Schneider said, there was one thing the family requested that he could not order: an apology.

No Consequences for Child Abuse Doctors at Texas Children's Hospital

For the Bright family, these sanctions of CPS are welcome news. However, there is no mention of any repercussions for Texas Children's Hospital or the Child Abuse team of pediatricians that got the ball rolling to take the Bright children from their home.

The role of Child Abuse Pediatricians in these cases cannot be understated. CPS social workers are not doctors, and thus are not able to do the needed differential diagnoses to determine whether or not a child was abused or if they have a real medical condition that mimics abuse. They often simply take the word of the child abuse doctors without question. Attorneys and judges in turn often don't question these doctors.

Thus, much of the blame for medical kidnapping of children from innocent parents lies squarely at the feet of these doctors, who are not experts in anything.

See:

Pediatric Child Abuse “Experts” are NOT Experts in Anything

The head of the Texas Children's Hospital Child Abuse team is Christopher Spencer Greeley, MD. He did his internship at Vanderbilt University, another hospital known for its role in many medical kidnap cases.

Dr. Christopher Greeley – head of Texas Children's Hospital Child Abuse Pediatric Team and President of the Helfer Society, an elite group of Child Abuse Pediatricians. Photo source.

Dr. Greeley is a major player in the field of Child Abuse Pediatrics and is currently the president of the Ray E. Helfer Society, the International Society for Physicians in the Field of Child Abuse.

We first reported on the Helfer Society earlier this year. Another of their members, Dr. Carole Jenny, coauthored a book with her psychiatrist husband Dr. Thomas A. Roesler entitled, Medical Child Abuse: Beyond Munchausen by Proxy, which redefines Munchausen Syndrome by Proxy in order to make it possible to charge more parents. We reported:

Dr. Jenny is part of the Helfer Society – an elite group of doctors involved with Child Abuse. She won the Helfer Society's Award in 2004. Per their website:

The Helfer Award is given annually to the member of the Society who has made significant contributions to the field of Child Abuse Pediatrics.

The list of recipients contains several names that have come up repeatedly in our research of Medical Kidnap articles. It seems that a small group of people have acquired a great deal of power over the lives of American families as they impact policy, philosophy, and judicial decisions. See the list here.

See:

California Christian Homeschool Family Torn Apart as Children are Medically Kidnapped, Forced into Public School, and Mother is Forced out of Family Home

The Brights are thankful for the sanctions against CPS.

However, the Child Abuse Pediatric Team at Texas Children's Hospital has not been faced with any consequences for their role in the Bright children being taken.

Comment on this article at MedicalKidnap.com.

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[lopezdorothy70-blog]

Texas Judge Sanctions CPS $127K for Wrongfully Taking Couple's Children and Lying to the Court

There is joy in the Bright household after just rulings to sanction CPS. Photo: Michael Ciaglo, Houston Chronicle / Staff Photographer

Commentary by Terri LaPoint Health Impact News

There are elements that are common almost to the point of being universal in cases involving children taken from their families by Child Protective Services, including false allegations, lying by social workers, falsified medical records, failure of social workers to follow their own policies, laws broken by CPS, and the failure to consider evidence that refutes CPS allegations.

However, there is one thing that remains rare in CPS cases – that is, for anyone within the system to be held accountable. Repercussions for social workers, the CPS agency, or doctors involved in taking children from innocent parents are very rare.

On Thursday, November 8, 2018, a judge in Houston, Texas, called CPS on the carpet, issuing what the Houston Chronicle says:

…may be the largest-ever sanctions against Child Protective Services, forcing the state to come up with new training for its workers and pay more than $127,000 for wrongfully removing a couple's children and allegedly lying to the court about it.

This follows a decision that Judge Mike Schneider issued last month involving parents Melissa and Dillon Bright, the same family whose children were medically kidnapped by CPS and Texas Children's Hospital.

See:

In Unprecedented Move Texas Judge Orders CPS to Have No Contact with 2 Children Removed without Warrant – Social Worker Pleads 5th in Court

Houston Chronicle reporter Keri Blakinger writes:

It's an unusual case that offers repeated examples of CPS missteps, but the Brights' attorneys say it's also a sign of a “broken system” and the need for more accountability from the agency tasked with making decisions as to whether parents are fit to keep their own children.

