#suddenly they’re criminals because they’re brown

[jewishbarbies]

recent events have me thinking back to a couple months ago when I got into it with my parents over immigration and said “if your family was in danger and you had no other option but to cross into another country illegally in search of help, you would.” that’s it. that’s all I said. both my parents were visibly pissed off and they floundered for an excuse before just replying “that’s not the same thing”, and I did clarify that they meant not the same as a mexican citizen coming into america for the same reason. they think it’s different because they’re white and american. I’ve watched both parents commit crimes in moments of necessity for the safety and health of their family members with my own eyes. it’s not different at all.

[miryum]

"Clark's Phone Number"

Summary: Detective!Jason Todd x detective!Reader based on Jake and Amy’s relationship

Series Warnings: Swearing, descriptions of violence (but nothing descriptive), guns and other police stuff

Series Masterlist

Cass and Steph’s phones pinged at the same time. Steph scanned the message then called over to Damian, “shouldn’t we be using the other group chat for this?”

Damian glared and typed something on his phone. The message was: I doubt we need Richard or Timothy for this revelation. Are they truly as invested in this cause as we are?

Dick created the group chat in the first place, Steph reminded her friends.

“We’re sitting a couple feet away from each other,” Cass deadpanned. “Why are we even using the group chat?”

Because it’s more entertaining, Damian wrote while maintaining eye contact with Cass.  

Anyone else notice that Todd and L/n aren’t here? Dick stopped their bickering by typing away in the larger, all-encompassing, precinct group chat that was titled Operation Lovebird. The group chat with everyone, including Y/n and Jason was graciously named Practically Hell, courtesy of Y/n, due to the six-six being “only one six away from Hell.”

Al Ghul was just mentioning it in The Best Ones, Cass replied. 

Why do you guys even *have* another group chat? Tim asked.

Because we’re ‘The Best Ones.’ Obviously. Steph added the eye-roll emoji.

Just tell us what’s happening with Operation Lovebird!!! Dick demanded. 

All we know is that they’re both gone, Steph said. 

If you were better detectives, you would’ve noticed the culprits entering the copy room together. Captain Wayne’s contact suddenly popped up on everyone’s screen.

A plethora of messages popped up after his comment, including:

Dick: Culprits???!!!!! Brucie, why???

Tim: Why is Captain in this chat again? No offence, sir.

Wayne: None taken.

Steph: omg are they…

Steph: … you know?

Cass: Fucking?

Steph: NO!!!

Steph: Smooching, obvi.

Damian: Brown, please. Stop maiming my eyes with your typed words. 

Tim: Though, seriously, what are they doing?

Wayne: Pull the security tapes and meet me in my office.

There was a scrambling around the precinct as the detectives (and Damian) ran to Wayne’s office. “Does anyone have the surveillance tapes?” the captain asked. The detectives glanced around and slowly shook their heads. Wayne groaned and commanded, “Cain, grab the tapes.”

Once Cass did as she was directed, Tim used Wayne’s computer and pulled the tapes onto the screen.  

On the tape, Jason stood in the copy room, glancing around anxiously as he fiddled senselessly with the machine. Y/n��s figure appeared on screen and she shuffled into the room, calling out to anyone who would listen, “yeah, I'm just gonna make some copies in here. In the copy room. Heh. Perfect cover. Nailed it.”

“Hey…” Jason waved awkwardly to his coworker. “Hi… Y/n…”

“Jason,” Y/n stepped towards him, smiling devilishly. “Why’d you wanna meet me here?” Her grin showed that she knew exactly why Jason wanted to talk to her. “To boink? At work?!” She gasped dramatically. “Todd, I expected better of you!”

Jason’s cheeks flamed up and Y/n congratulated herself on making the buff, six foot tall detective stutter. “No…” He said, “I wanted to talk about uh, Brian and Lacy.”

“Ah… yeah. Brian and Lacy,” Y/n nodded her head, demeanour shifting. “What about them? I thought they were a pretty cute couple.” 

“So did I,” Jason admitted softly. He took a step forward until Y/n could simply reach out and touch him. He had a faint bruise on the underside of his jaw from an incident with a criminal half a week ago. He stared down at his colleague, his gaze filled with agonised hope. “Brian wanted to ask Lacy on an official date.”

Y/n’s heart was being cleaved in half and sewn back up again by Jason’s own hands. “What about Brian’s old girlfriend, Daisy? Lacy was pretty sure that Brian was making googly-eyes at Daisy during their last meeting.”

“Just to be clear, Daisy being Rose?” 

“Yeah.”

“Brian went on a couple dates with Daisy,” Jason continued, “but soon realised that Daisy couldn’t hold a small, dying match to Y/n’s burning, beautiful fire.”

“I thought her name was Lacy,” Y/n whispered. Jason’s chest rose and fell and he moved even closer to her. Jason reached up towards her face and swiped the pad of his thumb along her cheek. He angled Y/n’s face up so he could finally look into her eyes with the redamancy and forelsket that had been stored away for so many years. 

“Yeah, well,” a corner of his lips curved into a knowing smirk. “I just made Lacy blush, which is usually an impossible feat.”

“You flatter me, Brian,” Y/n said. “It’s clear that you take your words straight from a romance novel. You spend too much time reading.” She reached up and brushed a tuft of hair away from Jason’s face. Her words were teasing, but her actions were careful.

“My words aren’t from a romance novel,” Jason reassured her. “They’re from the heart- yeah, no, I hear it now. A little too cheesy, huh?”

Y/n shrugged and said, “I rather enjoyed it.” She relished the feeling of Jason’s touch on her skin. She hoped to feel it more often. “Your kissing could improve, though,” she referenced their impromptu kiss at the restaurant. 

Jason chuckled lightly. “I doubt that. You seemed to like it a lot.” He spoke lightly while memorising her face. “So, what do you say to a date, darling?”

“Darling?” Y/n asked. “I thought I was the one with the nicknames.” 

Jason shook his head. “I think I’ve found your ten.”

“And now you’ve stolen my quips. Love, you’ve already stolen my heart. Soon I’m gonna see you in the interrogation room.”

“I bet you’d love to see me in handcuffs.” 

Y/n’s mouth fell open and she let out a shocked laugh. “Mr. Todd! That’s no way to speak to a lady!” 

Jason’s hand was still cupping Y/n’s cheek and his other hand drew up to trace meaningless patterns on her forearm. “Does this mean you say ‘yes’ to the date?”

“What if it makes working together awkward?” Y/n’s hand clutched onto the fabric of his shirt.

“Then we’ll be awkward together,” he answered easily. “I want this too much for a little awkwardness to get in the way. I want you too much, Y/n.”

“I wanna try this,” she decided after a moment. “I want you too. Tonight? At eight?”

Jason nodded quickly, afraid she would take it back. “That sounds absolutely perfect.”

Y/n stared at him and she couldn’t seem to place the expression on his face. It had a softness that looked suspiciously like love. His cheeks held a pink tint and his eyes gazed down at her and Jason knew he would spend the rest of his life holding her if he could. After a moment, Y/n realised, heart jumping, that Jason looked like he was in love. “We should probably get back to work before they realise we’re missing,” Y/n said slowly.

Jason nodded and moved towards the door, not before taking Y/n in his arms and pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead. “Should we tell the rest of the team? he asked quietly. 

“Probably not,” Y/n said. “They would get way too involved.”

“Should we tell them we’re spying on them?” Tim asked from inside Wayne’s office where the rest of the six-six was still crowded around the computer which displayed Y/n and Jason.

A chorus of ‘no’s and shushing erupted from everyone else and Steph squealed, “oh! They’re finally together! I’m over the moon! They’re adorable!”

“Brown, will your fangirling get in the way of your work?” Wayne asked, smiling slightly.

“Yes, definitely!” 

Wayne sighed. “Understandable.”

“Well, what are you looking for?” Jason asked. “Symbolism and overall themes or simply personal enjoyment?”

“Both,” Y/n took a lick of her ice cream, legs swinging happily under the park bench.

“The Great Gatsby for symbolism and overall themes,” he answered after a minute of thinking. “And then my favourite book is Pride and Prejudice.” 

“Yeah, I definitely knew that one,” Y/n nodded. “You’ve read it a thousand times in the precinct.” She shook her head, “I’ve tried to get through that book, man, but I don’t get the hype over it. Granted, I’ve never been able to get through the first five chapters.”

Jason began ranting about Pride and Prejudice before shaking his head in defeat and asking, “what’s your favourite book? Please don’t let it be Goddess Girls or Geronimo Stilton or some other children's series.”

“No, although those were great series.” She pointed her spoon at Jason accusingly. “As I’ve grown up and matured, it’s either The Fault in Our Stars, Memoirs of a Geisha, All Quiet on the Western Front, or Ella Minnow Pea.”

Jason stared at her and finally said, “those are all very different books. Honestly, I’m surprised you’ve even read four books.”

Y/n punched him in the arm. “How dare you! I’m very well-read! You should see the length of my Ao3 history!” 

Jason laughed loudly and cradled his ‘hurt’ arm. “I’m sorry I underestimated you, Y/n.”

“You better be!” Y/n crossed her arms before finishing off her ice cream. “Now I’m not gonna have sex with you until our fifth date.”

Jason let out a dramatic groan. “I don’t know if I can wait that long, sweetheart.” 

“Keep calling me ‘sweetheart’ and you may not have to.”

“How was the daaaaaate?” Steph used her wheely chair to roll up to Y/n’s desk, grinning cheekily. She waved a finger in Jason and Y/n’s direction. “What is this, huh? Casual? Serious? I need to know how to make fun of you. Also, please get married in a barn ‘cause I have a lot of jokes that are centred around that.” 

“How’d you know about the date?” Jason asked.

“You guys are officially dating?” Dick was walking by when he paused and placed a firm hand on Jason’s chair.

Y/n looked at Jason helplessly. “...yes?” she said quietly. “Maybe?”

Dick and Steph exchanged a look. “This isn’t good,” Dick said.

“We said we weren't gonna tell anyone,” Y/n explained. “It's very new, and we're still figuring it out, you know?”

“Enough.” Dick stated. “Look, I love love, but I also love maintaining a professional work environment. As your commanding officer, I’m kinda disappointed in both of you.” He bent down and added in a stage-whisper, “but as you loving friend who sees himself as a father-or-brother figure to both of you, I adore you two dating and hope that it works out. Kori and I have a big binder left over from our wedding full of ideas and samples we’d be happy to lend you. Please lemme give a toast at the wedding.”

”I already have mine written,” Steph admitted excitedly.

Y/n’s head fell into her hands and Jason cursed Dick under his breath. Dick had to admit, Jason’s curses were getting more creative.

Bonus Scene: 

“You guys have a group chat dedicated to us?!” Y/n cried out. 

“Why wouldn’t we?” Dick chuckled. “It’s where we share blackmail, cute updates, and random stuff related to you guys.”

Y/n snatched Damian’s phone away, the closest person to her and much to his protest. “I can’t believe-” She scrolled through the messages before realising, “wait, I’m sorry, what are our contact names, Dami?”

“It’s simple.” Damian explained, “Richard is Moby Dick. Todd is Bamboozled from when he was drunk and said it out of context.  Drake is obviously CCA which stands for Computer/Coffee Addict. Y/n is Da Best Homie because she set up her own contact and I haven’t gotten around to changing it. Stephanie is Titus because she reminds me of my valiant and excitable dog. Cain is Cassandra Cain and Wayne is Captain Bruce Wayne. I also have Clark’s number and he’s listed as Mr. Clark Kent.”

“I don’t know whether to be offended or unsurprised,” Dick mumbled.

“At least you’re a classic novel,” Steph crossed her arms. “I’m named after a dog.”

“Steph, you’re literally the epitome of a joyful dog.” 

“Aw, thanks!”

“You have Clark’s number?” Y/n murmured to Damian, “can I have it?” 

“No.”

Not my fav way to do it and I would probably rewrite it, but it's already on ao3 so... *shrug*

[dark-frosted-heart]

Roger Barel Main Route - Chapter 12

As usual, can’t guarantee 100% accuracy on this. I’m doing this for archiving purposes and you can probably find a better translation out there.

Roger: Kate, I got good news. A new Cursed One may have been found!

Kate: Hey, don’t just burst into my room without knocking!

I pulled the front of my blouse tightly over my chest and glared at Roger.

Roger: You were in the middle of changing? My bad.

(...You don’t look sorry at all)

Kate: It’s fine. Just give me a second.

I turned away from him and finished tying up my blouse. I sighed and turned back to face Roger.

Kate: So it’s true that a new Cursed One was found?

Roger: Yeah, it’s true. Last night, a young man named Lance Brown was arrested for sneaking into a butcher’s shop and eating the meat. Here’s the important part. When he was about to be arrested, he made all the police officers faint just by hugging them.

(That definitely sounds like a Cursed One’s ability…)

Kate: That’s not something the average human can do.

Roger: Yeah, that’s why I’m thinking there’s a high possibility it’s a Cursed One. Apparently when Victor heard about it, he paid for his release, and ordered him to provide information in return.

(As expected from Victor. Making the necessary investments…This is the palace’s Grim Reaper)

(Even so)

Kate: Hehe, you look happy, Roger.

Roger: Of course I am. Cursed ones are born all over the world, but there aren’t that many to begin with. Just meeting them is a valuable sample. Besides, plenty of Cursed Ones die without even realizing that they’re cursed.

From what I read in Roger’s research, because the existence of Cursed Ones isn’t public knowledge, many commit suicide because they think there’s something wrong with them, turn to crime, or get falsley accused like Alec was.

Kate: I think there’s a lot of happiness in this world we don’t know about. However, there’s some misfortunes that happen when you don’t know yourself. But… It would be a shock to suddenly go out and tell someone “You’re a Cursed One.”

Perhaps it was because of his rational personality, but Roger had a habit of being too direct.

A pro was that he was to the point and easy to understand. A con, well…that.

Roger: When I was a kid, I said something so suddenly to Alfons that it left a lasting mark on him. I won’t make the same mistake again. We’ll see how things go when we go see him today.

Kate: “We” are going to see him?

Roger: What are you so surprised for? You’re my assistant aren’t you?

(Well, according to the robin growth map…)

(I remember the promotion going from dogsbody -> dog -> assistant -> partner -> lover)

So I guess I’ve ranked up from dog to assistant.

Kate: Though I returned all the materials you let me borrow, I never said I read through them all…

Roger: You didn’t need to. You’re not the type to demand rewards or recognition for your work. But I know you’re a hard worker that never skimps on things.

That honestly makes me happy

Thank you +4 +4

I’m uncomfortable 

The sudden compliment made my cheeks warm.

Kate: …Thank…you.

Roger: Hm? I didn’t hear you.

Kate: Thank you! And don’t lie about your hearing.

Roger: Haha. Come on, I got a carriage waiting. Let’s go, Kate.

Kate: Wait for me Roger!

Clothes already changed, I rushed to shove my notebook and handkerchief into my bag before following him.

Kate: Huh, but…We can’t let outsiders know we’re Crown. What do we say to him?

Roger: Leave it to me. Well, I’ll need a lot of help from you too.

(Huh…—?)

--

And so Roger and I went to see the young man who was arrested last night for sneaking into a butcher’s shop.

Roger: Nice to meet you Lance Brown. I’m Roger Barel, a doctor. And this is…

Kate: I’m Doctor Roger’s a-assistant, Kate.

Roger: We’re employed by the royal family. Our job is to interview criminals and provide support in a healthy rehabilitation. Right, Kate?

Kate: Y-yes! So I hope we can chat without being too formal.

(Another appropriate lie, even if it is to hide Crown’s existence…)

While I was worrying over taking part in a lie, Lance hung his head apologetically.

Lance: No, I apologize for the trouble I’ve caused. They saved me by paying for my release. I’ll tell you whatever I can. I don’t want to commit crimes so carelessly again.

Roger: Then let’s start with drawing some blood…

Lance: Drawing?? Blood??

Roger: Yeah, I need to draw blood for mental stability.

(More appropriate lies)

However, knowing what Roger’s trying to achieve, I couldn’t blame him for lying.

After that, I continued to help Roger gather information on the Cursed One under the guise of an “interview”— 

(That’s…?)

Suddenly, I noticed a painting in Lance’s art studio.

Kate: Lance, you’re a painter, right?

Lance: Ah, yes. An amateur…

Taking a look around the room, I saw a couple of canvases on easels.

Kate: Most of the paintings are of landscapes. Ah, but there’s some portraits too…

My eyes were drawn to a portrait of a red-haired girl.

Kate: …Beautiful. Is she someone important to you, Lance?

Lance: Huh.

Kate: Ah, well…even with untrained eyes, I could tell a lot of care was put into the painting.

Lance: …Yes. The young lady is someone I like. She works at a bakery near the studio…

Lance pointed out to the street from his studio on the second floor.

Lance: I always watch her from here.

Roger: So you don’t even know this lady’s name?

Lance: I’m embarrassed to admit it…

The simple-looking Lance blushed.

Roger: You’re wasting time hesitating. Just go talk to her.

Kate: That’s terrible advice! This is why you’re inconsiderate.

Roger: Oh, as expected from a teacher who claims that she can teach me about being in love. How would you go about it, Kate?

Kate: Me?

(We’re not here to discuss this…)

Kate: I’d start with seasonal greetings and then gradually work my way up from there…

Roger: …Huh, that’s no good. With your method time will go by in an instant and they’ll end up in their graves before they know it.

Kate: Wha?!

Lance, who had been listening to our conversation with wide eyes suddenly burst into laughter.

Lance: Pfft, hahahaha! Ah, sorry. I was so nervous given how you work for royalty, but you two are so…charming.

Roger: I’m charming? Artists have a strange way of seeing things.

