#them and the belief brooklyn was alive got me through

[eka-paige]

CHAOS THEORY SPOILERS

When Kenji revealed him and Brooklyn broke up I was so scared that meant dinostar was real, THEN DARIUS SAID HE WAS IN LOVE WITH HER then he said that she didn't feel the same way, no hate to anyone but if I can't have Kenlynn no one can be happy 😭

[gingerwritess]

I was watching Brooklyn 99 and felt inspired by the dialogue. “Am I just a piece of meat to you?” “Yes. Now put on a smile, pork chop.” I just got strong pre dating idiots vibes when I thought about it.

“You.”

Tony Stark slams his hands down on the bar top.

“You are the one dating Dr. Who, yes?”

“Actually,” you sigh and take a sip of your beer, “I’m one of your employees, thank you very much, and you recently promoted me.”

“Well of course I know that.” He chuckles and slides into the seat next to you, raising a finger at the bartender. “I don’t mean that in any disrespect. I hear you’re a whiz in the language department?”

“One of my stronger suits, I guess.”

“We’re thinking of moving you up a few more levels.” The bartender slides him a glass; Stark clinks it against your bottle with a small smile. “I’m…not supposed to tell you yet.”

Stay cool. Stay cool.

“That’s neat.” You laugh nervously—what the hell are you supposed to say to that?? “I appreciate it, Mr. Stark.”

“Tony,” he corrects with a smile. “Thing is, you’d be working at the same level as loverboy over there, which from what I’ve heard, is quite the workplace love story?”

He tips his glass towards Loki—Laing—who seems to have decided that standing in a corner alone, watching everyone else mill about while still wearing his lab coat, is normal human behaviour.

Well…okay, maybe he’s not too far off. Dr. Banner is doing the same thing over in that other corner.

“We’ll just break up,” you blurt before you can stop yourself—then mentally slap yourself across the face.

“Wow. Okay, well, uh, that’s unnecessary,” Tony laughs. “Unless you’re looking for a way out, all you’ve gotta do is fill out a quick form just for HR to keep on record. Y’know, just to make sure he’s not using our rooms, equipment to give you any private checkups…”

You choke on your drink, spewing beer across the bar top.

“That’s not gonna happen,” you cough, furiously shaking your head. “Really, I swear, we don’t—no, god, no, we don’t do that.”

Tony’s eyebrow quirks. “Sure. Just fill out the form for me and we’ll get you movin’ as soon as we can, alright?”

“Yeah,” you breathe. “Yeah, of course! Thank you, Tony!”

He winks and pushes off the bar, heading back out into the crowd—stopping to shake Laing’s hand and engage him in a quick little conversation.

Oh, if only he knew.

You’ve been trying to avoid him all night, trying to make this first little (okay, unnecessarily giant) staff “meet your bosses” party as enjoyable and progressive to your career as possible.

Judging from the fact that you just spoke to the boss of all bosses over a beer about your love life…things are going pretty well.

Yeah, you can risk a quick chance to mock how awkward Loki looks at this party.

“Hey, loverboy.”

You slide up next to him and bump his hip with yours.

He just nods.

“Enjoying yourself?”

Shaking his head, he brings his glass of dark liquor to his lips and downs it in one gulp.

“Holy shit,” you laugh as he lowers the glass. “That bad, huh?”

“It’s been an interesting night,” he sighs, running a hand through his blond hair.

“Same here. I got promoted, like, a week and a half ago, and Tony Stark just told me they’re moving me up even higher.”

He glances over at you, finger tapping the rim of his glass. “You, too?”

“What?”

“I was promoted as well,” he explains, pushing off the wall and heading back towards the bar, you trailing not far behind. “I now have access to the scans of the brain belonging to a certain super soldier.”

Your jaw drops. “You’re joking.”

“Afraid not.”

“Holy shit,” you breathe, mind spinning. “You’ve barely been here a month, how the hell did you pull that off??”