While we would agree that more accountability is certainly needed, we at Health Impact News have found after years of in-depth investigation of hundreds of similar cases that the Bright family case is anything but “an unusual case.” On the contrary, their story is typical of what we see on a regular basis.

Melissa Bright and her baby, who was seized from his family in an all-too-familiar scenario. Photo: Michael Ciaglo, Houston Chronicle / Staff Photographer.

The details of the story are in the Houston Chronicle piece. The essence of the story is this:

There was an accidental injury when their 5-month-old baby fell off of a chair. Melissa Bright called 911, and the baby was taken to Texas Children's Hospital.

Like most children's hospitals, Texas Children's has a Child Abuse team. They deemed the baby's injuries to be “consistent with child abuse,” which ultimately led to CPS seizing custody of the Brights' two children.

The children were taken without a warrant in an “emergency removal,” and the social worker lied in his reports to the court about the facts of the situation.

Other doctors discovered that the baby had an underlying medical condition, a blood-clotting disorder, but that information was ignored by CPS.

The parents were not told about the emergency removal hearing or given any opportunity to defend themselves when their children were taken.

Again, there is nothing in this account that is any different from any other story that we have covered over several years.

The difference lies in the conclusions by Judge Mike Schneider, who is to be commended for standing up for what is right, in both last month's hearing and yesterday's hearing.

“It is not possible,” Schneider said in court last month, “to look at the facts and imagine that the agency actually felt there was any sort of urgent need for protection to remove the children.” (Source).

Judge Mike Schneider. Photo source.

Attorneys for the Brights requested, and got, sanctions placed on the CPS department for their blatant failures in medically kidnapping children from innocent parents.

In the sanctions hearing which concluded yesterday, attorneys Dennis Slate and Stephanie Proffitt:

…argued that the agency's efforts to take the kids were based on such groundless arguments that they should be forced to pay the family for legal fees and other costs – a total of more than $127,000.

Now, attorneys for parents Melissa and Dillon Bright are calling for the firing of the CPS workers involved and asking for prosecutors to investigate and consider criminal charges.

Unqualified Social Worker

The Houston Chronicle reports:

Over the course of five days, the court heard testimony from the Brights, a program director and supervisor Edwards who drew incredulous looks in the courtroom when she so frequently claimed that she didn't know, couldn't answer or didn't understand the questions that Slate eventually asked whether she had any knowledge that made her qualified to make decisions.

Lies by Social Workers Are Not Acceptable

The family's attorneys presented evidence that the social workers lied repeatedly to the court:

“They lied in their affidavit, they lied in their sworn removal testimony and they have – when questioned about those lies – taken the Fifth,” said family lawyer Dennis Slate.

“When the Harris County District Attorney [Kim Ogg] ran for office said that she would investigate perjury claims within the Harris County courts. She needs to live up to that campaign promise and look into this case and bring the appropriate action.”

Note: DA Kim Ogg may be reached at 713-274-5800. Her office is also on Twitter here.

In October 1016, Child Protective Services attorneys in Orange County California tried to argue to the 9th Circuit of Appeals that it was acceptable for social workers to lie about parents in order to take their children. Like Harris County Texas judge Mike Schneider, the 9th Circuit judicial panel didn't buy that logic either.

See:

Judges Reject Claim That Social Workers Didn't Know Lying In Court to Remove Children Was Wrong

CPS Has Immunity, or Do They?

The Houston Chronicle continues:

Stephen Dieu with the Harris County Attorney's Office, which represented CPS in the hearing … argued repeatedly that the agency was protected by sovereign immunity.

“There are legal remedies but this is not the one,” he said. “The department cannot be sanctioned.”

But a look back at agency records would show that's not true.

Seven years ago, Slate and Proffitt won a $32,000 sanction in another case involving a “groundless” removal where the agency didn't tell the parents about the emergency hearing and waited hours to take the kids after courts closed.