Kate: Hehe.

Lance: Sorry to stop the fun advice you’ve given me, but…I’m fine with the way things are. I’m just happy watching her from here. …If I just watch her, my love won’t hurt her.

Lance muttered and then turned to us with a smile.

Lance: But enough about me! I’m sorry for asking this out of the blue, you two are lovers, aren’t you?

Kate: Huh?

Lance: You two appear to be very close and you don’t act like coworkers…am I wrong?

Kate and Roger: You’re wrong!/That’s right.

Lance: Oh dear, who should I believe?

Kate: Ugh, what are you even talking about, Roger?

Roger: Don’t get all shy just because we’re in company.

I started arguing with Roger again in front of Lance, who just smiled in mild amusement.

Kate: Lance, don’t believe a thing he says. Believe me!

Lance: Ahahaha!

-- 

After chatting with Lance, we got back on the carriage to Crown Castle.

Roger: Hey, hey. Don’t pout. I’ll buy you some jerky.

(Jerky is a treat for Ale…)

Kate: Stop treating me like a dog. Geez…you’re always saying the most random things.

The pointless arguments continue all the way back to Crown Castle, but…apart from that, Lance sincerely answered our questions.

Kate: Roger, Lance really is a Cursed One, isn’t he?

Roger: I haven’t seen his ability in practice yet so I can’t say for sure. Moreover, even if you saw the ability, you can’t say for sure what the curse is.

Kate: Why is that?

Roger: You know why this has become known as “Fairytale Curses”. Novelists and playwrights around the world created works based on existing “Cursed Ones”. It’s said to be what started them off.

~~ Flashback start ~~

Roger: It’s said that the origins of various fairytales were based on these “Cursed Ones”. But nowadays, it’s reversed and we refer to it as the “Fairytale Curse”.

~~ End flashback ~~

(That’s what I was told when we first met)

Kate: Um, so…let’s say Lance is cursed. Are you saying we don’t know if the curse exists in a fairytale?

Roger: That’s right. As expected from my assistant, quick on the uptake.

He ruffled my hair.

(It’s annoying how happy I get even when this is something you do to a dog…)

It felt like he was training me and while I hung my head feeling frazzled, Roger called out to me.

Roger: So…What do you think? Anything about this make you suspicious? 

(Roger felt it too)

Kate: Lance was arrested because he was found sneaking into a butcher’s shop at night and eating the meat right? But Lance didn’t seem like the type to so easily commit a crime. Besides, the paintings on display had papers taped on them indicating that they were to be sold. As we were chatting, he brought up receiving commissions. So he’s not living in poverty…

Roger: And look at the paint. It has the royal warrant of appointment.

Roger held up a used tube of blue paint.

Kate: Huh, you just took that without asking? That’s wrong…

Roger: Wrong? We’re still villains in Crown. We can’t protect anything by doing things the right way.

--

The moment we arrived back at the castle, we went straight to Lord Elbert’s room.

I thought that someone like Lord Elbert, who collected beautiful things, would understand the value of the paint.

Elbert: …This paint certainly is a first-class product of the Royal Warrant. Also…I heard that Lance Brown’s paintings have caught the eyes of nobility.

(Lance is a famous painter…)

Elbert: As you two have discussed, I don’t believe he’s struggling financially.

Kate: I thought so…

When I guess turned out to be correct, new suspicions formed.

Kate: Then why did he steal from the butcher’s shop that night?

Elbert: If he is a cursed one…Then perhaps it has to do with his curse.

Kate: His curse…?

Elbert: The sin of a Cursed One is far more powerful than you could possibly imagine. My cursed sin is greed…Sometimes I crave and crave, and the rational side of me can’t resist the urges. If he’s also tormented by his own sin…

Roger: I’m betting on a high possibility of that too.

Elbert: You haven’t told him that he’s probably a Cursed One, have you?

Seeing our expressions, Elbert’s long eyelashes lowered melancholically. 

Elbert: …If that’s the case, then you should tell him as soon as possible. I believe self-awareness is a way to protect yourself.

Roger: Yeah, I will. Thanks El, you were a big help.

Kate: Thank you, Lord Elbert.

Elbert: No problem. Roger’s done a lot for me.

Ocean blue eyes looked out at the sky through the window.

Elbert: It’s going to rain…tonight.

What Elbert said was true. It started raining that night—and the day after.

We then heard that Lance had passed away.

Next

[thecoffeelorian]

The Anomaly Series, Chapter 2: Connections (Jod Na Nawood x Reader)

A/N: Soooooo. I may not be able to do this every week, but I had a spurt of inspiration recently, so for now I decided to keep going. Hope that's okay!

Chapter Title: Connections

Genre: Drama/Romance; Slow Burn

Word Count: 1,235 words

AO3: Click Here!

Special Notes: Have I done some research that suggests how Jod is both a Force-Sensitive AND a space pirate...? I sure have. Do I have any clue, though, how the parents are going to shrug off this dystopian government in order to find their kids? I sure don't. Nevertheless, the spoilers here remain more or less recent.

No Pressure Tags:

@ladysongmaster @amawu23 @evabellasworld @tarak1495 @jedinerd27

@braveincafleet @xitlalli2001 @leos-multifandom-corner @nonniecannie @khaleesihavilliard

@cc-cobalt-1043 @bridge-always @illithiddreams @gun-roswell @kucharka23

@bruceewayne @robin-hyperfixates @shirley-girly @lulalovez @deepestballoonllama-fandoms

@seekerbear90 and anyone else looking to give a little love to our favorite space pirate.

They’re watching you now, this Reclamation Committee, and not because you’ve recently performed any Acts of Service to your community. On the one hand, as the formerly missing kids have already been sent to their Debriefing and will be cleared to return home as soon as possible, naturally, their family members will be joining them in whatever room or building this procedure is scheduled to take place.

On the other hand, however, Wendle has still already given you his raised eyebrow treatment; Undersecretary Fara has promised you your own round of questioning; and all the others you’re not that acquainted with yet have already started up on their own respective grumbling. Apparently, they’re getting just a little bit fearful that you might try to help this notorious space pirate escape justice, or so you can tell rather well by the changes in their expressions.

Small wonder, then, that you’re only too happy to exit your work site when the time comes, your mind caught between annoyance and mild panic at the harshness of this new treatment.

Who in the galaxy do they think they are, these people in charge who are quick to judge you over a single minute of weakness? Nobody asked that criminal—that man—to tag along on the children’s flight home, so obviously, you were just as surprised as they were to see him stepping off at all.

You also didn’t expect any ‘suddenly proven legend of deep space’ to come in looking like that, let alone somebody so notorious as this “Crimson Jack”. That, too, had been a shocker for you, and if you could have your way—which, Maker willing, you would soon enough—you would be all too careful not to look into his eyes a second time for fear of drowning in them.

No, if the tiny queasy feeling you felt deep inside your stomach told you anything, it would be more than smart to stay away from that one. You already had the life that your parents hoped for you, the stable job that your little society had seen fit to grant you, and to top it all off, you would be meeting the first of many potential Life Partners in the next 2 rotations.

In other words, there was no reason whatsoever for you to throw all of this safety and security away.

So why, then, did you find yourself thinking of him all over again…?!

Before you let yourself stew in what you call ‘the old mental juices’ too much, you sit yourself down in your chair almost as soon as you walk into your small apartment; the muted tones of light yellow and pale redberry having a slight soothing effect upon your otherwise rattled nerves. With your careful choices of white linen curtains, pale orange chairs, and light brown side tables with a few personal items scattered throughout, it’s just about everything a lady like you could ask for after such a difficult day. All that’s really missing here is your afternoon cup of caf, your hour’s worth of contemplation and reading up on local headlines, and finally, when you’re ready, a quick dinner made on your little stove.

And yet, even though you know you’re calming yourself down and there’s no one else around to bother you...still there’s an odd buzzing feeling coming from the back of your head, almost like something’s just a little out of place.

Or, dare you even begin to think it…like somebody might be watching you.

Without thinking twice, you turn quickly to look behind you, your breathing and heart rate going up a notch. There aren’t any strange people grinning down at you from any place nearby, or, at least, not on the inside. Maybe one of the security droids was out on patrol, and you heard it roll past your door just now. Perfectly normal procedures. Very present, very helpful, and absolutely nothing for you to worry about.

At least…not until your focus shifts to your electronic notepad sitting on the side table, as well as the single word that instantly sends a chill up and down your spine.

Hello.

Oh, kriff it, but you know for a fact that you’re not the one who wrote that message. Not only has your matching pen been sitting motionless beside your notepad, you’re also about 99.9% sure that if anybody had broken in before your arrival just to mess with your head like this, the security droids would have already caught them.

But then again, if absolutely no one from the outside—yourself included—could have written that, then who did?

I see you.

Your answer comes in an instant, the letters appearing upon the screen just as surely as if he—that man, Crimson Jack—had been standing there and writing them himself. Your pulse might not exactly be slowing down at the sight of it, since you’re now a bit disturbed that somebody like him would dare to barge in unannounced like this, to start slipping past your defenses even if he couldn’t exactly see that they existed in the first place—and yet.

Nothing could have prepared you for the rush of emotion that comes afterward, or that even deeper, almost painful, sense of heat and cold that threatens to overtake you. It’s enough to make you want to turn around and run right out of your house, your neighborhood, possibly even your sector—and still feels heavy enough to keep you frozen in place.

And still, over everything that’s happened today, over his surprise appearance, your even worse reaction to making eye contact with him, and all the responses of your associates that clearly frown upon you now where they once smiled at you in welcome—there’s one last question hanging in the air.

What. Are. You…?

You almost expect some instant response out of this, some reply that could otherwise validate whatever connection, commlink, thing, is happening between you. Whatever it is, it's certainly felt like a force of nature written small, and so you're watching that screen in a shaky silence, almost daring the words to appear.

You'll have to start writing me back, sweetheart.

A few seconds pass by before you remember your pen, the obvious choice for something so simple as this. Of course you're going to have to rely on alternate means of communication, because as far as you know, neither one of you has any datapads with a direct link to the other, and so you're both left at a huge kriffing disadvantage here.

Ugh. Get it together, stupid.

This is why you don't think twice about scribbling the words upon the screen, though not without hoping that whatever higher power might be in control of this situation, they find a way to not think of you as a failure. That you're somehow worthy to take this a step or two further, and so establish a direct line of communication with Crimson Jack as soon as possible.

Provided, of course, that you can manage to sidestep both your superiors and the security droids.

Thankfully, it’s not that long before Jack himself responds to you once more, the letters forming on the screen a bit slower this time, like he’s putting a bit more thought into them—and with it, there comes your next surprise of the day.

It’s simple, sweetheart. I’m a person who needs your help.

[urialnathanonwright]

Trump's Pardon Pandemonium: An Assault on Justice and Sanity

If you’ve ever wondered just how far Donald Trump is willing to go to desecrate the principles of justice, public safety, and common decency, look no further than his latest stunt—a disgraceful spree of pardons for violent criminals and corrupt cops. This isn’t just tone-deaf politics; it’s a middle finger to law, order, and every decent human being who believes in accountability.

Let’s start with Trump’s defense of pardoning January 6 rioters, including D.J. Rodriguez, the man who jammed a stun gun into the neck of an officer defending the U.S. Capitol. Trump’s excuse? These people have “already served enough time” in “inhumane” conditions. Seriously? These are domestic terrorists who assaulted the very officers Trump claims to support. But instead of siding with the men and women who held the line that day, Trump’s throwing them under the bus to score cheap points with his base.

And when confronted about Rodriguez specifically, Trump’s first response was, “I don’t know.” Well, isn’t that just rich? The guy who pretends to be the ultimate law-and-order president suddenly “doesn’t know” why he pardoned someone who attacked a cop. News flash, Donald: claiming ignorance doesn’t erase the fact that you’re enabling and excusing violence against police.

Now let’s talk about his pardons for two DC police officers, Sutton and Zabavsky, convicted of murder and obstruction in the death of Karon Hylton-Brown. These weren’t heroes making tough calls in the line of duty. These were men who recklessly chased a young man to his death, tampered with evidence, and lied to cover their tracks. But Trump has the audacity to call them victims—“friends of police,” as he puts it. Friends of police? No, Mr. Trump, these men betrayed the badge, the public trust, and the very communities they swore to protect.

And don’t even get me started on the grotesque falsehoods Trump spewed while defending this decision. He claimed Hylton-Brown was “an illegal,” which is not only categorically false but reeks of the kind of dog-whistle racism we’ve come to expect from him. Hylton-Brown was a U.S. citizen, and his life mattered—a fact Trump is incapable of acknowledging.

Let’s be clear: these pardons aren’t about justice or fairness. They’re about signaling to his base that accountability doesn’t matter as long as you’re on his team. Assault a cop in his name? Here’s your pardon. Commit murder and cover it up? No problem—Trump’s got your back. This isn’t leadership. This is moral cowardice dressed up as populism.

What’s worse, these actions send a chilling message: if you’re violent, corrupt, or outright criminal, you’ve got a get-out-of-jail-free card as long as you’re politically useful to Trump. Meanwhile, those who play by the rules—officers like Michael Fanone, who put their lives on the line to defend democracy—are left to feel betrayed by their own country. And who can blame them?

Trump has always framed himself as a champion of law and order, but the truth is he doesn’t give a damn about justice. He cares about loyalty—to him, and him alone. Whether it’s rioters attacking the Capitol, cops abusing their power, or his own shady dealings, Trump’s only guiding principle is self-interest.

But here’s the thing: we don’t have to stand for it. We can call this out for what it is—a blatant abuse of power and a disgrace to the values this country is supposed to represent. Justice, accountability, and the rule of law aren’t just slogans; they’re the bedrock of a functioning democracy. And every time Trump tramples on them, it’s up to us to push back.

So let’s push back. Let’s make it clear that we won’t let a failed reality TV star rewrite the rules of justice to suit his own ego. Because if we don’t, the next pardon spree might be even worse.

[hannie-roses]

Stray Kids: The Heist of a Lifetime

Starring: stray kids

Sypnosis: Two rival superpowered teams—3RACHA and CrazRACHA—clash in Osaka over a high-stakes heist, only to uncover a shared enemy: the city’s corrupt elite. Forced into an uneasy alliance, they battle through suspense and danger to bring justice to their city, discovering that even rivals can unite for a greater cause.

Genre; supernatural, action adventure, urban fantasy

WORD COUNT: 3,577

Chapter 1: The Mission Begins

The wind was brisk as Han Jisung fidgeted, his black hoodie pulled tight against his frame. At 5’7, with short, straight black hair and a mischievous grin, Han wasn’t exactly intimidating—until he opened his mouth. He wasn’t shy around his closest friends, Bang Chan and Hwang Hyunjin, but he knew something big was brewing.

Chan, standing at 5’6 with short black hair and broad shoulders, was every bit the leader of 3RACHA. Calm, calculated, and stern, he balanced his Korean-Australian roots effortlessly. Next to him was Hyunjin, all long wavy black hair, standing tall at 6’0 with the kind of quiet confidence that turned heads. Together, the three made up 3RACHA, a team tasked with high-stakes missions—but none of them had ever anticipated the chaos they were about to dive into.

Bang Chan exhaled slowly, looking at both his teammates. “We have two targets: Osaka and Tokyo. In Osaka, we stop CrazRACHA from robbing the Jewel Consortium. But that’s only step one. They’ll be moving stolen goods from Osaka to Tokyo, and that’s where we finish them.”

Han raised an eyebrow. “So we just beat them up in Osaka, follow them to Tokyo, and then… what? We stop the heist a second time?”

“Basically.��� Chan’s jaw tightened. “But it won’t be easy.”

Their enemies weren’t ordinary criminals—they were CrazRACHA, a rival group made up of Seungmin, Leeknow, and Felix. Each of them had unique abilities that made things complicated.

Seungmin, the leader of CrazRACHA, was 5’9 with short, slicked-back black hair. Known for his strategic mind, he was dangerous not only because of his intellect but also his telepathy. He could read minds and manipulate conversations with eerie precision.

Leeknow was 5’8 with short brown hair, a sharp tongue, and the power to manipulate gravity. He was the most unpredictable—and the most irritating. His constant needling and smug grin made him the least likable person on the planet, and Han made no secret of his loathing for him.

Felix, at 5’7 with blonde, shoulder-length hair dotted with freckles, was something of an enigma. Despite being the enemy, Felix was sweet and energetic, but his powers—flight and telekinesis—made him a formidable opponent.

“We’re going to Osaka first,” Chan continued, interrupting Han’s thoughts. “Then Tokyo. We’ll take them down no matter what.”

Han smirked. “Sounds fun. Can I punch Leeknow?”

Hyunjin chuckled under his breath. “I’d pay to see that.”

The Journey to Osaka

With the plan set, the team boarded a bullet train bound for Osaka. The train cut through the countryside at breakneck speed, but Han couldn’t sit still. He drummed his fingers on the window, his mind racing. The stakes were high, and they couldn’t afford to fail.

Hyunjin sat across from him, flipping through a magazine but clearly not reading it. “Nervous?” he asked, glancing at Han with a small smile.

Han shrugged. “I’m more annoyed than nervous. I know Leeknow is going to be a pain. He always is.”

Chan, seated next to Han, leaned forward. “Stay focused, Jisung. CrazRACHA isn’t just annoying—they’re dangerous.”

As the train hurtled toward their destination, the scenery outside shifted from bustling cities to rolling green hills. The hum of the rails was almost soothing—until Han got bored.

“I bet I can climb to the roof,” Han announced suddenly, his mischievous grin spreading.

Hyunjin looked up from his magazine. “Don’t even think about it.”