Glass refilled, he raises it and clinks it against your half-finished beer with a lopsided grin. “I have my ways, darling.”

“Nuh-uh, tell me how you did that.”

“Robert Laing is the most qualified person in this building,” he chuckles, clearly enjoying your bewilderment. “I have…eight? Eight PhD’s, putting me even over our beloved Dr. Banner, and I may have told them I’ve worked for SHIELD for over a decade.”

“God of lies,” you mutter, spinning back around on your stool to slump against the bar top. “So that’s why I’m getting promoted, too, right? What’d you tell them about me?”

He cocks his head. “What do you mean?”

“I got promoted to the same level as you. You lied about me, too, right? Said I worked with Howard Stark or some shit, just to help your little charade?”

“No…” he slowly shakes his head. “You earned your promotion by your own hand. All I’ve ever said about you is that you’re good in bed, don’t flatter yourself.”

“Y’know, sometimes I forget I hate you. Then you remind me.”

Loki raises his hands with a laugh. “Only speculating. I have to act the part, don’t I?”

“Robert Laing doesn’t need to be a class A douche,” you groan, dropping your head to your hands. “How about you make your fake self a sweet, dorky guy with a soft heart? Not some dick who’s only with his girl for the sex?”

“He’s a minimal effort character,” Loki replies smoothly. “Being two people at once is rather trying. If I spend too much time trying to be Robert, I could lose focus and let my duplicate slip.”

“And how terrible would that be—”

“Careful,” he cuts in, leaning towards you to speak low in your ear; “do I need to remind you what could happen if you intervene with my cover?”

“I know who you are,” you snap, grabbing a fork off the bar top and jabbing it into his stomach—he’s a little too close. Two can play this game. “And you just got yourself promoted to work right alongside your big bro. All it’ll take is one good yell from me and you’re back where you started, Loki.”

He scowls, teeth gritting in your ear. “Go on. Stab me, right here. Tell my brother the truth, show everyone here who I really am.”

“Maybe I will,” you hiss, pushing the fork into his gut a little harder. His fingers wrap around your bicep and squeeze as he starts to laugh, quiet and low, his breath tickling your neck.

“So fearsome.”

You grab his glass and slosh the drink in his face, dripping down the front of his precious lab coat.

“Aren’t I?”

With that, you hop off your seat and wrench your arm from his grip, leaving him sputtering at the bar behind you.

Of course, your smug satisfaction is momentary, screeching to a stop when a large hand wraps around your bicep again and with a sudden gust of wind, you’re no longer walking away from the bar.

“Not another word,” Loki hisses, fingers still tight around your arm. “Seems that I haven’t made myself clear enough as to the discretion our little arrangement.”

Your back hits a wall—and something else, crashing to the floor as you try to yank your arm out of his grip.

Ah. Mops.

“You are so—hmph—predictable,” you grit out, struggling to find your footing amidst the dark janitors closet. “You’d be a wonderful fanfiction character from 2012, whisking damsels off to dark closets—”

“Romantic, I know. Now stop—moving—” Loki grabs your other arm when you punch him in the gut and try to duck away, pushing you back against the wall—ooh, he’s almost sort-of panting. Guess he’s not invincible after all.

You stick your nose in the air, stomping your foot with a small huff of annoyance when you find you can’t cross your arms. “What now, Robbie? Gonna kill me or kiss me?”

“Robbie—oh, kill you. Definitely, without a moment’s hesitation, kill you.”

The knife to your throat was expected. So far almost every interaction you’ve had with this lovely old god has ended with one of you at the other’s throat, so you’re not exactly surprised.

You clear your throat, attempting to roll your eyes at the god pinning you to the wall. “Predictable,” you mutter, kicking pointlessly at his knees.

His eyes narrow, jaw clenches, fingers tighten around your arm…and he lets go.

He heaves a huge sigh, twirls the knife around his finger and pockets it, stepping away from you.

“Contrary to popular belief,” he says, long fingers pressing to his chest, “I don’t actually crave blood on my hands.”