“When we got the sanctions in 2011, we really thought that would open somebody's eyes,” Proffitt said. “There are only a handful of cases in Harris County that have even filed for sanctions. There's no repercussions.”

This time, there were. [Emphasis added by HIN].

Judge Slaps CPS with Fine, Orders New Training for Workers

The Houston Chronicle states:

In a scathing ruling from the bench on Thursday, Schneider dinged the agency for being “dishonest” and possibly “malicious,” saying the entire removal and subsequent legal battle never would have happened if the agency just told the Brights about the emergency removal hearing and gave them a chance to defend themselves at the start.

“We do need to deal with the issue of how we make sure this doesn't happen again,” he said, before ordering the agency to pay $127,000 and giving them two weeks to create new training for its workers.

But, Schneider said, there was one thing the family requested that he could not order: an apology.

No Consequences for Child Abuse Doctors at Texas Children's Hospital

For the Bright family, these sanctions of CPS are welcome news. However, there is no mention of any repercussions for Texas Children's Hospital or the Child Abuse team of pediatricians that got the ball rolling to take the Bright children from their home.

The role of Child Abuse Pediatricians in these cases cannot be understated. CPS social workers are not doctors, and thus are not able to do the needed differential diagnoses to determine whether or not a child was abused or if they have a real medical condition that mimics abuse. They often simply take the word of the child abuse doctors without question. Attorneys and judges in turn often don't question these doctors.

Thus, much of the blame for medical kidnapping of children from innocent parents lies squarely at the feet of these doctors, who are not experts in anything.

See:

Pediatric Child Abuse “Experts” are NOT Experts in Anything

The head of the Texas Children's Hospital Child Abuse team is Christopher Spencer Greeley, MD. He did his internship at Vanderbilt University, another hospital known for its role in many medical kidnap cases.

Dr. Christopher Greeley – head of Texas Children's Hospital Child Abuse Pediatric Team and President of the Helfer Society, an elite group of Child Abuse Pediatricians. Photo source.

Dr. Greeley is a major player in the field of Child Abuse Pediatrics and is currently the president of the Ray E. Helfer Society, the International Society for Physicians in the Field of Child Abuse.

We first reported on the Helfer Society earlier this year. Another of their members, Dr. Carole Jenny, coauthored a book with her psychiatrist husband Dr. Thomas A. Roesler entitled, Medical Child Abuse: Beyond Munchausen by Proxy, which redefines Munchausen Syndrome by Proxy in order to make it possible to charge more parents. We reported:

Dr. Jenny is part of the Helfer Society – an elite group of doctors involved with Child Abuse. She won the Helfer Society's Award in 2004. Per their website:

The Helfer Award is given annually to the member of the Society who has made significant contributions to the field of Child Abuse Pediatrics.

The list of recipients contains several names that have come up repeatedly in our research of Medical Kidnap articles. It seems that a small group of people have acquired a great deal of power over the lives of American families as they impact policy, philosophy, and judicial decisions. See the list here.

See:

California Christian Homeschool Family Torn Apart as Children are Medically Kidnapped, Forced into Public School, and Mother is Forced out of Family Home

The Brights are thankful for the sanctions against CPS.

However, the Child Abuse Pediatric Team at Texas Children's Hospital has not been faced with any consequences for their role in the Bright children being taken.

Comment on this article at MedicalKidnap.com.

Medical Kidnapping: A Threat to Every Family in America T-Shirt

100% Pre-shrunk Cotton! Order here!

Medical Kidnapping is REAL!

See: Medical Kidnapping: A Threat to Every Family in America Today

Help spread the awareness of Medical Kidnapping by wearing the Medical Kidnapping t-shirt!

Support the cause of MedicalKidnap.com, which is part of the Health Impact News network.

Order here!

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If you know people who are skeptical and cannot believe that medical kidnapping happens in the U.S. today, this is the book for them! Backed with solid references and real life examples, they will not be able to deny the plain evidence before them, and will become better educated on this topic that is destroying the American family.