Naturally, Han didn’t listen. Minutes later, he was on the roof of the train, arms spread wide, letting the wind whip through his hair.

“This is amazing!” he yelled.

“Get down from there!” Chan shouted from below, teleporting onto the roof in a flash.

Before Han could respond, the train entered a tunnel, forcing both of them to duck and cling to the roof.

Hyunjin leaned out the window, laughing so hard he nearly cried. “You guys are idiots.”

The Jewel Consortium Heist

Osaka’s Jewel Consortium gleamed under the moonlight as CrazRACHA made their move. Leeknow smirked as he floated effortlessly above the ground, surveying the area.

“This is too easy,” he said, voice dripping with arrogance.

Felix hovered nearby, clutching a bag full of glittering jewels. “Don’t get cocky, Minho.”

Seungmin’s cold gaze scanned the security feeds. “We have ten minutes before 3RACHA shows up. Stay sharp.”

Meanwhile, 3RACHA was scaling the side of the building, using a zip line to cross rooftops.

“Now this is what I’m talking about!” Han grinned as he zoomed across the line, his heart racing with excitement. “This doesn’t happen every day!”

Hyunjin followed closely, flames flickering in his palms. “We better make this quick.”

Bang Chan teleported ahead, landing silently inside the building. “Move fast. They’re already here.”

The fight erupted the moment the two teams met. Fire, wind, and telekinesis clashed as the two sides battled it out.

Leeknow grinned, sending Han flying upward with a burst of gravity. “What’s the matter, Jisung? Can’t handle me?”

“You’re insufferable!” Han yelled, flipping mid-air and blasting Leeknow with a gust of wind.

Just as things seemed to be going in 3RACHA’s favor, the sound of police sirens filled the air.

“Drop your weapons!” the officers shouted, storming into the building.

To their shock, the police turned on 3RACHA instead of CrazRACHA.

“What the—?” Chan muttered, struggling against the officers as they slapped cuffs on him.

Leeknow smirked smugly. “Oops. Looks like you’re the bad guys now.”

They arrive at prisonLocked in a damp cell, the air thick with tension, 3RACHA plotted their escape. Han Jisung paced back and forth, the chains clinking as he fidgeted, his annoyance palpable. “This is ridiculous,” he grumbled, running a hand through his short black hair, the frustration evident in his furrowed brow. “We save the day, and this is what we get?”

Bang Chan, his leader’s instincts kicking in, was already strategizing. At 5’7, his stature may have been slight compared to others, but his mind was a fortress. “We need to get out. Now.” He glanced around, his black hair slightly disheveled but his demeanor resolute.

Hyunjin leaned against the wall, his long, wavy black hair falling over his forehead as he scanned the surroundings. “What’s the plan?” he asked, his voice steady despite the panic building within him. “We can’t stay here forever.” He could feel the heat within him, a flicker of fire waiting to be unleashed, just like his emotions.

Chan nodded, his mind racing. “I can teleport us out, but we need to create a distraction first. Hyunjin, can you ignite a fire in the hallway?”

A sly smile crept across Hyunjin’s face as he nodded. “Consider it done.”

With a swift motion, he conjured flames in his palms, feeling the heat surge through him as he directed it toward the small ventilation grate above. The fire roared to life, licking the metal and sending sparks flying, illuminating the dark cell for a fleeting moment.

“Now!” Chan commanded, focusing his energy. He teleported them all into the dimly lit corridor, the cold air rushing past them as they materialized on the other side.

Just as they regained their footing, the sound of police sirens filled the air, their shrill cries echoing down the hallway. “We’re out of time!” Han shouted, adrenaline pumping through his veins. “Let’s move!”

The four of them sprinted down the corridor, dodging officers who flooded in from both sides. Han’s heart raced as they turned a corner. “This doesn’t happen every day!” he shouted, trying to lighten the mood, but his pulse quickened with the thrill of escape.

Hyunjin ignited his flames, sending a wave of fire down the hall, creating a barrier that forced the pursuing officers to stop. “Keep going!” he urged, his breath quickening as he felt the energy build within him.

As they reached a staircase, Chan teleported them to the rooftop of the building, where the city sprawled beneath them, illuminated by neon lights. But they weren’t alone; CrazRACHA was already waiting, their silhouettes outlined against the city skyline.

“Looks like we’re not done yet,” Han muttered, eyeing Leeknow, who floated a few feet off the ground, his brown hair catching the wind. “Ready to be annoying again?” Leeknow smirked, his gravity manipulation allowing him to hover effortlessly. “You think you can stop us? This is our city!” His voice dripped with arrogance, his presence exuding a dangerous confidence that sent a shiver down Han’s spine.

Seungmin stood beside him, arms crossed, a predatory glint in his eye. “You should’ve known we’d be waiting for you.” With a flick of his wrist, he focused his power, and suddenly, Han felt a sharp pressure in his mind.

“What’s he doing?” Han gasped, feeling Seungmin’s telepathic grip tighten around his thoughts. “Get out of my head!” He clenched his fists, willing his power to counteract the intrusion.

The battle erupted as Chan dashed forward, his teleportation abilities allowing him to close the distance between them in an instant. He delivered a powerful punch that landed squarely on Seungmin’s jaw, sending him staggering back. “Stay focused!” Chan yelled, rallying his team.

“Watch out!” Hyunjin shouted as he noticed Leeknow’s gravity manipulation forming a crushing force above him.

With a swift motion, Hyunjin unleashed a wave of fire, directing it toward Leeknow. “You’re not the only one with tricks!” The flames surged forward, creating a brilliant display of orange and red as they threatened to engulf Leeknow.

Leeknow, quick on his feet, twisted in mid-air, using his gravity control to redirect the flames away from him, causing them to fizzle out harmlessly. “Nice try, Hyunjin!” he taunted, flicking his wrist to send Han flying across the rooftop.

“This is getting out of hand!” Han grunted as he landed with a thud, rolling to absorb the impact. He quickly regained his footing, channeling the earth beneath him. “Time to show you what I can really do!”

From CrazRACHA’s perspective, the fight was just as intense.

Leeknow, feeling the exhilaration of the battle, grinned at the chaos unfolding. “Can’t catch me!” he teased as he flew just out of reach of Han’s powers.

Felix was soaring above, his blonde hair shining in the moonlight, scanning the battlefield. “Guys, we can’t let them win!” He darted down, attempting to grab the bag of jewels from CrazRACHA’s previous heist. “Let’s make this quick!”

Seungmin, focused on the chaos, could feel their connection fading. He knew the strength of their enemies, but he also understood their weaknesses. “Stay alert!” he commanded, his voice cutting through the fray.

The fight intensified as Han, now feeling the power of the elements coursing through him, summoned a gust of wind that whipped around the rooftop, pushing Leeknow back. “I control the elements—” he yelled, drawing energy from the earth, ”—and you’re about to find out!”

“This ends now!” Chan shouted, teleporting directly in front of Seungmin, catching him off guard. He landed a blow, but Seungmin quickly retaliated with a telepathic shove that sent Chan tumbling.

Hyunjin leaped to Chan’s side, igniting flames once more to create a wall of fire between them and CrazRACHA. “We need to focus!” he urged, sweat dripping down his brow as he struggled to maintain the flames.

But it was Han’s moment to shine. Gathering energy, he commanded the earth beneath their feet to shake. “This is for every time you made my life miserable!” He sent a shockwave through the rooftop, causing CrazRACHA to stumble.

The chaotic battle felt like a whirlwind, bodies flying, powers colliding, and tension crackling in the air. Han could feel the strain, but he pushed through, not willing to back down. “Together!” he yelled to his team, and they rallied around him.

The fight raged on, Han unleashing the full force of the four elements: fire, water, earth, and air swirled around them in a spectacular display. Seungmin, caught off guard, faltered as Han channeled a torrent of water, knocking him back.

“You won’t win!” Leeknow shouted, rage fueling his gravity manipulation. “I’ll show you what real power looks like!” He summoned a wave of energy that sent Hyunjin crashing into Han, their bodies colliding in a heap.

“Get up, we can’t give up!” Chan yelled, pushing himself off the ground as he teleported back into the fray, fists flying toward Felix, who was attempting to gather the scattered jewels. “You think you can just take what’s ours?”

Felix, buoyed by his powers, flew upward, but Han, regaining his footing, focused his energy. “Not on my watch!” He launched a bolt of lightning, striking Felix mid-air and sending him crashing to the ground.

“No!” Leeknow yelled, seeing his friend fall.

“Now’s our chance!” Hyunjin shouted, firing flames at Leeknow in a desperate move to gain the upper hand.

As the chaos continued, Han caught a glimpse of the bag of jewels glinting in the moonlight, lying unattended. A surge of determination coursed through him. “We can’t let them get away with this!”

Summoning his strength, Han focused on the four elements, channeling them into one powerful wave. “Together, we’ll stop this!”

“3RACHA, let’s finish this!” Chan shouted, leading the charge as they launched a final assault against CrazRACHA.

The culmination of their powers converged into a massive vortex, and as it collided with Leeknow, it knocked him to the edge of the rooftop.

In a moment of stillness, the air was charged with energy, and for a brief instant, it felt like time had stopped.

As the dust settled on the rooftop, the remnants of the battle hung heavy in the air. 3RACHA stood panting, their bodies still buzzing with adrenaline and energy from the intense confrontation. Han Jisung brushed his hair back, strands sticking to his forehead with sweat, his heart racing. “Did we just—?” he began, glancing at the defeated members of CrazRACHA sprawled out around them.

Bang Chan, still catching his breath, looked around, ensuring no further threats loomed. “Yeah, we did,” he replied, his expression a mixture of disbelief and triumph. The wind whipped around them, carrying the lingering scent of burnt debris, a reminder of their heated showdown. “But this isn’t over yet.”

Hyunjin, recovering from his exertion, stepped closer to the edge of the rooftop, surveying the city below. “We need to regroup and figure out what to do next,” he said, his voice low. “We’ve got to get those jewels back and put an end to whatever they’re planning.”

From the corner of his eye, Chan noticed Seungmin slowly pushing himself up, his short black hair disheveled, a bruise forming on his cheek. “Not so fast, CrazRACHA,” he warned, his tone firm but lacking hostility. “You won’t get away so easily.”

Seungmin, surprisingly, let out a laugh that echoed amidst the chaos. “You really think we’re just going to roll over? This isn’t over, not by a long shot,” he said, wiping the dirt from his hands.

Just then, Felix stood up, brushing off his blonde hair, which fell back into place as he flashed a charming smile, trying to diffuse the tension. “Alright, alright, let’s take a moment to breathe.” He looked at Han and Chan, eyes twinkling with mischief. “We all know this is just a temporary setback.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Han asked, annoyance creeping into his voice. “You think you can just come here, steal our stuff, and walk away?”

Leeknow, still reeling from the aftermath of their powers clashing, shook his head. “This was never just about the jewels,” he said, his voice lower, more serious. “We’re trying to make a statement against the corruption in this city. You just got in our way.”

Han crossed his arms, skepticism etched on his face. “A statement? By robbing people?”

“Exactly,” Leeknow snapped back, the annoyance evident. “The system is rigged against us! We’re taking back what was stolen from the people!” He gestured dramatically, frustration boiling over as he moved closer to Han, who held his ground. “You have no idea what it’s like to fight against the odds.”

The atmosphere shifted as the words hung in the air, tensions simmering. Changbin, who had been quietly observing the unfolding conflict, finally spoke up. “What if we helped each other?” His voice was calm yet assertive, catching everyone’s attention.

“What do you mean?” Chan asked, intrigued.

“We know this city like the back of our hands,” Changbin explained, stepping forward. “We’ve both seen the injustice around us. What if we joined forces? We could expose the corruption together.”

Jeongin, who had been unusually quiet, nodded in agreement. “Yeah, instead of fighting each other, we could be fighting for the same cause.” He stepped closer to Seungmin, his weather-manipulating abilities shimmering in the background, ready to support their new alliance if needed.

Leeknow frowned, uncertainty clouding his features. “You think we can trust them?”

“We won’t know unless we try,” Felix interjected, his tone light but earnest. “Besides, we don’t need to fight each other. We can be a team and fight against the real enemy.”

After a brief moment of silence, Han glanced at Chan, seeking his leader’s approval. “What do you think? Can we trust them?”

Chan contemplated the proposal, his brow furrowed in thought. “We’ve always said we protect those who can’t protect themselves. Maybe it’s time we expand our definition of who those people are.”

Hyunjin, still wary, chimed in, “But how do we know they won’t turn on us once they get what they want?” “Trust is built, not given,” Changbin replied, his tone steady. “Let’s start with something small. We can help you with your next heist, and if we’re successful, we can reassess our partnership.”

Han’s face brightened at the suggestion. “I’m in! If it means taking down corrupt forces, I’m all for it.”

With their minds made up, the two groups began discussing their next move. The sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the city, painting the sky with hues of orange and pink. They gathered around, pooling their resources and knowledge, planning their next steps with renewed vigor.

“We’ll need a plan,” Chan said, his tone serious yet optimistic. “If we’re going to infiltrate that corrupt organization, we need to be ready.”

As they shared ideas, a newfound camaraderie began to form between 3RACHA and CrazRACHA. Han found himself laughing at Felix’s jokes, the tension slowly dissipating. The once hostile atmosphere transformed into a collaborative effort, fueled by a shared goal.

“You know,” Leeknow muttered, begrudgingly, “this could actually work.” He shot Han a glance, the corners of his lips twitching in what could almost be a smile.

As night enveloped the city, they moved out, taking to the streets with a renewed sense of purpose. They traveled together on skateboards and hovercrafts, cutting through the neon-lit streets of Osaka, their laughter echoing off the buildings.

“I never thought I’d be riding with you guys,” Hyunjin admitted, a grin spreading across his face.

“Yeah, it’s pretty wild,” Felix replied, doing a quick flip off his hovercraft and landing smoothly beside them. “We should do this more often.”

They finally made their way to a dimly lit bar where corrupt officials often gathered. “This is where they meet,” Seungmin explained, glancing at the entrance with a determined look.

“Let’s do this.” Bang Chan’s voice was steady, and as they prepared to step inside, he turned to the group. “We stick together, no matter what.”

As they entered, the atmosphere shifted, tension palpable in the air. They could see the shady figures huddled in the corners, laughter and whispers creating an air of secrecy. Han felt a thrill of excitement run through him. “This is it,” he whispered to Hyunjin, who nodded in agreement, his long hair cascading down his shoulders, swaying as they moved.

They quickly formed a plan, splitting into smaller groups to cover more ground. Chan and Hyunjin approached the bar, engaging the bartender with casual banter while subtly gathering information about the operations of the corrupt officials.

Meanwhile, Han and Changbin scoured the room, looking for anything that might help them expose the corruption. “I feel like a spy,” Han joked, a glint of mischief in his eyes. Changbin smirked. “You’re not wrong. Just remember, we’re here to gather intel, not to fight.”

But as they delved deeper into their mission, they discovered something alarming: the corrupt officials were planning something big—an operation that would harm the very citizens they sought to protect. “They’re planning to drain the city’s funds for a personal gain!” Han exclaimed, horror flashing across his face.

“We need to stop them,” Chan declared, his voice resolute. “This isn’t just about jewels anymore. It’s about saving our home.”

“Let’s confront them,” Hyunjin suggested, determination in his voice. “We have the power to do something here.”

As they regrouped with the others, a new sense of purpose ignited within them. They had become allies in a fight for justice, ready to face whatever came next.

In this chapter, the alliance between 3RACHA and CrazRACHA is final, with both groups committed to taking down the corrupt officials which are a vampire group enhypen. The mix of trust,friendship and shared purpose added depth to their characters, laying the groundwork for the exciting challenges that wait for them in their quest for justice. They will take down the vampire group enhypen.

Part 2 - coming soon

Will be better than this one I promise! This was like a random thought kind of rushed lmk if you actually want part 2

[defectivevillain]

this winding labyrinth, ch8

chapter eight: excarnation

pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Reader (reader is not gendered, race-ambiguous, and no physical descriptors are used)

summary:

You wish you never met Hannibal Lecter. But you yearn for his presence. You want to forget him. But he never truly leaves your thoughts. Now, you’re left to pick up the pieces of a broken design. A battle of instinct rages on in your mind—one of bittersweet relief and cloying grief, fearless resolve and poignant regret; a clashing between affection and antipathy, pride and pain. What will win, in the end? Only time will tell.

this is chapter 8, act 2 of this broken design. if you haven't read act 1 or chapters 1-7, this won't make too much sense.

ao3 version | Spotify playlist

warnings: mentions of cancer (stage 4 lung), chronic illness, self-deprecating thoughts; typical blood/violence. Gore!!! A LOT of gore. This cannot be overstated. Please take caution!!!!

Nothing haunts Jack Crawford. The criminals he places behind bars (with the assistance of his team) fade from his mind’s eye the moment they’re confined. He doesn’t have time to dwell on memories. His attention moves from one threat to the next to the next; he is purpose-driven and rarely distracted. The few nightmares he does have hit far closer to home—with Bella’s Stage 4 lung cancer suddenly spiking and causing her immense, unlivable pain. Jack’s deepest, darkest fear isn’t a serial killer ripping him apart—it’s the thought of looking into Bella’s eyes, hazy with pain, and feeling completely helpless as she suffers. 

Even so, there is one exception: one killer who will break through Jack’s barriers in the quietest of moments, when he least expects it. Yes, Jack supposes, Hannibal Lecter is a special case. He isn’t an average psychopath—he is charismatic and incredibly composed. And what eludes Jack most is the undeniable fact that the only reason they caught Lecter… was because he allowed them to. His surrender was tactical, pointed—and grounded in his conviction that he would be able to escape whenever he desired. Jack can only hope that Lecter was incorrect; can only hope that the man will rot in a cell for the rest of his life. (But he knows, deep down, that Hannibal Lecter is rarely wrong. And that troubles Jack far more than he’s willing to admit.)