“Couldn’t tell,” you scowl, rubbing your neck and shoving past him to the door of the little closet. Oh, perfect.

Locked.

“You planned this, didn’t you.”

Loki smiles. “Makes you more likely to listen to me, doesn’t it?”

That might be your best glare yet. Not that he could see it, with how dark it is in here, but it still counts.

“I was trying to not have to threaten you for silence,” he sighs, having the nerve to sound annoyed with you. “But it seems that you’re not overly fond of me nor the other version of me, so you really have no one to blame but yourself.”

“You self-righteous son of a—”

“You don’t have to like me,” he cuts in, lifting his hands in front of him. “I just need you to cooperate. Otherwise…you know too much to be kept alive.”

“Y’know, if this is how you present yourself to everyone new you meet, I’m not—ugh, surprised—no one likes you.” Giving the doorknob one last helpless yank, you bang your forehead against the wall with a huff of defeat. “You’re the worst.”

“So I’ve heard.” 

He steps closer, hands still raised, palms open to you. Good, no knife this time.

This “relationship” is so screwed up that you’re almost touched by the fact that this time, he’s not trying to kill you. 

“Can I trust you? Or do I have to silence you myself?” 

You sigh, loud and exaggerated beyond belief just so he knows you’re not happy about it.

“Fine.”

“Good girl.” 

A shocked, indignant little sound leaving your throat, you immediately raise your hand to slap the everloving shit out of him for that, but he chuckles and the lock on the door clicks.

“After you, darling.” He shifts back into Dr. Laing and opens the door for you with a wave of his hand.

“I’m not your d—”

“Having fun in there?”

Okay, mental note to tell Loki that the next time he picks a random closet to teleport to, don’t pick one in the restricted levels locker rooms.

“I-I’m so sorry, we got lost,” you stammer, not expecting to have ever run into the Black Widow in a locker room at work—she and the other avengers aren’t exactly at your paygrade.  

“Lost,” she repeats, an amused grin tugging at her lips. “Okay. Laing, zip up and get out of here before I have to escort you.” 

You spin on your heel to find Loki—once again your fake doctor-lover—slipping out of the little closet, a hand in front of his crotch zipping his pants, sheepishly grinning as he tucks his shirt into the waistband of his pants.

Oh, the little shit.

“You can’t blame me,” he chuckles, grabbing your hand and squeezing—he must’ve guessed you were about to slap him, for real this time. “Actually, you can’t blame her, either…can’t resist, what can I say?”

“Sorry. We’re leaving now,” you mutter, storming out of the locker room and dragging Loki along behind you before he gets any more detailed.

“You’re doing better already,” Loki laughs as you round a corner and practically shove him into the elevator, waiting until the second the door closes to bitch-slap him right across the face.

There’s a moment of shocked silence—you’ll treasure that forever. But then…

“…was that supposed to hurt?”

For the record, it hurt your hand more than it probably hurt his annoyingly defined cheekbones, but man, did that feel good.

“No,” you growl, turning around and crossing your arms as the elevator drops. “Just wanted you to know that I could do it.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.” 

You can hear the patronising amusement laced into his voice.

“You’re the single worst person I’ve ever met.” 

He smiles, glancing over at you. “You’ve mentioned, and yet you still play along with my charade.”

“Only because you threaten to kill me!”

“I think you like it,” he hums, rocking back and forth on his heels. “You’ve at least dressed your part tonight. You could pass for a love interest.”

“So that’s it? I’m just a piece of meat to you?”

“Yes.” The elevator dings and the door slides open, the staff party still in full swing. “Now put on a smile, pork chop.”

SMACK. 

As long as you get to keep slapping him whenever he pisses you off, this little fake-lationship might just last long enough for Loki to leave. 

If anything, seeing his stunned, flushed face after your palm meets his cheek is doing wonders for your confidence.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

hope you enjoyed, please reblog and feel free to send me ideas!