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[oilibie-blog]

30 years ago, do not care about 29 things, a woman before the age of 30 do not care about 29 things

What should a woman care about? What should I not care about? Look at the 29 things the woman didn't care about before she was 30. You must have understood. In this life, you always have the things you care about most, and the things you don't want to care about. Of course, we should care about, we still want to care about, can not care about the best, do not impose on yourself. In this way, people can live happier and more relaxed in this life.

1, give up

The opposite is to give up; to choose an opportunity is to give up all the other possibilities. When new opportunities are ahead, dare to give up everything has been obtained, it is not the work not completed, give up halfway, this is to seek greater development space; or what not to do, just because of love, because young is the biggest opportunity. People are only thirty years old before the courage to have this qualification.

2, lovelorn

I don't care, I don't care. What is most afraid of losing before thirty is not what you already have, but what you dream about. If love is just a process, then this is the age should experience, if you want to bear the results, after thirty years old, may be more capable, more qualified. In fact, we have to do a lot of things before the age of thirty, transient, long has been indulging in a dry riverbed in love, and the life rhythm of this age is.

3, divorce

No, I don't care. Everything is still in time. A thirty-eight year old girlfriend and husband married fifteen years, the cold war thirteen years, and finally break up. "If she didn't want to divorce for the sake of the kids," he said, "he made his first divorce. I didn't agree. Now I want to. I really don't know why.". If I had broken up earlier, my life would have never been like this. Now that I have started all over again, I always feel it's too late.

4, wandering

Wandering is not a misfortune, but a qualification. While no family burden, while health, drifting when? Of course, the wandering is not necessarily the body, perhaps just fantasy and dreams. The fashion leader of the new century is the floating generation, eager to drift, the only thing that does not float is the heart.

5, unemployment

Thirty years old before the taste of unemployment, of course, is an unfortunate thing, but not necessarily a bad thing. Thirty years old before premature fixed in a career, this life may be the biggest misfortune. Unemployment may remind you of dreams that have been buried for a long time and may even awaken the potential that you never knew before. Maybe you didn't have a dream, and this time it forced you to dream.

6, fashion

Don't follow the fashion. Ordinarily, young people should be the most fashionable, but independent thinking and personal life is more important. In this material society, in fact, the pursuit of fashion has long been a pursuit of money. Today, fashion is synonymous with materialism and worldly desires.

7, style

This is petty bourgeois, the word "petty bourgeoisie" is popular two times today, and the pursuit of style is their patent. Petty bourgeoisie said, there are style to meet the four major elements: wisdom, accomplishment, self-confidence and money. Style is the idea of "noble" as a sense of dress, temperament, taste, and interior decoration. It is an only display style of "petty bourgeoisie" vulgar, has the ability to vulgarthey the mind. Not to non mainstream concepts of offbeat, offbeat ideas have become the mainstream of young people, today seem old-fashioned offbeat. The key is that today's society is an age of creative ideas, not a period of old ideas.

8, evaluation

The last thing we should do is change ourselves because of other people's opinions, because those who tell you what you are doing do not know what they are following. Never do things according to the rules. The rules are still being created. You should do everything on your own judgment, though it will be a little troublesome.

9, childish

Don't be afraid to say we are naive, this means you are young and energetic. "Mature" is a frightening word is a menace. Maturity and immaturity are the greatest, no, least responsible, useless generalizations of a person. The person said they would someone naive. Do not believe, one day you life pressure to be old apathetic when people will say you are ripe, you will know what is "mature".

10, do not adapt

In one rock, there's the phrase, "this city changed me. This city doesn't need me.". Don't blindly adapt to the environment in which you live, for it is likely that the environment has not adapted itself to the development of this society.

11, failure

My teacher once told me that a man should be lovelorn at least once, fail once in his career, and make a mistake in his choice to grow up. Don't say failure is the mother of success. As an old saying goes, failure comes as early as possible. If you are thirty years old, then you will fail again after forty years of age, and some things will probably be too late.

12, mistakes:

Every man has a record of making mistakes, but he does not encourage repeating the same mistakes. If you think there is anyone who has never made a mistake, then this is your mistake: everyone has the right to make mistakes, but do not advocate the same mistakes, if you think of someone who never make mistakes, that is your mistake.