In the time following Lecter’s “surrender,” Jack does not think of him. For several months, his mind palace is thoroughly guarded against any unwelcome intrusions. His attention is devoted to: 1) Bella, whose condition is slowly but surely worsening; and 2) his work with the Behavioral Analysis Unit. Admittedly, there is something else that occasionally crosses his mind—but it isn’t necessarily related to Lecter’s seemingly countless murders. Instead, it is the nature of Lecter’s affections for you that consistently bothers him. 

The look on Hannibal’s face that fateful night often flickers before Jack’s eyes, and he feels a strange sense of guilt at the memory. Because Jack was the reason Hannibal met you—he was the one to introduce you both, all those years ago. He needed you to pass a psychiatric evaluation and Hannibal seemed intelligent enough to understand that—to understand how essential it was for you to return to the field. Jack hadn’t thought that he had made a misstep until he saw the two of you together at the crime scene the Minnesota Shrike left behind—until he saw Hannibal practically latched to your side, looming over you like a menacing, all-encompassing shadow. 

Now, as Jack stands before Hannibal Lecter in his cage at the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, he feels as if he’s drowning in déjà vu. Those brown-crimson eyes pin him in place before the glass enclosure. Frederick Chilton’s interest in Hannibal is abundantly clear, Jack realizes, as his eyes wander across bookshelves, a writing desk, and other amenities that the other prisoners certainly do not have. Chilton has always been annoyingly self-serving, and Jack isn’t even sure if a conversation with him would change his behavior. It is clear that the administrator is painfully aware of the kind of opportunity Lecter’s captivity presents: a once-in-a-lifetime chance to study someone who defies all existing research. Jack personally can’t see the appeal; he is instead concerned with the lives the man has taken and the families he has torn apart in the process. He is instead concerned with the inexplicable feeling burrowed deep in his chest—the one that suggests that, despite their positioning, Jack is the one trapped in walls of glass (the pawn) while Hannibal looks on (forever the chessmaster). 

“Hello, Jack.” Hannibal greets him, looking up from his book. His eyes are twinkling, Jack notes with distaste. 

“Lecter,” Jack responds carefully, unable to keep the disdain out of his voice. Hannibal notices this and a slight smile rises on his lips. “You requested to speak with me.” And while Jack’s instincts screamed at him to ignore the request, he knew he really had no choice. If there’s a chance, no matter how small, that Lecter has information on the Tooth Fairy… Well, Jack will endure the man’s mind games. 

“I did,” Hannibal acquiesces, clasping his hands and crossing one leg over the other. Even in a nondescript white jumpsuit, he makes the gesture look elegant. “How are you, Jack?” Immediately, Jack is annoyed. He doesn’t have the patience for this. As the Head of the Behavioral Analysis Unit, he has never had much time for meaningless conversation. Every second wasted is another second for a knife to be lodged between someone’s ribs—another chance for innocent lives to be taken. 

“I struggle to believe you summoned me to engage in casual conversation,” Jack says, not bothering to hide his irritation anymore. 

“Perhaps not,” Hannibal admits with that infuriating smile. Jack has never been a particularly violent or confrontational person, yet he can now see the appeal of wrapping hands around someone’s neck and choking the life out of them. He shakes his head to clear himself of the uncharacteristically violent thought. This place—this façade of a hospital—has always brought out the worst in him. “How are you, Jack?” Hannibal asks persistently. He isn’t dissuaded by his nonexistent answer. “How is Bella?”

White-hot fury rises in Jack’s chest. He is immediately thrown back into the past, into a time when Bella felt as if she couldn’t burden him with her condition (as if it was somehow her choice, as if Jack was so selfish as to prefer ignorance over assisting his partner). He has never fully recovered from Bella’s lie of omission—and the worst part is that he understands her decision. There have been times, across the course of his career, where he concealed his own injuries so that he didn’t cause her unnecessary stress. And while their situations are entirely different, Jack still can find the commonalities in them—can still understand the need to keep your partner from experiencing any undue stress.

Jack isn’t sure how long he stands there, lost in thought, until he remembers that Hannibal asked him a question. He takes a slow measured breath. “She’s fine,” he settles for saying. 

Hannibal arches a brow. “And I suppose you’re fine , too?” He asks, his voice devoid of emotion. Yet there’s a fraction of a second where Jack sees the man’s shoulders tighten in irritation. 

Jack makes a point to take another slow, measured breath, before clenching his fists at his sides. He will have to play into Hannibal’s hand, if he wants to learn anything about why he’s been called here today. And while he wants nothing more than to lie, he knows the man in front of him will discern the truth in an instant. 

“Bella is… not well.” Jack admits. Her health is getting worse—to the point where she is mostly bedridden. Jack hates that his work keeps him from her during the day, hates that he returns to find her with a smile on her face—as if he’s not letting her down. He feels his jaw clench at the thought. 

“I am very sorry to hear that, Jack, truly,” Hannibal says. Jack suspects the sentiment is genuine—Hannibal shared dinner with the two of them, after all. Bella then reached out to him and had several meetings with him regarding her disease. And while Jack is grateful that Bella felt empowered to speak to someone about her situation, he selfishly wishes that she had just sat down and spoken to him instead. After all, her meetings with Hannibal created an awkward gap in their relationship—as Jack was forced to come to terms with the fact that the psychiatrist knew more about his wife’s condition than he did. “How are you faring?” Hannibal asks, drawing him out of his thoughts. 

“I don’t see how this is relevant,” Jack says, gritting his teeth. This idle small talk is making him more and more restless with every passing moment. 

“It is painfully relevant,” Hannibal asserts. 

“Fine,” Jack repeats angrily. He feels like a broken record. “Very well. I’ve been better.” That’s the under exaggeration of the century—he feels as if he’s falling apart, as he is forced to stand by and watch as Bella’s health deteriorates. Jack wants nothing more than to help her, but he doesn’t know how. Bella maintains that his presence is enough, but Jack still feels the visceral need to do something more than sitting silently at her side .  

“How much longer does she have?” Hannibal asks. 

“A few weeks, she’s told,” Jack answers habitually. Everything about the disease is horribly cruel. Jack wishes he could share some of Bella’s pain—or, even better, take it away entirely. But he’s not a miracle worker—he is only her husband. Jack is not a religious man—someone like him, who has chased criminals for decades, will lose faith as they see fresh horrors that question their very mortality. Yet recently he has found himself close to praying for Bella’s recovery. 

“It must be difficult to make time for her,” Hannibal says. “The FBI isn’t an accommodating employer. Not that I would know.” He says coyly. Jack feels any of his remaining patience promptly disintegrate into nothingness. 

“Enough with the small talk,” Jack demands. This is taking much longer than he would like it to. “Why did you ask for me?”

“As I said, I have information for you,” Hannibal states. 

“On the Tooth Fairy?” Jack presses.

“No.” The man responds. Jack nearly loses it right then and there. He turns around and is about to make his departure when Hannibal continues. “I have information on someone close to you.” Someone close to you. If it were Bella, then he would’ve said so. Who could this be about? 

“How did you come to possess this information?” Jack asks guardedly. He still doesn’t necessarily believe the other man. Hannibal could be deceiving him. But Jack’s already here now, so he might as well at least hear him out. At worst, the information will be useless and Jack will storm out of the building in annoyance.

“Observation,” Hannibal answers ambiguously. 

“Who might this person be?” Jack asks, despite being fairly confident that there’s only one reasonable answer. He hopes his suspicions are incorrect.

“Your best agent,” Hannibal responds, confirming his suspicions. Unease prickles along Jack’s skin. “Don’t distract my best agent,” Jack had said to Hannibal all those years ago. If only he had known how much of a distraction the man would prove to be… 

“I don’t believe you,” Jack immediately remarks. The words crawl up his throat and wrench themselves out of his lips, clinging to the tense air like a vice. 

“I think we both know that baseless conjecture would not benefit me.” Jack just remains silent. Eventually, Hannibal continues. “I have a defined sense of smell, as you know,” he says. He’s dragging this out on purpose. Jack has to resist the growing urge to snap at him.  The man must sense his quickly declining patience, because he continues. “During our first conversation, I smelled smoke.” 

“Must’ve been a fluke,” Jack interjects. If Hannibal is bothered by the interruption, he doesn’t show it. But Jack is certain that he’s annoyed—after all, he abhors rudeness. 

“That’s what I thought,” Hannibal agrees. “Then we spoke again—and I recognized the scent as the same one I smelled before. I assume there is no significant other in the picture, therefore… your best agent is a smoker.” That last remark almost sounds like a question. Jack tries to dispel it from his memory, but he finds that Hannibal has ensnared him in a verbal trap. In order to get the truth, he must divulge information that Hannibal does not deserve to know. But, when it comes to your safety… 

He decides not to answer, despite knowing deep down that his silence is enough of an answer. Instead, Jack asks the man to recount what happened in detail and Hannibal obliges. As he claims, he first smelled smoke when you approached him and asked for information on the Tooth Fairy. He wanted to inquire about it, but he wasn’t convinced of his theory. After all, the odor could’ve come from a visit to a friend’s house or a windy day downtown. The next time you visited, however, Hannibal smelled it again. He confronted you about it and you didn’t deny his accusations. Apparently, he also expressed his concerns—citing that smoking can cause lung cancer and other adverse effects. You didn’t seem to care. 

Jack isn’t sure he believes Hannibal wholeheartedly, but he also knows that the man has no incentive to lie. That begs the question, however: why would Hannibal say something in the first place? “I don’t understand how telling me this benefits you.” Jack confesses, watching him warily. 

Hannibal smiles knowingly. The gesture is fleeting. “I find myself worried,” he admits. “Smoking is terrible for a person’s health and can cause lifelong, irreparable damage.”

“You want me to intervene,” Jack realizes aloud, immediately discerning the real reason Hannibal summoned him. 

“I believe you are in a unique position—one that gives you the authority to curb such a habit,” Hannibal proposes. A dark expression flickers across his face as he stares ahead. “I pray it hasn’t become an addiction just yet.” He supplements, appearing vaguely troubled.

Jack knows the danger of making a promise to the man standing in front of him, to the Chesapeake Ripper. But he feels it is necessary. After all, if he can manage to follow through, then he’ll likely receive some good karma and cement Hannibal’s trust in him. Jack could then exploit that trust later on. Knowing that, he decides to go for it. “I’ll see what I can do,” Jack guarantees. 

“Thank you, Jack,” Hannibal responds sincerely. “You are unfailingly reliable, as always.”

“...Thank you,” Jack responds. The compliment doesn’t mean very much to him, considering the entire situation. He takes a deep breath and tries to settle the sudden onset of his nerves. Jack anticipates that you will bristle and withdraw if he tries to intervene. But Jack doesn’t really have any other option—you’re a vital component of the Behavioral Analysis Unit and he won’t see your physical or cognitive abilities impaired by anything, let alone something as harmful as smoking.  “I’ll be departing now.” Jack announces. 

“Very well,” Hannibal nods, regarding him one last time. The smile on his face sends a shiver down Jack’s spine. “It was good to see you, Jack.”

Jack doesn’t bother echoing the sentiment, instead turning on his heel and walking away. He got what he needed and will leave entirely unscathed. So why is his heart racing so thunderously in his chest? 

Jack soon understands when he finds himself standing before you, attempting to decide how to best confront you. Because this is, ultimately, a confrontation—an intervention that you will likely not appreciate. But it’s a necessary evil, Jack tells himself. 

Eventually, he just decides to cut to the chase. He’s never been one to sugarcoat things. “You’ve been smoking.” Jack says cavalierly. 

You stare at him, eyes widening for the briefest of moments before the emotion is being reigned in and suppressed. Jack can’t help but think of that emotional control written on someone else’s face—in the brown eyes gleaming with crimson and the wry turn of lips. “No, I haven’t,” you respond smoothly. 

Jack is not fooled. He has considered everything he’s seen—has digested the evidence (or, in this case, the utter lack of it). “Don’t lie to me, Agent,” Jack sighs, exasperation and irritation battling for prominence in his voice. He’s a bit disappointed that you think you still have the ability to lie to him—that you can hide such things from him. 

“How did you know?” You then ask suspiciously, shoving your hands in your pockets. “I haven’t been smoking at work.” And somehow, Jack knows you’ve been taking meticulous showers—and ensuring that the smell doesn’t reach your work clothes. That’s the only explanation for the complete lack of sensory input. 

“That doesn’t matter,” Jack eventually settles for saying. How he became privy to that information isn’t important. What is important is the truth of the matter: that you’ve been putting yourself at risk. 

“Who told you?” You demand, ascertaining what Jack fails to utter. He locks eyes with you and, somehow, you seem to find the answer in his gaze. “It was Hannibal, wasn’t it?”

Jack is still quiet. It’s cowardly, but he doesn’t want to utter the words—that will usher in a whole new horrifying sense of finality. He knows you’ll get an answer from his silence anyway; indeed, you study him for a moment before nodding resolutely and walking away. He watches you depart with a tight feeling in his chest, inexplicably convinced that he just crossed a line he can’t come back from. 

Standing before Hannibal Lecter’s cell, you’re overcome with the knowledge that you shouldn’t have visited. Irritation, anger, and (unjustified) betrayal prickle along your skin and pull your hands into clenched fists. You can cope with the former emotions, but the latter? You should not feel betrayed—because betrayal implies that, to some degree, you trust Hannibal. Even after everything he’s done to you. 

You shake your head and take a deep breath. It’s too late to go back now. You’re already standing in front of his enclosure. He has already seen you, even if he gives no indication that he has noticed you. 

“You told Jack.” The accusation crawls from your lips before you can attempt to stifle it. It’s raw, pained, emotional—in all the worst ways. You’re wounded prey before a hungry predator—tempting it with what it desires. Hannibal wants to see you affected by his actions, and you’re fulfilling that desire. After all, you’re not so foolish as to think that Hannibal genuinely cares for your physical wellbeing. You’ve made that mistake—assuming the best of him—far too many times in the past. Even behind this glass wall, Hannibal is the puppetmaster. But you refuse to be his puppet. 

“Hello,” Hannibal responds. He closes the book he’s holding and looks up at you. You’re not convinced that he just now focused his attention on you; no, the moment you stepped into the hall, he sank his teeth into you. “You must know it’s polite to start a conversation with a greeting. And I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.”

“Hello, Dr. Lecter,” you seethe. You’re not feeling very charitable today, so you don’t bother to pretend that you’re composed. “You know exactly what I mean.”

“Do I?”

“Yes,” you remark, finding it increasingly difficult to be patient. He’s drawing this conversation out on purpose. He senses that it irritates you, so he keeps doing it. You try to stay focused. “You told Jack that I was smoking.” Your teeth grit at the memory of your conversation with Jack, at the disappointment hidden in his words. Lately, you can’t shake the feeling that you are nothing more than a problem to Jack. 

“You presume Jack didn’t know before,” Hannibal assesses. 

“I was doing a rather good job of keeping it hidden from him,” you argue, crossing your arms over your chest. Indeed, you went to extraordinary lengths to ensure Jack didn’t notice your new habit. You only smoked outside your home, in casual clothing that Jack wouldn’t see you wear. Not to mention, you always kept your lighter and cigarettes concealed in your pockets discreetly. No, you made sure that Jack wouldn’t notice. 

“Were you?” Hannibal questions. 

“Stop doing that,” you snap, abandoning pretense. He’s parroting your words back to you—asking questions that don’t advance the conversation. “It’s annoying.”

“Very well,” Hannibal says with an amicable shrug. Something about the nonchalance dripping off of him is both non-threatening and sharpened to a fine point. Everything about the man before you is a contradiction. He is nothing but a twisted, tangled mess of paradoxes. Hannibal Lecter is companionable but lonely; compassionate but cruel; deceptively ordinary but horribly, dangerously different. He is only noticeable when he wishes to be. Nothing about him is as it seems.

You stare at the man before you: the Chesapeake Ripper. He is a killer who has upturned your entire life—ripping the rug from beneath your feet and ensuring that you will never know stable footing again. Rage bubbles and froths beneath your skin, compelling you to itch at your forearms in a futile attempt to rid yourself of the overwhelming feeling. This match’s players were decided long before the game even began. Are you forever doomed to be his victim? Do you stand a chance against fate? 

“Do you remember?” Clark Ingram croons. “Ripping apart the skin, digging your hands into the matter that gives an organism life? Do you remember that your hands didn’t shake? Do you remember washing away the blood? Is it still on your hands?” 

Spots float across your vision. You blink them away; when you open your eyes again, you see Abel Gideon standing behind the glass wall in front of you. His eyes are hazy and unseeing, yet he seems to stare into your very soul. He reaches a hand out, then another, and you instinctively bring your hands to your neck, if only to wrench his grip away- 

“You.” Garret Jacob Hobbs whispers. “You’re just like me.” 

And suddenly Gideon is reeling back, a bullet carving a neat path through his temple. Blood slips down his face in crimson rivulets; his eyeballs slip and roll in their sockets, before falling out—leaving them to dangle ominously, with only the optic nerves to keep them anchored. Gideon opens his mouth and his teeth crumble and rot, blackening and decaying to dust in his mouth. 