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[saiilorstars]

Dare To Forget Me

Ch. 21: Birthday Blues

/ Previous chapters /

Fandom: Law & Order SVU

Pairing:  Rafael Barba x Original female character

Warnings: Due to the nature of the series’ plots, I do have to rate this as ‘mature’ for constant mentions of rape.

~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ` 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~

Chapter Summary: Montserrat makes her decision about her transfer and returns to Manhattan on the night of her birthday...the day she'd been dreading so much. Rafael wants to help, part of a way to make up to her for his past mistake, but will it turn out fine this time?

While things with Heba's case had died down, though not with a good ending, SVU gradually seemed to fall back into its normal routine that week. There was only one thing that was still up in the air for everyone to see.

Montserrat was on her way out of the bullpen while Rafael was coming in. He walked on like nothing but despite his efforts to keep going, he came to a stop anyways. He had fresh new thoughts thanks to one Carisi who, for some reason, had gotten the idea that he, somewhere along the way, had developed some feelings for Montserrat. Rafael thought that was probably the moment he ever felt so much anger towards one person. Needless to say, he'd thrown Carisi out of his office with the threat that he better not say such ridiculous things in his face again.

That had been this morning. It was lunch time now which had given him some time to think about Carisi's words, no matter how uncomfortable it made him.

"Montserrat?" Rafael had gone back to the hallway and stopped the detective halfway towards the elevator. She turned back and, for the first time that week, she didn't look like she would kill him on the spot. "I know you're not speaking to me but...I just need to say that I'm sorry. Again. I'm really sorry. I was never owed any of your secrets and...I still screwed up."

Montserrat could immediately see differences between now and then. She had finally managed to control her feelings. Before today, she was furious beyond belief. If this was still before, she wouldn't have heard Rafael out - she'd probably curse him and then leave. But that hadn't been getting her anywhere expect for fueling more rage. For her sake - and for the sake of her blood pressure - she needed to calm down. After all, like she once admitted to her therapist, Rafael accidentally letting her secret out took away the fear of having to do it herself. She hadn't been brave enough to tell the squad of her plans. And now, with a clearer mind, she could straight away see the guilt on Rafael's face.

"I know," Montserrat said quietly, even nodding her head to show she'd heard him loud and clear. The mere fact she'd listened was already surprising for Rafael. "And I'm sorry it took me this long to understand."

Rafael gave her an uneasy look. She was acting too strange, too...180. "... you're not upset anymore?"

"I mean, I am but…" Montserrat drew in a deep breath and sighed, "I'm... I'm leaving for Brooklyn," she instead said, now truly surprising Rafael. "I'm visiting their Homicide division for a few days. I think it's a good idea to put some space between me and everything here."

"Right," Rafael agreed, although he wasn't sure why he would. He didn't like it.

"I should be back on Friday."

"Your birthday?"

There was visible dislike for that reminder. "Friday," Montserrat reiterated. She offered him one small smile then turned to leave.

There was a feeling in the pit of Rafael's stomach warning him that even if Montserrat returned, things would not be the same as before. He didn't quite like that either.

~ 0 ~

Montserrat packed light, after all she was only going to be gone for two days. She argued with Kara probably during all her packing and preparation time.

Kara was relentless that Montserrat was running away from problems. And she was not quiet about it either. "Montserrat Irene Novak, this is the most childish thing you have ever done!"

Montserrat scoffed after shoving in a blouse enter suitcase. "Really? Going to observe a different division is childish?"

"When you're doing it to avoid facing reality, uh, yeah it is!"

Montserrat rolled her eyes and continued moving around her room to get the last of her things into a suitcase. "I promise you, Kara, that I am not running away. I really think some space is what I need to clear my head and maybe get rid of any lingering anger I have. Hell, I think it might even be good for us to have some space. We might end up killing each other."

"I think you're doing things wrong," Kara folded her arms. "And it is kind of scaring me because I've never seen you act like this before."

Okay, that one Montserrat would give to Kara. She was confused herself why she needed to do all this just to be okay again. But the point was that she needed to do this.