By the age of 30 can make mistakes, as long as it is not a fatal mistake! Before the age of 30 is to avoid making mistakes again after 30 years of age, who were unable to avoid repeated mistakes, but as long as the lessons, there will always be changed once! Want to repeat the error does not occur after the age of 30!

13, shallow

Every time I watch "Titanic", I shed tears. Every time I watch "Westward Journey", I can't smile and laugh. In fact, that only shows that your nerves are still very sharp and respond quickly to even very weak stimuli; when you feel sluggish, people will say you are deep.

14 stars

No, I don't care. I don't care. Stars in the commodity society is a consumer goods, spent money, listen to the song, watched the film, the stars are better performance, but it is worth the money and yourself, it is not worth worship! Just like you pay fifty yuan for a skirt on the stall, others guess it's eight hundred yuan. Is it worth the money? You adore this dress?

15, the price

Not by any means, but by knowing that everything costs a price. It's no nonsense to people of our age. Otherwise, when you are thirty years old, you will realize how much you have paid for, but do not understand why you pay, but do not understand how much you have gained, and what to get.

16, loneliness

It's a price for freedom.

In fact, sometimes we think we are very lonely. We think we are lonely, that is, fashion is higher than the crowd. Freedom and loneliness are not contradictory unless you have depression.

In fact, no one likes to be alone, but there are always people who make loneliness for themselves

17, frustrated

Including emotional, career, perhaps only today for spending money on something to buy friends, can not but honour his word. Too much care about the feelings of disappointment, not to take advantage of the fate of playing tricks on themselves, that is, to take other people's mistakes to punish themselves.

18, defects

Maybe you're short, maybe you're not good-looking, maybe your voice like Tang Laoya, your advantage is that you are not your surface shallow bright delay, spend less time, less take some bend directly to find your inner strength, digging deep potential directly.

19, misunderstanding

If it is malicious, then interpretation is useless; if it is in good faith, there is no need for explanation. Specifically mentioned "misunderstandings" not because a person has been misunderstood before the age of thirty more, but when people of this age more.

20, rumors

This is an infectious disease. Silence is the best vaccine. Unless you can find the source of the infection, the explanation will become the ideal condition for the spread of the virus.

21, crazy

This is the best mental adjustment for young people. It shows that you are energetic and physically and mentally healthy. You say "Crazy" is the evaluation of some depressed, mentally and physically exhausted in the elderly malicious, they like a bad repair machine, the need to adjust, but only fine-tuning, an overhaul will make them.

22, stability

Thirty years before the care stable life, the only two possibilities, either in the lottery, or is prematurely senile.

23, pressure

How much stress a middle-aged man can bear is testing his toughness; how much stress a young man can bear and what his potential is.

24, go abroad

Maybe it's a chance, maybe a trap. Unless the university entrance exam from the moment you have to go abroad, this goal, attitude should be treated the same as love, striving for success, you.

25 salary

Just to work, the salary is higher, also higher than where. So before the age of thirty, opportunities are far more important than money. Business is far more important than money. It's far more important than money. For most people, the primary goal of doing business before the age of thirty is not to earn money, but to earn the future.

26, deposits

It's not necessarily because we have less money, young people now know that money is alive. There are so many opportunities, so good conditions, you can take money to mortgage, do today's things, spend tomorrow's money; you can also take money to invest, take money to "charge.". Money is only money in the course of its circulation, otherwise it is only a stack of the best quality waste paper in the world.

27 house

Unless you buy a house for appreciation, well, you're married. I have a classmate, home in the field, after graduation from the University, the unit has no dormitory, the house bought a house for him. He had a chance to work in Beijing, but he felt he had bought the house and left the city turn, give up. He works steadily now, but he has achieved nothing. The only achievement was getting married and having children, because he felt he should not let the house remain empty forever, so the house became a home. The house is an allegory of urban life, and this fable should not be associated with us too soon.

28, age

Girls start hiding their age after twenty-five, but in fact they don't need. Now that youth is delayed to forty-five, what is twenty-five?

29, care about

It is a state of mind that cannot be held up or set aside. The opposite of it is not to give up, but to be free and unrestrained, free, and always optimistic.