Suddenly his visage shifts, and you’re staring at Miggs—who is staring back with wild eyes. He lets out a truly bone-chilling laugh, his jaw extending further and further until it’s snapping off and ripping through his skin. His tongue slithers down his chin, traveling down his body and resting in a scarlet puddle on the floor. His eyes are bloodshot and frozen as they spin faster and faster-

A blur of motion draws your attention to the left, and you watch in muted horror and shock as a pale hand reaches towards you, beckoning you closer. You lock eyes with Franklyn Froidevaux; a pained noise leaves your lips as you watch his hand snap and break, bending and curling backwards in a manner that is not physically possible. With clawed fingers, Franklyn brings a hand to rest in the air near his chest and you hear ringing in your ears. In a fluid motion, he impales himself. His free hand mimics the motion and your stomach stews as you see him grasp adjacent ribs in each hand, before brutally ripping them apart to bare his chest cavity and free his heart. The organ pulsates in the open air, and past the disgusting squelches of blood, tissue, and biological matter fleeing further down his chest and hitting the ground, all you can hear is his heart pounding in your own ears-

There is a hand on your shoulder. You inhale sharply and immediately turn around, prepared to fight off another criminal—another one of your victims—when you lock eyes with Frederick Chilton. It takes you several moments to come back to your body and ground yourself in the present moment. Your breaths are arriving and leaving far too fast; there’s sweat collecting at the back of your neck; your hands are trembling; your throat is extremely dry. 

When you can finally move past these physical sensations, you realize that Dr. Chilton is staring at you with glittering eyes. The concern on his face almost seems genuine, which is all the more concerning. 

“Time’s up.” He says, a modicum of sympathy in his voice.  

You cough to clear your throat, wincing at how tight and scratchy it feels. “I just got here.” You answer raspily, trying to shrug his hand off of your shoulder. Chilton’s grip only strengthens.

“I gave you an extra ten minutes,” He says softly, looking at you worriedly. His grip on your shoulder is tight and you quickly shake it off. This time, he lets you. “It’s been an hour.”

An hour? Surely that’s not right. You glance at your watch, only to find that it has indeed been an hour. Sensing a gaze boring into you, you remember Hannibal’s presence. Glancing at him, you find that he has a blank expression on his face. Have you really been standing here, rooted to this very spot for an hour, with the Ripper right in front of you? What did he do, while you were lost in phantom worlds? Did he observe you with a sick fascination, reading through research in his head? Your stomach churns at the thought of being so vulnerable in front of Hannibal for such an extended period of time. The security in this place is not nearly enough to make you feel safe in front of him. Hannibal can overcome any obstacle, if he desires. 

You take a shuddering breath in and nod at Chilton, turning towards the door. Hannibal utters a goodbye, but you’re too lost in your thoughts to hear it. This meeting was an entire waste of time, but, then again, what were you expecting? Did you hope to have a reasonable conversation with the Ripper? You’re not sure why you bothered showing up in the first place. A small part of you wonders if this is all an act of elaborate self-sabotage—if you’re setting yourself up for further pain with every new conversation with Hannibal. 

Regardless, the events of today serve as a reminder: Hannibal is confined within these halls, but he still has enough power to manipulate the outside world—enough to manipulate your life. You dig your nails into your palms and walk down the hall, your footsteps echoing throughout the space. You’re so rattled that you don’t notice Chilton’s grip remaining on your shoulder, nor do you notice the malicious glare Hannibal sends him in response.

next chapter

endnotes: Avoiding pronouns here was very difficult, so apologies if the conversation between Jack and Hannibal is a bit awkward. But I’m still committed to ensuring the reader’s gender is ambiguous, so… awkward phrasing it is.

Here was the original dialogue I was going to use for the conversation between Hannibal and the reader. I ended up scrapping it, but I still think it’s a fun idea:

“You’re a bastard. You know that?” “I’m afraid that’s a new one,” Hannibal says, a small mirthful smile slipping onto his face.

Jack takes a bit more of a *proactive* approach to combating your addiction in the next chapter.

I am proud of myself for the gore. Heehee.

thx for reading! hope you enjoyed :3

check out my other works, sorted by fandom.

friendly reminder that i don't give permission for my writing to be shared to other sites, stolen, copied, translated, or used in any way. thanks!

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[wifeofsnowbaird]

You put a spell on me

Part 1/Part 2/Part 3

Masterlist

[ Billy the Kid (Tom's version) x desi!oc]

[A/N: if you haven't got it yet, or ur not brown, I named her sheila bc offf......the song sheila ki jawani. its too good 🥲🥲🥲, also if u havent seen that one edit in part one, i did say that i forgot about the civil war but edited both parts to include why shelia is a slave even though the civil war fought against slavery]

Warning: gore, violence, gun and knife violence.

Summary: Sheila, the 'slave' according to her, just met Billy the Kid, but they're surrounded by the cowboys employed by Edward Mason to catch all stray slaves.

The poster was ruined, and tomatoes littered on the muddy ground next to the tree where it was posted. She suddenly had a feeling that, yes, Billy was an outlaw, but most poor people loved criminals, fighting for justice, yet he was hated.

“ You’re the infamous outlaw, Billy the Kid. You know the sheriff around these parts is looking for you.”

“ Yet, I just met a person who has been unjustly forced into servitude, doesn’t that sound odd?”

She frowned, eyes gazing at the ground, bitter at his confidence.

“ They’re British, and I’m Indian.”

“ But this is America, it’s illegal here.”

“ But they don’t care, we’re in the south, pretty boy.”

A smug grin caught her eye, Sheila wanted to smack it off his beautiful face.

“ Mos’ people call me Billy, but ‘m glad ya think ’m pretty.”

‘Pretty boy,’ had only slipped out because he was crowding her vision with his eyes, people with eyes that aren’t brown tend to do that, or maybe that was just the British because he didn’t seem so attached to his sapphire irises as most people she’d met are.

“ I-”

Sheila was cut off by the sound of stampeding horses coming straight for her, guns swinging, and the face of Edward Mason glaring through her vision.

When Edward saw the cowboy standing near his ‘slave’, he rejoiced, assuming that Billy would help him carry her back to the warehouse.

“ Oh my! Thank you for finding my wretched slave! Now pass her over…” His threatening voice caused Sheila to give Billy a wry smile, expecting him to give her to that deranged slave owner. Even if he believed that slavery shouldn’t be performed, he was human, and all humans are greedy and selfish.

Sheila deemed William H. Bonney to be the same.

She closed her eyes, feeling her mother’s hand graze her cheek with the same warmth she’d felt four years ago, back in the tent her family lived in. She’d known she wouldn’t last long before the Masons caught up with her, she just hoped that there was some form of mercy in their veins.

“ No. I like ‘er, I think I’ll keep ‘er for myself, ya know?

AHAHAHHAHAHAHHAHA

sorry it took soooo long to finish writing this, im in the middle of a writing and reading slump :,(

[rizatouchesthewalls]

Gotta Catch Em’ All!

trainer!hobie brown x gn!trainer!reader

text that is small is an optional detail!

pls give advice on hobies accent

fluff, headcanons + mini scenarios, pokémon-au

POKEDEX: HOBART BROWN

Name — Hobie Brown

ID No. — XXXXXX

Britain Pokedex — Earth-136

Money — Thief!

Battle Points — 947283

He’s a menace to say the least. Not in a quirky but in a way where he’s actually a national problem.

He likes Fairy and Ghost types. He feels like people aim for physical and elementally strong Pokémon because they’re known to be efficient; but who said that he couldn’t beat them? Snap out of it!

He found Mimikyu one day behind a brush in the woods

Love at first sight fr

He gave it a spiked collar and a spiked-mohawk-headband

He doesn’t use Pokéballs unless Mimikyu is seriously injured and there’s no where to rest at the moment

“It’s just controllin to keep em in there.”

No doubt about it he’s one of the greatest trainers you’ve ever seen

Him being pretty helps too ig

“A-and he just stole from my mansion—!” The exasperated man shouted at you. “Aren’t you trainers worth any good? Use your Pokémon to stop him!”

“Yeah yeah old man, I got you!” You lazily scanned the area and went around the back of the mansion.

Everything’s normal so far until you see a large picture on the porcelain white walls of the mansion.

There was a large “mural” in black, dark blue, and red. In huge letters it wrote: PUNK-MON WINS! Noticing that the thief was still finishing the painting you turned the corner and walked towards him. He had a mask on and held a spray can in his hand.

“Yo—!”

“Ki-ki-ki-kyu!!!” You felt something slash at your leg, causing you to crash to the ground.

“What on earth is that?! Your scary Pokémon just bit me or something!”

The tall boy picked it up. Speaking of which, what was that thing? It looked like a wannabe Pikachu with spikes attached on it’s head. “Good little Mimikyu, beatin’ up stalkers whereva you see ‘em.”

“Stalkers? Huh—hey you mean me! I’m not a stalker!”

He helped you up. “You betta not be a copper.”

You glared at him. How are you gonna trip someone and then accuse them of trying to arrest you? Who is this loser?

He removed his mask.

Suddenly you’re not mad anymore.

“Aha, um… I see we got off on the wrong foot.” You batted your eyes. “Emphasis on foot… what is that thing?”

“This TING!!! Is my baby. My punk bunny. Mimikyu say hi!” The little creature garbled and babbled away.

“Was that ‘hi’ or possessed screeches?”

“Ion even know m’self to be honest.” He looked a little disturbed by Mimikyu, but then smiled. “My name’s Obie Brown, and I’m the number one criminal of rich-heads like this around town.”

“Very cool Hobie Brown. Only problem is that rich-head thinks Pokémon are the cause of all this vandalism and he’s trying to take down all the gyms in this area.”

“Oh!”

“Oh.”

“Right then. WE’RE GOIN TA KILL A RICH GUY!”

“Ki-kyu-ki-ki-ki-kyu!” Mimikyu excitedly garbled.

“WE’RE GOING TO WHAT?! HEY WAIT I WANNA JOIN IN!”

You couldn’t believe you were robbing the house of guy you promised to help. At least it’s not like he needs said money anyway—he has a whole nother vault on a separate island. The goal was to strip the old man of everything he owned in this mansion.

You wedged the metal bar Hobie had lended you inti the crack of the safe’s opening. “Darn. [Poke!Name], a little help here?”

Your Pokémon croaked a little noise and threw an attack at the metal door, which surprisingly made a big enough dent to pull at.

The doors hinges dropped and inside revealed a tomb of gold and stacks of money. Including golden Pokéballs.

“Woah…”

Alright! No more marveling. Here was the hard part of the mission—getting all of the things into the cheap school bags you had stolen bought and throwing them out the window.

Needless to say, it was a rather taxing job. You were constantly on your toes watching out for a stray maid or butler to come in.

“Okay! [Poke!Name], we’re finished. And no thanks to you… You’re lucky I love you.” The moment you slightly pushed the vault door open an alarm blasted. You winced as the painful ringing echoed in your ears. “It must’ve not been triggered when we blasted through it, but opening it does.”

You managed to hurl some bags at the window. But your own escape was more difficult—and you could heart the rapid footsteps coming down the hall.

“Darn—!”

“DOWN HEYAH!”

That familiar British voice! You stuck your head at the window and saw Hobie with outstretched arms.

“JUMP DOWN! I’LL CATCH YA!”

“ARE YOU COOCOO FOR COCOPUFFS?”

“TRUST!”

You anxiously rubbed your arms as you heard the servants working on the entrance door. Who would win: your fear of heights or your fear of jail?

“Open up!”

Darn, darn, darn, darn—

Your Pokémon pushed you out the window. WHAT?

You were falling—you were falling—you were going to meet your death—

“Ya not fallin anymore you damsel in distress.”

You blushed out of embarrassment and got out of Hobie’s arms. “Ahem, thank you.”

He suddenly grabbed your hand tightly and started running away from the mansion. “So, what’s the name? I never caught it!”

You sighed. You really got yourself into some sort of mess. “[Name]. Your new partner in crime.”

“That’s the spirit!”

“I WAS BEING SARCASTIC.”

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Christopher Mathias at HuffPost:

Donald Trump’s 2024 campaign rhetoric echoes the racist screeds written by white supremacist mass shooters; the chants of the tiki torch-wielding neo-Nazis who marched in Charlottesville, Virginia; and the disgusting, profoundly false theses penned by eugenicists and so-called race scientists.

Although he launched his successful 2016 bid for the White House by labeling Mexican immigrants “rapists” and calling for a ban on Muslims entering the U.S., the severity of the GOP presidential nominee’s rhetoric this election season marks an escalation — one that has seen some political observers, once hesitant to call Trump a “fascist,” suddenly more at ease with the label. “People were very careful early on not to compare him to Hitler, and to not use the term ‘fascist,’ because people thought it was an exaggeration,” Ernesto Castañeda, a professor at American University who directs The Immigration Lab and the Center for Latin American and Latino Studies, told HuffPost. “When he was in power, it was not a fascist regime, but his campaign rhetoric right now — the rally [that] took place in Aurora, Colorado, I listened to the whole thing, and it could have been a Nazi speech from a reel in English. The people shouting, the people saying hateful things and the crowd going crazy. He had clips of incidents with immigrants committing crimes, running one after the other, from different media sources, credible and otherwise. It was really, really emotional. Really, really trying to move somebody that wasn’t informed.”

[...] Such rhetoric has become boilerplate in Trump speeches, interviews and social media posts. In recent months the former president has called for immigrants in the U.S. to undergo “remigration,” a well-known euphemism for mass deportations with links to European fascist movements. His use of the term corresponds with his campaign promise to expel millions of immigrants from the country once in office. Trump, with support from his next-gen authoritarian running mate, Sen. JD Vance, has also pushed the lie that Haitian migrants in Springfield, Ohio, are eating their neighbors’ pets — a baseless, thoroughly debunked accusation, previously promoted in the state by a neo-Nazi group, that recalls historical fascist narratives depicting marginalized groups as savages. (Such anti-Haitian racism was especially pronounced among American white supremacists in the 1990s, with former Ku Klux Klan leader David Duke insisting Haitians should not be allowed in the country because they were not of “European descent.”)

Trump has also said that many immigrants — a group largely composed of Black and brown people — are “murderers,” claiming that they are immutably, biologically criminal. “Many of them murdered far more than one person, and they’re now happily living in the United States,” he said during an appearance on “The Hugh Hewitt Show” earlier this month. “You know, now a murderer, I believe this, it’s in their genes. And we got a lot of bad genes in our country right now. They left, they had 425,000 people come into our country that shouldn’t be here, that are criminals.” Aside from the statistics Trump was misleadingly citing to criticize Democrat Joe Biden’s presidency, his argument that these immigrants have “bad genes” echoes some of the most vile eugenics and race science pushed throughout American history to give systemic racism an academic sheen — and to justify horrifying policies like mass sterilization.

[...] Part of what makes Trump so dangerous, Benesch said, is the sprawling right-wing media ecosystem that works overtime to fine-tune his fascist talking points — and to spread them far and wide. She often points to how during the tribunal after the Rwandan genocide, two prominent radio executives and a newspaper editor were taken to court for their responsibility in fomenting the mass killing.

Anti-immigrant rhetoric has long been a staple of Donald Trump, but this year, such messaging has taken on a darker and more sinister turn.

[spookyboywhump]

I can relate to the frustration, but assuming this is about politics, I don't think "lesser of two evils" is a deep moral statement people believe in on a philosophical level, but just a way to cope with begrudgingly voting for a party that's the obvious choice given the only realistic alternative. It's a roundabout way of signaling how bad the implied "greater evil" is, and it pops up every election season, only to die down, since it's rooted in pragmatism rather than some serious moral shit. When (progressive) people in the US vote, don't they do it with an understanding that at the end of the day they'll either have to live under a government led by the "war crimes and some welfare here and there" party or the "50x the war crimes and also we need to start killing as many trans people as possible" party? Even in terms of foreign policy alone, there is not a single thing on the republican agenda that wouldn't be like, at least ten times worse (unless someone's idea of "good" is just maximizing the amount of brown people that die). And domestically? Holy shit. I don't want to spiral down into a rant on how fucked the mind of an average conservative lawmaker is, but we both know that for some marginalized people democratic rule vs. republican rule is literally life vs. death.

Just to be clear I ain’t trying to start an argument or nothing this is just my opinion on shit going on in the world.

After seeing so many people say “I know he’s committing genocide and I don’t like it either but you HAVE to vote for Biden, you HAVE to vote for the lesser of two evils” I cannot take it anymore. After seeing people yell “four more years” over people protesting an actual genocide I cannot take it anymore. I am tired of Biden being treated like he can do no wrong, and any wrong he does do should be ignored simply because “Trump Worse™️”.

I have reached the point where I don’t give a shit who wins the presidency, I care about pretty much everything under that down to small local elections. It ain’t really that I’m one of those people who thinks voting Doesn’t Work, I think it can, I think people need to worry about more than just who becomes president though. I think both candidates are evil, and I want the people who represent me and my state to be there when they’re committing evil to speak out against it. I want smaller politicians who actually have to listen to the people voting for them to run in the best interests of those like me and I want them in power in whatever office they’re running for. I think people put all their effort into the presidential candidates and ignore other elections that can still make change, even just in their home town.

I personally however cannot put my support behind this bastard after watching all this. I am tired of watching people defend him, when he wants to bypass all this shit to send weapons to Israel it’s whatever, but when it comes to Roe v Wade being overturned, when it comes to states trying to criminalize transgender people existing at all, when it comes to kids in cages, suddenly he’s “doing his best�� and he “doesn’t actually have that much power”. I find this to be a somewhat selfish take given the severity of things in Gaza and other places but all that money he’s sending to Israel could work fucking miracles for those vulnerable minority populations here. Everything I was told to fear would happen in 2016 has happened since 2020. Everything we were told would be fixed in 2020 was swept under the rug and any criticisms of it were met with “Oh, so you’d rather have Trump as president???”.