"It'll just be for a few days and then I'll be back," Montserrat said with a cheery smile.

"Well, what if you end up liking it there?" Kara frowned for a second. "And you don't want to come back."

Montserrat thought about that possibility and could only shrugged. "Then I like it."

"Montserrat!" Kara whined.

"What?" Montserrat laughed for a bit. "Kara, you and I were supposed to be only temporary roommates, remember? I was supposed to find my own place eventually."

"Well, yeah, but…" Kara shifted on her feet, looking more like a child than an adult right now. "You're my best friend. It's kind of fun living with you."

"Thanks," Montserrat offered the woman a smile. "But I just have to go. I'm sorry."

Kara saw there wasn't no point in arguing with her. She'd made her choice to go, but it didn't mean Kara would stop hoping Montserrat hated the place.

~0~

Two steps into the Brooklyn Homicide bullpen and everyone already knew who Montserrat was. She felt bombarded with all the "hello's" she got as soon as she walked in. There was a moment where Montserrat felt overwhelmed enough to turn around and leave.

"Miss Novak," a tall, older man emerged from the Captain's office. He was already gray on the head but he had piercing green eyes that looked like they could catch anything wrong in a second. "You made it. And I see that my squad has already given you a vibe of our dynamic."

"Uuh, yeah," Montserrat couldn't come up with anything to actually say right now. She didn't like being the center of attention from strangers.

"Captain Delisle," the man held a hand to shake with Montserrat. She smiled and shook hands.

"Montserrat Novak. Can I ask how everyone knew who I was before they even saw me?"

"Simple, you're the only redhead we know in the building," one of the detectives answered from their desk. Montserrat turned to give a strange look, making the man laugh. "Kidding. We know your cousin? ADA Novak? You guys got the same hair."

"Oh," Montserrat didn't know if that was worse or better than the former explanation.

"Alright, Detective Novak is here to observe how we run things in this precinct so let's make a good impression," the Captain said. "Novak, if you'd stay you'd be Mulvoy's partner," he directed her towards a man who'd risen from his desk at the call of his name.

"Jake Mulvoy," the detective introduced himself as he crossed through the desks to shake hands with Montserrat.

"Montserrat," she smiled politely. He looked nice enough, though there wasn't that playfulness Sonny seemed to naturally carry.

"Please treat Montserrat well as she visits us. She might become one of ours by the end of the week," Delisle said playfully then spoke to Montserrat. "We can talk at the end of the day to see how you like it here and discuss other things."

Montserrat nodded and was freed to mingle through the bullpen. She got to know the rest of the detectives, which she immediately could tell would not be like her SVU squad. For one, Detective Miranda Kim was, to put it in simple terms, was a downright bitch. It appeared that Mulvoy's previous partner was Kim's best friend who was transferred to a different department. In Kim's eyes, Montserrat was there to replace her best friend.

Great.

Detective Xavier Lance, Kim's partner, was a somewhat better person. He was tall, had a charming smile, and was kind to newcomers. He lamented their old detective's transfer but was excited for the prospect of a new co-worker. He kind of reminded Montserrat of Nick, except that Lance could be a bit more snippy once you started asking questions about their specific cases. It was as if Lance thought Montserrat was there to steal the cases they were already working on.

"Don't worry about them," Detective Connor Shein brought Montserrat to his desk. He wasn't as tall as Lance but he was still taller than Montserrat. He had nice blue eyes and rather shaggy brown hair. "They're a little more on the reserved side. But they're good detectives."

His partner, Detective Paulina Quell, was a smiley blonde woman that made Montserrat instantly think of Amanda. The only difference was Paulina was taller. And no accent. She came to stand beside Montserrat and placed a gentle hand on Montserrat's arm. "Yeah, if you stay they'll warm up to you."

"Would you like to see some of our cases right now?" Shein asked Montserrat and gestured to the files sitting on his and Quell's desks.

"Sure," Montserrat gave a nod. "It'll almost be like a trip down memory lane since I used to work homicide back in Queens."