I’m a mixed Mexican transgender man. I live in Texas. I’m capable of bearing children. I am becoming more disabled by the day since October of 2023. And I don’t trust neither presidential candidate to protect me and those like me, I don’t trust neither one as far as I could throw them. I know people are gonna vote for Biden anyway, I can’t realistically tell people what to do and who to vote for, but I do think we have a responsibility to hold him accountable, we should speak up against war crimes, as long as he’s saying the US stands with Israel, we need to be shouting that we sure as fuck do not. We cannot continue to let this fear of trump hypothetically becoming president make us feel like we have to look the other way when this president is currently, actively helping to commit genocide.

[imagine--if]

i would loove some more mutually obsessive eddie and reader just them being so disgustingly in love even public they’re just all over each other constantly

A/N: So I decided to do this as a third-person kinda thing because it works awesome and there may or may not be a man in all black watching it all 🦇😍 loved writing this sm, I'm so proud of it tbh 😂

Pairing: Dano!Riddler x reader (The Batman 2022)

Warnings: Mutual obsessive loving, Batsy's a bit of a stalker 💚🖤

Words: 864

In the shadowy streets of Gotham, the gloomy, dark evening sky lets hints of rain patter down below, the neon lights of shop signs and dim streetlights fogged slightly by the atmosphere. Hardly anyone is on the streets at this time, avoiding the groups and gangs of thugs and petty criminals who lurk around the corners. But he's out there; hood up over his cap, black material pulled up over the bottom area of his face. His dark eyes wander the streets tiredly, but observantly, and as the couple crosses a nearby road onto the street opposite his, he can't help but notice you both, watch you.

There's something… odd, to say the least, about you two, though it's covered up almost completely by the way you are together. The man wears a navy coat with the hood down, and he's practically hanging off you as you walk beside him, an arm wrapped around your waist and wide, adoring eyes behind his clear-framed glasses. He looks so hopeful, so giddy, as you chat quietly to him about something, pressed up against his side as you walk. He has a wide smile on his face - the man in black notices this when you walk under a streetlight and catch its sleepy, bright gaze momentarily - and he giggles excitedly at something you say, his free hand gripping yours as he talks back.

Something makes him suddenly pull you into a corner street just to your right, and the darkly clad man slows his pace, blending in with the growing blackness of the evening as he sticks to the wall, making him naturally hard to notice. The man has you in his arms now, talking eagerly to you, and you grin in mutual happiness, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him in. The silent observer's eyes flick away from the scene uncomfortably, but can't help looking back as you two break apart from a passionate kiss with matching, lovestruck dazes, whispering to each other and completely ignoring a small group of friends who quickly walk past you and duck into another street to go home. The group glance at them too, and one makes a quiet comment to a friend next to them, but you and he couldn't care less.

And then you're off again, coming out of the sidestreet and lacing your fingers together as you wander back down the street, the man gently nodding to the next road ahead of you and leading you over to the crossing, waiting absentmindedly for the red man to switch to green. The man in black follows and waits a good distance away from you both, at the other end of the crossing, but you and he don't give him the slightest bit of attention anyway, all focus on each other. The man hugs you with a giggle, your voices somewhat clearer now you're closer, nuzzling up to your side and kissing your cheek in a needy attempt for attention. You give it to him immediately, equally needy as you hug him back and play with the ends of his brown locks.

"…didn't have to do that, Eddie," you laugh, resting your head against his shoulder, and he smiles at you with a fond shake of his head, pressing a kiss against the crown of your head.

"Of course I did, angel. He was staring at you for too long, and with that look on his face… you saw it! He was undeserving, and his response to my bringing it out only led to his-"

"I know, I know," you nod with a half-smile. "But, really, I don't care about anyone else. You know I'm yours, forever and always, Eddie."

Eddie practically swoons at the statement, pulling you in for another kiss before the cars stop moving, halted by the traffic lights.

"And I'm yours- ohh, I love you so much, darling!! Can you say that again, please?"

"We're nearly home," you tell him with a smile, "hold on, I think we can cross in a second."

All of a sudden, your eyes fall on the man in darkness, and he looks away instantly, staring at the ground in a blank panic about being seen. The man turns green, signalling you to move, and the man hears you call Eddie softly, prompting him to cross now that you can.

The man slowly looks back up to be met with the deep, scarily observant gaze of 'Eddie,' his expression unreadable as his grip around your waist tightens protectively.

"C'mon, Eddie, let's go home!"

He snaps out of it at your voice, and nods with a loving smile, letting you lead him forwards, but not before looking one last time at the man in black. The odd thing that the man can't shake is the almost crazed look in 'Eddie's' eyes, possessive and dangerous, but his meek and sweet appearance doesn't match up to the glare at all. But as you advance down the street and disappear down another leading to tall blocks of flats, the lingering feeling is all he's left with, as Eddie and you retreat to your apartment happily, never once parting fully as you go.

.・ Taglist: ・.

@bimboanime @katjourno @yoyoanaria @yaeyuuki @vinxlsketches @beenz-beenz @ghoulsgraveyard @birds-have-teeth @repostingmyfavs @r3ptiliaaa @for3v3rda1sy @glitterycheesecakegladiator @moonwritesblog @lilyevans1 @httpsunflowers @hxney-lemcn @confusedchildsstuff @phantomofthecathedral @sugahbabieexo @bokksieu @skateb0red @wilburrrsworld @philiasoul @darthcringe @felicityofbakerstreet @bloodypantomime @deadlights-darling @tianotfound @mortem-muse @ireadandream @tinyryder @kpopgirlbtssvt @truecobblepot @jessicainhell

[icaruskey]

So here’s the thing about TERFs

They’re about as much of a monolith as the trans community. 

Meaning that they have a ton of little sects that disagree with each other and cannibalize each other and can fight each other just as strongly as they fight trans people. 

This means not every individual TERF is going to believe the same thing as another. In fact many of them will not agree with what we consider General TERF Rhetoric. 

The problem is that they, like the trans community, have one strong agenda. 

Their agenda is to destroy trans people specifically because they think trans people are upholding the patriarchal standards on womanhood. And see, TERFs are radfems; they seriously think the world would be a better place if it was woman, not man on top. 

And as much as I just said that not every TERF agrees with each other, radfem has its roots in excising womanhood from manhood entirely. It’s separatism plain and simple. 

I made this post a few weeks ago. It’s now the biggest post on my blog and brought a lot of my followers here, I’m sure. Here’s the thing. 

I made that post to talk about issues that trans masculine people have with TERFs specifically because I was getting tired of the argument “trans men who use the word transandrophobia only talk about trans women.” 

TERFs of course found this and have taken particular issue with “if you’re white, they want you to produce more white babies.”  Because, you see, TERFs think they care first and foremost about women’s bodily autonomy. They tend to be pro-choice, and a lot of them are loudly proud of not wanting children themselves. There’s a lot of nonwhite TERFs too, so of course they’re extra confused by this statement. 

The thing is -- TERFs have locked arms with conservative politicians. In the US, especially since Trump but pre-Trump as well, that means white supremacists. I beg you, google American politicians who cite JK Rowling as inspiration for their conservative policies. Rowling has openly embraced being called a TERF. She is one of their loud and clear talking heads. 

Once you realize that TERFs are siding with conservative politics, you can begin to understand why I said that TERFs care only about white wombs. Once you look at the fearmongering around young AFAB people potentially sterilizing their bodies, you can see that even though TERFs claim that they don’t define womanhood by reproductive parts, they really truly do. 

They say, as a majority, that womanhood is femaleness. When you ask them what that means, they’ll say something about DNA. When you point out they don’t know their DNA, they may waffle a bit and try to fight back but it all goes back to what they can see. 

That’s why some cis women who are typically TME suddenly become TMA. Some TERF and transphobe saw them enter a bathroom and they didn’t “pass” well enough to not get beaten up. 

So, to put a final, more nuanced hat on this particular point, no, I do not think most/any of the TERFs who have seen my post actively want to force white trans men to get pregnant and carry white babies. I also don’t think that the black and brown TERFs are intentionally hurting themselves with their worldview. 

I think they got sucked into a movement with open and obvious ties to white supremacy, and I think they genuinely have such trauma and hatred for the world around them currently that they see this as the only way forward and think they can disavow the parts of TERFism that they don’t like. 

But the problem is it’s not like how there are trans criminals. Collectively as a community, trans people know there are Bad People who happen to be trans. It’s not the gotcha that conservatives, transphobes, and TERFs think it is. But the TERFs who align themselves with conservatives, who are racist, sexist, etc -- they’re the ones who get the air time, who help guide the laws to what they want. And the people that get hurt are not just trans people. 

So I hope this is a good addendum to my original post. Thank you. 

[princehrry-writings]

Angel with a Shotgun

here we go. this popped into my head after i watched a tiktok about angel shots. if you go on a date and don't feel safe for any reason, please please please find a safe way to remove yourself!! asking for an angel shot is a great way to do that!!

WARNING: tw mentions of implied SA, stalking, harassment, police, EMT's, hospitals, alcohol, being drugged, swearing,

please don't read this if any of this stuff makes you uncomfortable. i don't get graphic with anything but still, put yourself first and be safe!! i love you <3

wordcount: 1907

Harry Styles x Reader

masterlist

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It started off as a normal night. Y/n had met this guy in class and he’d asked her out for drinks. She didn’t get any bad vibes from him, none of her friends had heard anything bad about him, so she deemed him a suitable guy to go have a fun night with.

She’d met him at a bar just off campus and was having a really great night! The pair were dancing and talking and laughing, genuinely enjoying herself for the first time in a long time on a first date.

In Y/n’s experience, usually guys were creeps and girls never decided she was what they were looking for, so she had a hard time in the dating world. This guy, Jack his name is, seemed ok. Keyword being seemed.

She should have known. When he asked to meet her at a bar all the way across town, she should have put it together that he wasn’t what she was looking for. He didn’t put up too big of a fight when she insisted they meet at the bar closer to campus, that way she would know people there and be in a familiar place if she needed to get away from him quickly.

When he started making comments that were off putting to her, things she doesn’t really want to repeat in fear of actually vomiting all over the table, she starts looking for a way out. He keeps trying to play footsie with her under the table and is getting visibly frustrated at her lack of participation, so she tells him she’s going to get them another round of drinks after finishing the one that was already on the table and quickly exits the booth before he can protest.

Harry had been watching from across the room at the bar, seeing this couple who looked like they were on a first date. He watched as they laughed and talked, getting to know each other. But as the night went on, it seemed the woman was getting more and more uncomfortable.

He had told his coworkers to keep an eye out for the two in case anything was to go down, and when he sees her get up and make her way over to his bar, he has a feeling he knows where this is going.

“What can I get for you, love?” He asks her, leaning over the counter to hear her better. She sniffles a little, and takes a deep breath. Leans in before timidly asking.

“Can I get an angel shot?”

Harry’s senses are quickly kicked into gear and he nods, gesturing to his coworker that he’s gonna get this taken care of before meeting her on the other side of the bar. What neither of them had realized was that 1. Jack was walking up to them and 2. he had slipped something into her drink apparently because suddenly she could barely hold her own body weight. Harry caught her before she hit the ground and Jack rushed over, playing the part of concerned boyfriend but the bartender saw right through it.

“Sir, I’m gonna have to ask you to back up.” He tells the man, authority very present in his voice. Jack doesn’t take well to this, eyebrows furrowing and voice lowering in defense.

“S’cuse me mate, but I’m gonna take my girl home. She’s had a few too many, f’you know what I mean.” He chuckles and goes to scoop her up. Harry stops him, putting a hand on the guy's chest, stepping between the girl and this guy.

“You'll do no such thing. This girl has obviously been roofied and it’s you she was running away from. The only thing you’ll be doing tonight is talking to the police, who are making their way in right now to do with you what they will.” Harry says, watching the color drain from this bloke's face. He turned around, ready to make a full run for it but was stopped by not only the police but also a crowd of other guys who heard what was going down and were ready to step in if assistance was needed.

“I didn’t do anything wrong here! She was trying to take advantage of me!” He cries as he’s put in handcuffs and taken away.

“Yeah, it’s obvious the one who’s passed out cold because she was drugged was trying to take advantage of you.” Harry yells after him before turning around and scooping the girl into his arms. Due to the commotion and the presence of not only police but also paramedics, the premises was cleared and the bar was shut down for the night. Harry held the passed out girl close to his body, having had his coworker fetch his jacket from the break room to keep her warm now that the club wasn’t filled with body heat, and waited for the paramedics to come in for her.

When they come in and place her on the gurney, she starts to stir. Little whines and groans escape from her and the EMT’s check her vitals, deeming her stable and letting Harry know she’s going to be ok. He decided to follow to the hospital just so she has a familiar face when she wakes up and has someone to explain her situation that isn’t a scary doctor.

. *

.

It’s a few hours of unrestful sleep at her bedside and his co-worker showing up with a change of clothes for him when she finally starts to come to.

Groaning and reaching up to hold her head but realizing her arms are too heavy to move, she rasps out, “Where am I?”

“You’re in the hospital,” Harry explains, wanting to reach out and hold her hand but not wanting to startle her, “You’re ok but the doctors wanted to keep you overnight for observation.”

“You’re the bartender I asked for the angel shot aren’t you?” She questions after a pregnant pause. He hums a confirmation and she looks over his face a few times, before tears well in her eyes.

“What happened?” A few tears fall from her eyes. She can’t remember much after leaving the table, just the sight of green eyes and curly brown hair nodding at her when she asked for the shot. The rest is pretty much a blur, just random flashes of scenes she can’t quite make out in her head.

“You came over and asked me for the shot and then a few minutes later you passed out. The bloke you were with slipped something in your drink. And unless something happened at the table that I didn’t see, then nothing else happened. Do you remember anything happening at the table?” He explains, hoping her answer is no.

He’d learned her name from the EMT’s who checked your ID once you were loaded into the ambulance but he didn’t know the name of the man she was with. He realizes she doesn’t know his name either.

“No, was just being a sleazy dick. I don’t know how he could have slipped me something, I didn’t get up before I went to you. Must’ve turned my head for a bit too long. God, I should’ve known this was gonna happen!” She groans but he shakes his head.

“You can’t blame yourself for this, darling! He’s a sleazeball, a no good lowlife. S’not your fault.”

“What’s your name?” She voices, peering into his pretty green eyes.

“M’Harry,” he smiles, timidly reaching for her hand, rubbing his thumb soothingly across the soft skin.

“Thank you for staying with me Harry! For helping me…” Y/n says quietly. He shakes his head with a small smile.

“No need to thank me, pet. Would do it over and over again.”

Her smile, while tired and defeated, was enough to show him her gratitude. She feels a weight lift off her chest, hearing that nothing bad happened after she got to him.

She knows it’s probably just nightingale syndrome, but Y/n thinks Harry is terribly adorable. With his messy brown curls and tired green eyes that make it look like he hasn’t slept in ages. She thinks she could see herself going out with him, which is an odd thought considering what happened last night. You’d think that would be enough to turn her off to men for good, but there's just something about him. But now isn’t the time to bring any of that up.

“I’ll call a nurse, tell em’ you’re awake.” He voiced, making his way to the door after gently placing her hand back on the bed.

. * .

“Ms. I’m just calling to let you know the restraining order has gone through. You won’t have to worry about him anymore.”

Y/n felt a weight lift off her chest. After months of being harassed and stalked, she would finally be left alone. Harry leaned in, pressing a kiss to her cheek, stroking the loose hair out of her face.

“S’ finally over, lovie. It’s all over!.” He whispered in her ear, pulling her closer to him, rubbing up and down her thighs. She felt tears spring to her eyes, tears of relief, tears of joy, but also tears of sadness because the last few months had been some of the hardest of her life. She was ready to move on and be done with this nightmare.

When Jack had found out Y/n and Harry got together after that night, it’s like it activated something inside him. Like he thought she was just playing hard to get and he had to literally stalk her to get her attention. He seemed to think she was playing a game. Somewhere in his twisted little mind he had the audacity to think she actually wanted him.

He’d sit right next to her every single class period and would get up and move next to her when she tried to get away with him. He’d show up at her house, sitting across the street just watching her front door, he’d call her phone and text her, he’d wait outside her other classes and follow her around campus. She complained to her university, told them what was going on and they didn’t really do anything. She went to campus security and they brushed it off because “She wasn’t in any danger. He just wants to get to know you.”

So she finally was forced to file a restraining order. Her case was still open, from when he got arrested that night at the bar. They're charging him with second degree assault and criminal harassment because apparently she’s not the only girl he’s done this to. Many other women had spoken up since news of that night had spread around campus. Yet still, the university did nothing.

Harry stood by you every step of the way, picking up the shattered pieces on hard days. He wanted to beat the shit out of this guy and he would if it wouldn’t interfere with the case. He knew you needed him and he didn’t want to chance anything.

There was a pregnant silence between the two lovers. Just letting the silence wash over them, letting themselves breath freely without this weight suffocating them, they basked in it.

It wasn’t completely over, because there was still a trial, but he wouldn’t be coming around without getting arrested again.

That was enough for Y/n to breathe easy.

[noforkingclue]

Hi! Could I request a soulmate fic with a dark!Zemo?

Of course you can! I do love a good soulmate fic! This turned out a lot longer than I was planning so I hope you enjoy it!

Title: No Escape

MCU tag list: @geocookie21, @greeneyedblondie44

Everything tag list: @greenrevolutionary, @imjustassaneasyou

When you opened your eyes you realised that you weren’t in your room. Panic settled in the pit of your stomach and you tried to move but with a sickening realisation you found that you couldn’t. You were locked in your body, in a strange place with no hope of escape. That last fact was solidified when your eyes flicked to the side.

Glass. A thick panel of glass blocked any chance of escape. Guards walked around and occasionally looked into your cell as you tried to struggle free. You closed your eyes and tried to take several deep breaths but this body wasn’t cooperating. When you opened your eyes again you saw it, the thing that replaced the panic with something far, far worse- dread.