"You did?" Mulvoy suddenly asked then exchanged looks with Shein and Quell stopping to glance at each other then to look at the ginger.

"You've been around then," chuckled Quell. "Homicide and SVU? Which one do you like better? If that's not a weird question…"

"Well, they each have their own things," admitted Montserrat. "Homicide you don't know how to deal with live victims which saves you a lot of sleepless nights and standoffs with the victims and their families. But SVU gives a little bit more of a satisfaction because when you do get the victims' culprit, you got the satisfaction of knowing that you got the guy and you made justice for someone who's alive to see it." And as Montserrat said these words, she grew distant with thoughts. SVU, however challenging at times, always brought a different type of satisfaction when they were able to put the culprit away because more than often the victim was still alive to see it happen. They could see the impact they made on the victim. Homicide didn't offer that.

"Do you mind if we ask you why you're thinking about transferring here?" Shein asked quietly. "I mean, you've started making a name for yourself back in Manhattan."

"I have?" blinked Montserrat. That's the first time she heard any of that.

"Yeah, you and SVU as a whole. You guys are pretty good at what you do over there," Quell said and had the agreeing nods from the other two detectives. "I mean, don't get us wrong, we would love to have you on board with us but we're just a little curious why you would want to leave that department that's doing so well?"

"Fair question," Montserrat nodded. "It's just personal reasons. Um, just wanting to see if Homicide is my true calling." Well, she couldn't very well say the truth here could she? Still, the answer was deemed good enough for the two detectives.

For the rest of the day, Montserrat spent her time going through cases with Mulvoy, Quell and Shein, featuring remarks from Lance but absolutely nothing from Kim. She got to know a few of the officers lingering in the office, and most importantly she began to get the feel of the squad as a whole.

"So, how do you like it here?" Captain Delisle asked once they were both seated in his office.

"It's different than what I'm used to now," Montserrat began with, considering it was the easiest things you could say that didn't involve a lie.

"I'm sure it is," Delisle nodded. "I've talked to your sergeant and she doesn't seem like she wants to let you go. But that didn't stop her from giving me good remarks about you."

"Olivia's very kind," Montserrat said with a small smile. "Too kind."

"May I ask why you're looking to transfer?"

If Montserrat was score how many times she'd been asked that question today, she'd probably lose count. It was a fair question, she knew, but it didn't mean she wanted to keep hearing it. It involved a lot of things she couldn't (and didn't) want to talk about.

"I used to do Homicide," Montserrat began with what Delisle probably already knew, "And it was hard, sometimes, to see what we had. The corpses. The way they died. But sometimes, SVU is a little harder. We typically have live victims and...hearing what they've gone through…"

"It's tough," Delisle nodded. "But someone's gotta do it, right?"

Montserrat took those words more to heart than she planned to. "...yeah…" She felt her phone buzz inside her pocket but didn't get it right away.

"Well, we'll see you tomorrow then. Hopefully by then you'll have made your decision regarding where you want to be," Delisle got up to shake hands with her then led her out the door.

As Montserrat checked her phone, Detectives' Mulvoy, Shein and Quell called to her from their desks.

"Hey, how'd it go?" Mulvoy's question didn't register for the first few seconds as Montserrat had focused too much on her phone.

A smile came to her face after checking the new text message she'd received from Rafael.

If you haven't already had dinner, try Morgan's Barbecue. I think you might like. Your type of food I...

"Hey, Novak?" Quell's voice finally broke through Montserrat's concentration.

The ginger looked up from her phone with blinking eyes. "I'm sorry?"

Quell only chuckled. "We were just wondering how'd it go with the Captain."

"Oh, it's fine. I'll be back tomorrow to keep observing. Thank you for letting me do that, by the way. I know it's probably annoying to have some newbie looking over your shoulder."

"Nah, it's fine," Shein assured. "Better to know what you're getting into before you put in your papers."

Montserrat nodded. She looked down at her phone for a quick second then smiled. "Would either of you know where Morgan's Barbecue is?"

~0~

As much as they offered, Montserrat reassured the Homicide detectives that she was fine eating dinner on her own. She was tired anyways so she wasn't sure if she'd even eat inside or just do take out in her hotel.

She had to admit the restaurant was nice, though. Its lights were dim to give it a nightly look, but gave off a relaxing atmosphere from the moment one stepped inside. When Montserrat saw bar right on the side, she immediately pictured Rafael coming in at least four times a week. The stock looked pretty full...and good.

She eventually found herself drifting towards the bar counter after having enough of looking around. From there, she looked at the menu and, to her delight, found that there was indeed many barbecue options. After ordering, she started going through the wine selection and was surprised to see so many options. They seemed to have a lot on whiskey so of course Rafael would know the place.

"Now I know why you came here," she mumbled her thought about Rafael. He could get over the barbecue because of what was at the bar. She was so focused on choosing a drink, she didn't notice someone taking a seat beside her.

"Can I buy you a drink?"

Montserrat, of course, flinched and looked up from the menu to find a blonde sitting next to her stool. "Me?"

The man nodded. "Who else? You're the only pretty redhead in this place."

Montserrat cleared her throat and offered one polite smile. "Thanks, but...no thanks."

"Are you waiting for someone?"

"No, but I'm not interested. I've got...things going on." What things Montserrat spoke about she had no idea, but neither did the man anyways.

"I'm James," the man first introduced himself, giving Montserrat the indication he was not leaving soon. "I come here every week, so believe me I know the best drinks here."

"Well, my friend probably came here everyday so I'll just go with his recommendations, thank you," she smiled ever-so-politely as she got up from her stool and picked up her menu and bag, "And just so we're clear, this is my definite no. Don't need to show you my SVU badge, do I?" her snappiness came as a surprise to James but she didn't stop to see his full reaction as she stormed off to take a seat at the very end of the bar.

Okay, maybe she shouldn't have been that snappy since the man hadn't really done anything except ignore her first 'no'.

One of the bartenders, a woman who looked just a bit older than Montserrat, stopped by Montserrat's new seat to chuckle. Montserrat could see the name 'Elise' written on the bartender's name tag. "Nice one. I don't see a lot of snippy women around here. It's like they're too scared of being mean or something."

"Well, I'm a bit guilty right now, so…" Montserrat admitted.

"Oh don't be," Elise waved a hand to the side. "That guy's in here every night trying to pick up women. And let me tell you-" she leaned an elbow on the counter, "-that he is not interested in dating, if you know what I mean."

"Oh, well in that case, screw him," Montserrat nodded, making the bartender chuckle.

Elise gave an approving nod of her head. "What can I get you, then?"

"Honestly," Montserrat put a hand over the closed menu on the counter, "I have no idea. I'm from Manhattan and, really, the only reason I'm here is because a friend who used to live here in Brooklyn told me I should come here. Though now that I think more about it, I assume he only ever came in here for drinks than actual dinner. Rafael's more of a eat-while-on-the-job guy than actual breakfast, lunch and dinner."

Elise seemed to pause for a second, something Montserrat caught but wasn't sure how to ask about it. Luckily, Elise spoke up after a few seconds of pondering. "You wouldn't happen to be talking about Rafael Barba, would you?"

Montserrat blinked, and somehow nodded slightly. "...yeah...how did you…?"

Elise smiled at the woman's confusion. "You said SVU before and then Manhattan, plus what you mentioned about a friend living in Brooklyn? The name was just a bonus."

"Wow, maybe you're the detective in this conversation," Montserrat tilted her head, honestly impressed by the woman.

Elise laughed for a moment, but Montserrat seemed dead serious which just made Elise laugh even more. "Okay, you're definitely his type."

Instead of snapping like she usually tended to, Montserrat quietly sighed and closed her eyes. "I'm not…" she didn't even bother with the same response. She opened her eyes and came at it from another angle. "Can I ask you something?" Elise nodded her head. "I literally said 'friends' like two or three times so...why would you say something like that to me?"