You weren’t in your body, a strangers face was reflected in the glass. A sickening smile spread across his face as you realised with increasing horror whose body you were in. Your soulmate, the person you were destined to be with, was a criminal.

“So we finally meet.”

You woke up with a gasp, your sheets soaked in your sweat. On weak legs you stumbled out of bed and turned on your light. You looked at yourself in your mirror and touched your face. You were back in your own body, it was just a nightmare.

“A nightmare? You wound me, my dear.”

A just like that your life changed forever.

*

The second time you met your soulmate was in a dream. He stalked around you as you wrapped your arms around yourself, suddenly feeling very exposed in your summer pyjamas. He looked you up and down as you avoided eye contact.

“So young,” he said, “What have I done to deserve you?”

“I don’t know,” you muttered, “You’re the one in prison. I’m just wondering what I did in a past life to be stuck with you.”

“Don’t be rude,” he stopped in front of you, “You’ll find me more agreeable if you behave.”

“Agreeable,” you looked up sharply, “I don’t even want a soulmate.”

He was handsome, that fact you couldn’t deny. His brown eyes hardened at your words and a hand moved to cup your cheek.

“It would be wise not to test my patience,” he said coldly, “I wouldn’t like our meeting to be soured by your disobedience.”

“Disobedience?” you spat, “I’m a person not a dog.”

He looked at you in amusement but you could see a flash of displeasure run across his eyes. His grip tightened for a second before he quickly let go of you. You stumbled back and almost fell over before you glared back at him.

“How interesting,” he said, “You aren’t afraid.”

“You’re in prison,” you said, “You can’t hurt me.”

“I have no intention of ever hurting you.”

*

You gritted you teeth as your saw your soulmate again. This time you were out of the prison and walking along the streets of Vienna. You stuck your hands in your pockets as you looked around the city, fond memories emerging as you looked around. You and your ex used to visit the city regularly.

“I would appreciate it if you did not think of other men.”

You spun around and saw him sitting down by a café. He took a sip from his coffee and pointed to the seat opposite him. After a moment’s hesitation you reluctantly took the seat.

“You can’t control my thoughts,” you said, “What are you, the thought police.”

He just gave you a sharp smile before turning back to his coffee.

“I’ll admit,” he said, “You mind is a much more pleasant place than mine. I’m going to enjoy visiting it more often.”

“Unlikely.”

“You think those books you’ve been reading will prevent me?”

“How did-“

“We’re soulmates,” he said, “Our minds are linked.”

“Then why can’t I see into yours? Why can’t I see your memories?”

He gave you a soft smile and for some reason you found it oddly sad. You shifted in your seat and looked away, suddenly uncomfortable.

“You also can’t prevent me from thinking about people I cared about,” you said bitterly, “You’re older than me. Surely you hadn’t been saving yourself for your soulmate.”

You didn’t expect your words to have had any effect of him. You heard the clink of the coffee cup being put down before a strong hand reach over and grabbed your arm. You let out a cry as you were yanked to your feet and pulled roughly against his chest. You raised a hand to try and free yourself but it was no use.

“You’d be wise to watch your tongue,” he warned quietly, “Or when I finally have you I won’t be gentle.”

“You’ll never have me,” you spat, “You’re in prison.”

“We’ll just have to see about that then won’t we?”

*

“You know,” you leant against the wall as you looked out at the prison, “I don’t even know your name.”

This caused your soulmate to look up at you curiously.

“You don’t know who I am?”

“Why, have you forgotten?”

“Helmut Zemo.” He said

“Y/n l/n.” you said

Zemo looked at you over the top of his book before looking away again. You just clicked you tongue in annoyance before walking around.

“Did I say you can leave?”

“You didn’t say I couldn’t.”

Zemo moved and tapped the space next to him on the bed. You just snorted and shook your head.

“You can’t be serious.”

“Why not? You’re going to have to get used to me once I finally have you in my arms.”

“Like that’ll happen any time soon.”

Zemo’s smile sent chills down your spin but you still refused to move. He stood up slowly and closed his book as he walked towards you. You stood your ground and held your head up high as he stopped directly in front of you. Even though this was just a dream you were becoming increasingly uneasy under his intense stare. This time you were in his dream so you knew that you couldn’t escape until he woke up.

“You have nothing to be afraid of,” he said, “As long as you behave you’ll find our time together most pleasurable.”

“And if I don’t behave.”

“Well than,” he smiled, “I’m going to have fun breaking you in.”

*

“I had a wife.”

You looked over at Zemo in shock. He was looking outside your bedroom window and you had a feeling that he was deliberately avoiding your gaze.

“And a son.” He continued

“Had?”

“They’re gone.”

“Gone?”

“They were killed.”

“Oh,” you swung your legs off of your bed, “I’m sorry.”

Zemo looked over at you, a sad smile on his face. You looked at him but quickly averted your gaze. You could see the pain and love for them etched in his face. You weren’t jealous, that was his wife and child that he was telling you about. You couldn’t replace the love he held for them, soulmate or not.

“You mean that,” he said, “You genuinely mean that.”

“Of course.”

“Even though we are destined to be together.”

“I don’t know you.”

“You will.”

You shook your head. You had no desire of ever getting to know Zemo and his eyes narrowed at your thoughts. You felt awkward having him inside your room even if this was just a dream. You were thankful that the view from your windows was just a white space. You didn’t want to give him any more clues on where you lived. If you did you might have to move.

“I’ll find you.”

“Huh?”

“Whether you go I will find you. I’ve already lost one woman I loved I do not plan on losing you.”

“I cannot and will not replace your wife.”

“You’re not going to have a choice.”

You stood up quickly and marched towards him. Zemo looked up calmly at you, a sharp contrast to the rage coursing through your veins.

“I’ll fight you.”

“I know.”

“I’m not going to make this easy for you.”

“I’d expect nothing less.”

“And you’re still going through with this? Why?”

“Because,” Zemo stood up, “You are mine. You will be mine. I have no desire to break you but if you continue to resist me,” he leant towards you, “You’ll give me no choice.”

Before you had a chance to answer Zemo cupped your face and pressed a gently kiss against your lips. It was a brief kiss but you felt the intention behind it. The dark promise that you’ll never escape, his true plans for you and the certainty that one day he was going to escape and then there’ll be no place for you to run.

“Soon my dear,” he said as he rested his forehead against you, “We’re going to be very happy.”

*

You should’ve seen this coming. Ever since Zemo kissed you in your dream his had become a lot bolder. He openly stared at you, touched your more and always kissed you. He was never rough with you, he was always a gentleman, but tonight his demeanour changed.

As soon as you appeared in his dream he had grabbed your shoulders and pressed you against the wall of the grand house. You barely had a chance to look around before he had pulled you into a bruising kiss. You let out a gasp of surprise which allowed him to utterly dominate the kiss, harshly biting your lips when you tried to resist. Eventually he broke the kiss, the two of you gasping for air.

“Do you know how hard it’s been to resist you,” he said, “Seeing you in my dreams, my soulmate, so close and yet so far away. I’ve been patient for you to come around and now I need you.”

“Zemo, wait-“

“I’ve been waiting,” he said, “I’ve been waiting for long enough. Please don’t make it any harder.”

He hands grasped your wrists and pinned then next to your head as he delved back in. He was a skilled kisser and you found it harder and harder to resist. You felt him smile against your lips as he stepped in closer, trapping you firmly against the wall and his body. You moaned softly as you felt yourself melt against him.

“That’s it,” Zemo said as he broke the kiss, “Give in and I will give you everything.”

You whimpered softly as he trailed kisses down your neck before one again capturing you in a dizzyingly gently kiss. He let go of your wrists and held your hips in place. If wasn’t until he grinded his hips against yours that you realised the position you were in. Without hesitation you bit Zemo’s tongue causing him to let out a cry of shock and jump away. You slipped out from under his arms and took off running down the halls. You heard Zemo’s laugh echo after you. You weren’t going to give in.

“Do you think you can hide?” he asked, “In my house? I look forward to our games of cat and mouse. Although I should warn you, I rarely lose.”

You turned a corner and came face to face with a long corridor. You tried to open some of the doors but to your increasing dread they were all locked. You heard soft whistling follow you and you became increasingly desperate to try and find a place to hide. The soft click of shoes at the end of the corridor showed you that the game was up sooner than you wanted. You looked over your shoulder and Zemo just shook his head in disappointment.

“This is my dream,” he said, “I have control here and, if you don’t behave yourself, when you’re eventually mine.”

He walked towards you and you looked around for a place to run to. Zemo gave you a pitying look and when he was directly in front of you trailed a hand down your cheek.

“Don’t cry,” he said, “I shouldn’t have been so rough with you. I should’ve remembered that you are so young. Forgive me?”

He pressed a kiss against your shoulder as he pressed you against the door.

“I’ll be patient,” he said, “It won’t be long now until I can hold you properly.”

*

You woke up with a gasp, your sheets soaked in your sweat. Rain pounded against your window and you ran a hand through your hair. Another dream about Zemo but this time it wasn’t your typical soulmate dream. It unnerved you, you hadn’t had a dream with him in several weeks and you were becoming nervous. Your eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness then you saw it, the figure by the door. For a moment time stood still then you both lunged at the same time.

“Go effort,” said a smooth voice, “But not quick enough.”

Zemo held your wrists in one hand as he switched on your bedside lamp with his other. He was just as handsome in real life as he was in your dreams. He smiled down at you as he took your position in. You felt the blush creep up your neck. He sighed and rest his head against your shoulder.

“I told you it wouldn’t be long. Have you missed me?”

“No.”

“Don’t lie.”

“That’s the truth.”

“Hmm.”

He looked up at you as his gaze darkened.

“Now then,” he said, “Shall we continue from where we left off? I don’t like leaving things half finished.”

[reidgraygubler]

peanut buttercup (matthew gray gubler/reader)

Title: Peanut Buttercup

Anon Requested: Hi so I been asking for this request for awhile but no one seems to do it. I was wondering if you could write a Matthew Gray Gubler x Fem! Reader. And they have a 5 year old kid. They both work together on Criminal minds and play each other’s love interest. One day their babysitter cancels and they have to bring their kid to set. They have a balance taking care of a kid and filming. And can you possibly add that Matthew is filming one of his unauthorize documentary and he includes his kid. I would really love to read this.

Couple: Dad!Matthew Gray Gubler/Fem!reader

Category: fluff

Content Warning: swearing, Dad!Mgg, mentions of being sick

Word Count: 5,076

Summary: When reader and Matthew’s babysitter cancels on them on a last minute notice, they’re forced to bring their 5-year-old daughter, Tallulah ‘Peanut’, to set. Matthew and Reader have to re-learn to balance filming, on set tomfoolery, and taking care of their daughter. 

A/N: i literally love this request so much, it’s so cute and makes me feel so soft. I really needed to write some cute fluff after everything im writing, especially for a different type of high… so thank you for sending this in. i think we need more dad!mgg fluff too, we stan dad!mgg. So, meet tallulah jane ‘peanut’ gubler, and reader ‘buttercup’ gubler :))) im so soft right now. thanks for all the love and support! check out my masterlist! 

{***}{***}{***}

It was… quiet. Quite possibly too quiet. Especially for a house that has 2 actors and a five-year-old daughter. I was getting the chance to sleep in a little later than normal, and there's no husband or little girl begging for breakfast. Maybe husband took her on a morning jaunt? No, that'd be too ambitious for him, and even for her. Or, maybe he put a movie on and she's actually watching. Or maybe- frick, nevermind. I clearly spoke too soon and had my hopes too high. The pitter-patter of little feet, followed by the louder footsteps of an adult man came running into the bedroom.

"Tallulah," Matthew's voice was soft, like he was whispering but knew it'd be useless. Because once she got up into the bed, I was starting to wake up more.

"Mommy, mommy! Wake up! Wake up!" A little girl's voice shouted as she jumped on the bed. I kept the blanket over my body and groaned as a small body jumped on top of mine.

"5 more minutes," I pretended to whine as I pulled my blanket over my head. I could hear Matthew's laughter as Tallulah jumped into my body. I groaned at the sudden weight on my still tired body. "Okay, okay I'm awake," I tiredly spoke as I sat up. Tallulah fell onto the bed beside me in a fit of laughter.

Matthew was already dressed and what seemed ready for the day. His glasses sitting on his nose, and his hair falling perfectly around his face. A bizarre patterned shirt, that I wouldn't be surprised if Tallulah picked it, hung off his frame, paired with a pair of jeans and his converse. How long had he been awake? 

"I tried telling her you wanted 5 more minutes," Matthew laughed as he looked at me. I looked back at him and smiled, before looking down at our daughter, who was still laughing. Her beautiful brown and curly locks of hair, though somewhat a ratty mess, covered her face just enough to show her toothy smile and brown/hazel eyes. "She just wouldn't listen. She wanted to know what you wanted for breakfast," Matthew smiled as he sat beside me on the edge of the bed.

"Breakfast!?" I exclaimed as I looked down at Tallulah. She looked up at me and smiled before rolling around on her back. "I guess that’s up to you, Peanut," I smiled as I placed a hand on her stomach.

"Pancakes!" She sat up and looked at me. I looked over at Matthew and smiled. The amusement he wore on his face made me feel happy. Of course, no matter what his daughter did, he was amused or happy. I don’t blame him though, she’s basically the mini-me version of him.

"Pancakes!? That sounds like a great idea!" I brushed her hair away from her face, "how about you and daddy get started in those while I take a quick shower and get ready for the day?" I asked with a smile. I glanced back at Matthew, silently telling him to help me out with this. “Maybe make me some chocolate chip pancakes? Oh! Or a few apple cinnamon?” I smiled at him. Matthew laughed at my enthusiasm for pancakes.

"Sounds like a solid plan to me," Matthew stood up and placed his fists in his hips. Tallulah looked between Matthew and me before falling off the bed in a sensible style. 

"Sounds like a plan," she copied Matthew's action and looked up at him with a smile. I smiled and watched as the pair marched out of the room. 

I sighed deeply before lying back again for a minute. I knew the second I left my bed, mommy mode would have to be fully turned on for the morning. Although mommy mode was way more preferable than actor mode, I just get to be around my favorite little girl and it makes me happy. 

Time, unfortunately, was not on my side. It was nearing the time Marianne (Tallulah’s nanny) would be here, and Matthew and I would have to leave for work. Which all meant I had about 15 minutes to shower, get dressed, and actually get ready for the day.

Once I was finished showering and getting dressed, I went to the kitchen where I knew I'd find Matthew and Tallulah. The sweet smell of apple cinnamon pancakes found its to my nose. 

“Those pancakes smell amazing!” I spoke as I entered the kitchen. Matthew was standing beside Tallulah, gently brushing out her knotty hair. “I can't wait to have one,” I looked down at Tallulah, “did you help make them, Tj?”

“Yeeeah!” She exclaimed as she put her fork in her mouth. 

“Did you also help make the mess?” I looked around the counter at the mess that suddenly appeared overnight. Matthew looked down at Tallulah, who was looking up at him with wide eyes. She was obviously whispering something to him, causing Matthew to laugh. 

“That was, uh… That was Rumple Buttercup,” Matthew nodded as he looked back up at me. I crossed my arms and raised an eyebrow. “He came up here just as you got into the shower and made the biggest mess? Isn’t that right, Peanut?” Matthew looked back down at her and wink.

“Yeah! It was Rumbellercup.” She looked at me with a cheesy smile. 

“Right,” I faked an amused smile before nodding. I quietly grabbed a sponge and began wiping up the sticky flour mess on the countertop. “Well, next time, Rumple Buttercup should stick around and clean up,” I smiled as I looked over at the two.  

“I’ll take care of it, don’t worry about the mess,” Matthew winked at me. I rolled my eyes before continuing my cleaning. Well, tried to continue before being stopped by my phone ringing. 

“Phone!” Tallulah shouted as she pointed towards me and my phone. I looked up at her and smiled.

“Looks like it’s Marianne,” I looked at the screen, noticing her name, “Wonder why she isn’t here yet,” I spoke before answering.

“Hey, Marianne! We were just talking about you!” I smiled as I tossed the icky sponge into the sink.

“I’m really sorry, Mrs. Gubler,” her voice was low as she spoke. I furrowed my eyebrows and cocked my head, “I’m afraid I have to cancel. I can’t babysit Tallulah today?”

“What do you mean you have to cancel?” I asked, I honestly had my answer the second she sneezed, then coughed, then sneezed again. “You know something, it’s okay,” “I’m really sorry, Mrs. Gubler,” she spoke through a cough. I cringed as I looked over at my husband and five-year-old. I could sense that she was talking about something, and he was doing his best to keep up and understand whatever it was she was saying. 

“It’s okay! It’s okay, really. I hope you feel much better. Take all the time you need,” I insisted as I rested my hand on the counter, “We’ll figure something out. I just hope you feel better,” I frowned as I kept my eyes on the two. 

“Again, I’m so sorry,” Marianne whispered. I bit my lips back and shook my head.

“Get some rest. Call if you need anything,” I replied before hanging up. I placed my phone on the counter before going to grab things for lunch for Tallulah. 

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Matthew looked up at me as he brushed Tallulah’s hair into two pigtails. He had a certain look of worry on his face as he looked at me. I looked up at him as I made a ham and cheese sandwich. Hopefully, she enjoys a sandwich with all the fruit snacks a five-year-old could consume (which, unfortunately, was a lot), and some actual fruit. I'm sure when on our way home we'll stop somewhere for dinner or late lunch. That's hope it usually works when Tallulah comes to set with us.

“Marianne is sick. Can’t babysit today,” I frowned as I looked between him and Tallulah. Tallulah was too busy eating her pancakes and rambling about Alvin and The Chipmunks (specifically about how Theodore was her favorite, not Simon) to actually care about our conversation. 

“Really,” Matthew looked at me and dropped his shoulders. He puffed his cheeks a little bit before frowning, “No one else?” 

“I mean, I could call Aj and see if her babysitter can watch Little Miss, but that’d be a lot for one lady,” I paused as I looked down at our daughter, “Or we could bring her. You know how much everyone on set loves seeing her,” I shrugged as I looked up at him. Even though it was a lot of work bringing a five-year-old to set, we both loved it. The balance between working and taking care of her was a bit rough, but we always made it work. 

“We could do that, we have a couple of scenes together, I’m sure we could get Kirsten or someone to be with her for that time,” he looked down at his daughter before adjusting her pigtails, “Maybe even convince the writers to give Spencer and Mollie a daughter,” he looked back at me and winked. I shook my head.

“You should finish getting her ready because we have to go soon,” I pointed out. Matthew looked down at Tallulah with a smile before shrugging.

“Alright, let’s go, Peanut!” Matthew spoke as he lifted Tallulah up and stood her up on the table. I looked at the two and smiled.

“You get to come to work with me and daddy today,” I walked over to them and readjusted her crocked pigtails, and carefully pinched her cheeks, “That means you get to see Auntie Kirsten, Auntie Aj, Auntie Pag, and everyone else,” I smiled and watched as Matthew lifted her up on to his hip. 

“Yay!” Tallulah shouted once she was clinging to Matthew’s side. The two of them closely resembled a Koala. She grabbed Matthew’s face, a hand on either side, to get his attention, “Daddy’s work,” she whispered. I smiled, already looking forward to the shenanigans that was about to happen during our day. Whenever we bring Tallulah to set for a visit, almost everyone wants to spend time with her. And she sucks up all the attention. She’s got everyone wrapped around her tiny little finger. 

“Go pick out some cool clothes with daddy while I finish making your lunch. Sounds good?” I looked at her. She smiled and nodded before looking at Matthew. 

“Let’s go get out of your jammies,” Matthew spoke, tugging on her Elsa nightgown. The two walked away and towards her bedroom. I  seriously hope he’ll help her pick out something nice to wear and not let her wear a princess dress. I love it, but not today. {***}{***}{***}

“You gotta be a good girl for mom and I, okay? You can watch us while we work, but you gotta be super quiet,” Matthew held a finger up to his lips, as if he was telling Tallulah to be quiet. She smiled before copying his action. “Can you do that?”

“I can do that,” she enthusiastically nodded once Matthew set her on the ground. I squatted beside her and gave her a few quiet toys and coloring books as Matthew went to talk to one of the assistants/interns nearby. 

“Look, we packed your favorite coloring book,” I smiled as I placed the coloring book on the ground beside her. She grabbed the crayons from me and poured them out. I looked at her for a moment before standing upright.

“Are you sure we shouldn’t just have her in the trailer? It’d be safer for, well, everyone. And if we check on her every so often,” I looked at Matthew once he was back beside me. We walked side by side back towards wardrobe and makeup. 

“Nah, it’s fine. One of the interns said they’d watch her. And then we can get one of the makeup artists to watch her. You know how much they love her,” Matthew smiled at me. I rolled my eyes and shook my head as I remembered the day we visited set after Tallulah was born. Other than Kirsten and AJ, the makeup artists were the ones to not leave our side because they loved her so much. I honestly didn’t blame them. “Don’t stress so much about this, Buttercup, this isn’t the first time she’s had to come to set with up. And you know for a fact it won’t be the last time,” he stopped right in front of the door to the makeup studio. “She’ll do a great job,” he smiled before hugging me. 

“I know, I know. She’s just a lot older than she was the last time she came with us. And I know something will happen,” I sighed, pressing my face into his shoulder. Matthew laughed as he squeezed me tightly. 

“And, if she does, we’ll take a break, bring to the trailer, and calm her down. C’mon, you know she’s a great kid,” he looked down at me as he rested his hands on my shoulders. I laughed as I looked up at him.

“That’s because she’s your kid,” I nodded before stepping away from and entering the makeup studio.

Of course, luck was not really on our side. We were a few hours left of filming, Tallulah had been doing a great job, staying quiet and playing with one of the make up artists. Until she bashed her head into a table, causing her to go into full hysterics. 

“I got it, I’m done for the day anyways,” Aj looked at me from her space on the ground, away fro the raised set, “She’ll be okay. I can make all little girl boo-boos go away,” she smiled before stepping up to me. I looked at her before looking over at Matthew, who was already over soothing our daughter. 

“I owe you big,” I walked up to her, “You know we have stuff in our trailer for her. I think it might be naptime,” I looked at her, feeling the worry in my brow.

“Got it, naptime,” Aj gave me a thumbs up before stepping off the set. I watched as she carefully approached Matthew and Tallulah. Tears were still fresh in her eyes, but she was laughing at whatever it was Matthew was telling her. I could feel a smile tugging on my lips as I watch Aj grasp Tallulah’s hand, leading her away from the studio. 

“She’ll be fine,” Matthew smiled at me before pressing a gentle kiss to my lips. I hummed before stepping away from him.

“Oh, I know that, I don’t doubt. I’m just tired, I suppose,” I rubbed the underside of my nose, “But, we’re almost done,” I nodded with a smile. I was just happy we were able to get back to work pretty quickly after the temper tantrum.

{***}{***}{***}

“I think we’ve got what we needed for today! That’s a wrap!” The director shouted to everyone on set. I allowed my shoulders to slump as a yawn worked its way through my mouth. Matthew laughed as he looked over at me.

“You definitely needed those extra five minutes,” he spoke as he shrugged off his ‘Spencer Reid’ blazer. I yawned, again, and nodded. 

“Suppose that’s life with a 5-year-old,” I stepped off the set with him and walked beside him towards our trailer, “Do you want to go get that girl in question, or should I?” I raised an eyebrow once we were both in the privacy of our small trailer. 

“You should. I want to do something real quick,” he pecked my lips real quick as he walked towards the backend of the trailer. I looked down at the few toys that were thrown around the floor, before grabbing Tallulah’s backpack and sweater. 

“You want to do something? What would that be?” I asked, throwing the strap of the backpack over my shoulder. A moment later, Matthew stepped back towards me, wearing a Babygirl hat that Shemar got for him, and a purple scarf that he totally stole from me. “You look like a douchebag,” I scoffed as I turned towards the door, “You’re lucky I love you, and that we’re married,” I turned back and looked at him for a moment. 

“I think you’re the lucky one, Buttercup,” Matthew spoke to me as I stepped off the trailer. I laughed and shook my head. “Not everyone can score this,” he spoke as he gestured towards his body. I rolled my eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, are you going to let me go get our kid? Or are you going to pull me into whatever it is you have planned,” I asked with a sly smile on my lips. 

“Should probably go get Tallulah,” he shrugged as he followed beside me. I looked at him and allowed him to kiss me softly. “Good luck,” 

“I’ll need all the luck in the world,” I laughed before peeling away from him. I could hear him talking to someone as I walked away, and I could only imagine it was one of the cameramen. 

Usually Aj took her out of the studio the second the tantrum started, bringing somewhere quiet. Usually, it was our trailer, and I wouldn’t be surprised if they were there for a bit, but I knew after naps it was always snack time. So, I went towards the cafeteria.

“Mommy!” A little voice shouted from across the room. My eyes scanned around, looking for my little girl and friend. Aj was sitting at one of the tables with Tallulah on her lap. Tallulah was busy, eating chicken nuggets that Aj must’ve gotten for her. So much better than a ham and cheese sandwich.

“Hey, Peanut!” I exclaimed as I sat across from them at the table. I glanced at Aj and smiled, silently telling her thank you. “Did you have a fun time with Auntie Aj?” I looked back down at Tallulah.

“Yeah!” She exclaimed before shoving a whole chicken nugget in her mouth. I raised my eyebrows and laughed.

“We took a nap, colored, played with some dolls, and then we were hungry,” Aj looked up at me as she listed their activities during the last few hours. I nodded and leaned over the table.

“That sounds like a great time. I wish I could take a nap,” I sighed before stealing one of her nuggets. Tallulah glared at me as I munched on the food. “I wanna see your drawings!” I smiled at her. Tallulah turned and looked up Aj, asking her to show the drawings she made.

“Tada!” she beamed as she showed me her drawings. I looked down at the 4 sheets of paper with a multitude of colors. One of them was easily imaged as a family portrait and I could easily point out Matthew and me, and Tallulah. Another one was just a tornado of colors, with animal stickers placed around them. And the last two pictures were coloring pages we had printed off, a Disney princess and a picture of Alvin and the Chipmunks (again, it’s her favorite movie… And not because her dad is in it).

“These are awesome, Peanut!” I looked back up at her with an excited smile, “I’m sure you had such a great time with Auntie AJ! I can’t wait to hear about it all! What do you say to her?” I looked at Tallulah as I brushed hair away from her face.

“Thank you, Auntie AJ,” Tallulah looked up at Aj with a bright, cheesy smile. Aj returned the smile as she looked at my daughter.

“Of course! I had a wonderful time with you! You be good for mom and dad, okay?” Aj asked before offering a hug. Tallulah squealed before throwing her arms around Aj. I smiled, watching the pair interact.

“Should we go find daddy? I’m sure he’d love to see your drawings!” I asked stood up. Aj helped Tallulah to the ground before standing up herself. Aj handed me Tallulah’s stuffed animal and a few of her other things. “Thank you so much, Aj,” I smiled at her.

“Of course, you know I love watching her,” she returned the smile, “Seriously, if you need help with you, you know I’m always available, even on set,” she hugged me.

“Of course, again thank you so much,” I returned the hug before letting her leave. Tallulah watched as Aj walked away, before looking up at me with a smile, “Let’s find dad,” I smiled before offering her my hand. She grabbed it before walking beside me. I handed her stuffed animal back to her as we left the cafeteria. 

“Are you going to show daddy your pictures?” I looked down at Tallulah. She was holding a small stack of papers in her hand as she skipped beside me. Her stuffed animal was now stuffed under her arm since her hands were too busy holding her drawings and she didn’t want me to hold it. “You did a good job with your family portrait,” I looked at the papers in her hand. She was looking down at that very picture with a big smile on her face. 

“Yeah!” She looked up at me and gushed. I chuckled as she hugged her pictures close to her chest. 

“Do you think he’ll like them?” I looked up and saw Matthew at a bit of a distance, someone standing beside him as he talked. He was moving around a lot, which told me he was up to something.  

“Yeah!” Tallulah exclaimed as she added a little bit of a skip to her step. And that skip in her step told me that she was excited. Well, it was more than the skip in her step. It was also the sweet-tooth, cheek-achingly, adorable smile she wore on her precious little face. 

“Do you think he’ll… Love it?” I looked down at her for a moment. She stopped walking for a second as she looked down at the picture she had drawn. Tallulah was definitely blessed with Matthew’s sense of style when it came to art (and clothing), which was lovely. She’ll be something of an artist when she grows up, I’m sure of it. Especially when her family portrait has three people and two of them have 2 heads and 4 arms, and the other one has a tail. But, that’s okay. Matthew will most definitely love her drawing. I know I do.

“Love it! Love it!” She looked up at me as she jumped. I laughed and shook my head. She looked down at the pictures again before holding them up to me. I raised an eyebrow before taking them from her to hold. 

“Well, I know I love them,” I looked back down at her. As we continued walking, she kept talking about what she got to do with Kirsten and Aj. Her babble was still a little bit incoherent, but I knew what she was saying. God bless Kirsten though. “I’m kinda hungry, do you think daddy will let us get McDonald’s on the way home?” I looked back down at her as she grabbed my hand.

“McDonald’s?” She looked at me with wide eyes. Let me just put that into my child’s mind so she can ask Matthew. Because everyone knows it’s hard to say no to the Gubler child. No one knows better than Matthew. 

Unfortunately, our conversations ended there. Because as we turned the corner, Matthew’s voice could be heard. I looked up and saw him standing beside our trailer. The second Tallulah would hear his voice, she would be off and glued to him, instead of me. What a little daddy’s girl.

“Who the fuck is that?” Matthew half-shouted to the cameraman beside him. Even though we were a good distance away from him, I could still hear the words he was saying. I was grateful that Tallulah couldn’t hear him. We both know she’d repeat any word she knows she’s not allowed to say. And since he was standing beside a cameraman, I knew he was filming one of his Unauthorized Documentaries. “Who the fuck is that,” he pulled the cameraman and pointed him towards Tallulah and I. This man and his swearing around his 5-year-old. I swear. 

“Daddy! Daddy!” Tallulah shouted once grew closer to him. She let go of my hand before sprinting away from me and towards Matthew. When she was close enough to him, she jumped into the air and Matthew caught her. “Guess what, Daddy!” She shouted into his ear. Matthew laughed as he looked over at me. 

“What, Peanut?” He asked, swinging her around so she was on his back. Sort of like a monkey with its baby. It was Tallulah’s favorite way to be carried. “You got to hang out with Kirsten and Aj while mommy and I worked, right?” He looked over his shoulder at his daughter. She laughed as she rested her head on his shoulder.

 “Yeah!” she looked over at me as I got closer to them. I shuffled the few pictures before flipping them around to show him. “Auntie Kirsten and Auntie Aj let me color!” Tallulah, again, shouted into his ear. Matthew looked at the pictures in my hands and smiled.

“Woah! Peanut, these are awesome! Are you going to be an artist like dad?” He looked over his shoulder and at Tallulah. I smiled as I shuffled the pictures to show more of them.

“Yeeeah,” she smiled before pressing her face into his shoulder, like she was hiding. I smiled before stepping up to him. Matthew smiled before pecking my lips. 

“Little Miss and I are starving,” I grabbed his hand and swung it beside me.

“Starving?!” Matthew spoke loud so Tallulah could hear him. A little giggle came from her as she readjusted her position, “Well, we can’t have that! Where do you want to eat, Peanut?” 

“McDonalds!” 

“McDonalds?” Matthew looked over at me with a raised eyebrow. I smiled and looked down at the ground, “Let’s fucking go then!” Matthew half shouted as he jumped. Tallulah giggled as she hugged her arms tighter around his neck, almost nearly suffocating him. 

“Matthew,” I looked at him with the signature mom glare I adopted from my own mother. He looked over at me as he placed a hand on his daughter’s arms. He knew exactly what the glare was meant for. Swearing in front of our 5-year-old. Of course, we both knew that wouldn’t be the first or last time he’d swear in front of her.

“Daddy said fuck!” Tallulah shouted before laughing. Matthew looked at me with an apologetic look in his eye before swinging Tallulah off his back and on to his hip. I cocked my head as I placed my hands on my hips. “Fuck!” She repeated, shouting the word at Matthew. And, again, this wouldn’t be the last time she repeated a swear word.

“Now, Tallulah, that is a mommy and daddy word. You know you shouldn’t say that. Just because mommy or daddy does, doesn’t mean you can,” he looked at her. She pouted before nodded. Thankfully, she actually understood when to not say swear words, she also understood what “mommy and daddy” words were. “Got it?” Matthew looked at her with furrowed eyebrows. She looked up at him and stuck up her thumb.

“Got it!” She smiled before throwing her arms around his neck. Matthew laughed before picking her back up.

“Now, let’s go get some happy meals,” Matthew spoke as he pointed towards the direction of our car. I sighed deeply, walking the opposite direction towards our trailer, knowing they’ll both know we need to stop by there before we leave.

{***}{***}{***}

“She asleep?” I asked, glancing away from my script as Matthew entered the room. He pulled his shirt off as he went towards his closet.

“She’s always insistent on Rumple Buttercup, but almost never makes it to the end,” he laughed as he put his pajamas on. I smiled as he sat on the edge of the bed.

“Maybe it’s time you wrote a second one… Give Rumple Buttercup a brother or sister,” I laughed as I rubbed a hand on his back. He looked over his shoulder with a smile before getting comfortable in the bed beside me.

“You know… I’ve been thinking,” Matthew started as he moved closer to me. I looked up from my script and over at him with a raised eyebrow. Something was telling me he wasn’t going to continue talking about a second Rumple Buttercup book… “What if Tallulah had a little brother or sister,” he asked as he looked up at me with puppy dog eyes. I couldn’t help but burst out with laughter. I felt bad for my laughter, mostly because I knew he wanted a second child. But, we were running slim on time with that.

“She is too much of a daddy’s girl to share with anyone, including me, Matthew,” I closed my script as I looked up at him. He looked genuinely hurt with my laughter and comment. “Besides, I thought we were good with the one,” I gestured towards her room.

“But, what if we had another one,” he shrugged. I dropped my shoulders and sighed, but kept a smile on my lips nonetheless. “C’mon, two! That’s a perfect number!” “Two is a perfect number,” I swallowed roughly as I looked down at the bedding in front of me. I couldn’t help but allow the smile on my lips to grow. “And she wouldn’t be alone on family trips,” I mused as I glanced over at him. Matthew was looking at me with the excitement of a kid in a candy store. “You don’t think we should talk about this first? I mean, Matthew, you’re almost 40, I’m nearly 35...” I let out a small laugh.

“I think we just talked about it! And to me it sounds like we both want it,” he smiled before pressing his lips to mine. I hummed before moving away from him. 

“Okay, okay, we can try. But not right now. I’m exhausted. Maybe once Marianne is better and we don’t have to take Tallulah to set. Because that was so exhausting,” I ran a hand through his hair and smiled, “Fair?” 

“Fair,” he smiled before kissing me softly, “Love you,”

“I love you too,” 

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