"What -- the being 'his type' thing?" Elise asked and Montserrat nodded. "Rafael used to come here every night, literally every night, when he worked for the Brooklyn DA's office. So believe me when I tell you I know him very well."

"Were you and him…?" Montserrat found herself asking and when she realized it, she felt a warmth on her face. "Sorry. Didn't mean to ask that…"

Elise just smiled again. "Nah. We just really bonded over what drinks were the best. Though due to his profession I lost almost every argument."

"He's snippy but not impossible to win, believe me," Montserrat said all too proudly. "I've won a few rounds against him."

"I believe that based on how you got rid of that guy earlier," Elise smirked. "I told Rafael he'd meet his match sooner or later. Too bad it's not yet happened, huh?"

Montserrat was more pensive than she would've liked to be. As Elise recommended some of the drinks she thought were good, Montserrat's head was somewhere else - more specifically on someone else.

~ 0 ~

"Okay, just, please change if you get a stain or something," Kara trailed after Sonny into the bullpen, ignoring his looks for her to stop talking and the others' amused smiles.

Sonny went straight to his desk and plopped down, but that didn't stop Kara either. She was a woman with a plan today and she was getting things done. "And you said you'd be out by 7:00, right?"

"I guess," Sonny shrugged.

"What's going on, Carisi?" Amanda just couldn't stop smiling at the pair. "You had lunch for an hour, what could you possibly have done in that hour?"

"Nothing," Sonny scowled, and thankfully Kara was still there to clarify.

"I'm just making sure everything's good for Montse's birthday," the woman smiled excitedly.

"Oh right, that's today," Amanda looked to Fin and Nick, all three realizing it was indeed Montserrat's birthday today.

"Yup! And I'm expecting everyone at eight o'clock today. It's Montse's favorite restaurant," Kara wagged a finger at them as if she were speaking with children.

"Yeah, but, Montserrat's still away in Brooklyn," Nick thought Kara needed a reminder since the woman was probably going detail-crazy. "What if she's not back today?"

"She said she would be," Kara shrugged. "I don't think she needs more than 2 days to realize Brooklyn ain't happening."

"How are you so sure?" asked Fin.

"Because I'm Montse's best friend and I know she's not going to stay in Brooklyn," Kara seemed very sure of herself they almost believed it. "So-" she clapped her hands together, "-we're all set for eight, right?"

"Set for what?" Olivia asked as she'd only caught the last part of Kara's question.

Kara looked back to see her and Rafael coming into the bullpen. She grinned, though, because now she had all of them in one place. "Montserrat's birthday, remember?"

The two in question looked at each other then nodded.

"Yes, what about it?" Rafael was the one to ask.

"What do you mean?" Kara raised an eyebrow. "It's today."

"Yes, and she asked us, many times, not to celebrate it," Rafael reminded her, looking pretty serious in that he'd be following the request.

"But that's what everyone says," Kara rolled her eyes.

"But she means it," Olivia said, internally sighing because she knew without a proper explanation Kara would never give up this birthday party. "And that's what Rafael and I are going to do."

"You're not coming?" Kara's face fell but was quickly replaced with offence. "Neither of you?"

The two shook their heads. Behind Kara, the rest of the squad exchanged confused looks amongst each other.

"It's what Montserrat wanted," Rafael reminded once again but with a touch more annoyed.

"Oh of course you're going to listen to her," Kara waved him off. "You still want to get into her good graces."

"I decided that a long time ago. I don't need your incessant shouting for us to do something Montserrat specifically asked us not to."

Seeing Kara getting actually mad, Sonny shot up from his seat with the intention of removing the stressor - which in this case, unfortunately, was his girlfriend. "Kara, let me take you to your car."

"Fine," Kara said and only because she was on a tight schedule. She let Sonny walk her towards the exit but she stopped at Rafael's side. "But you and I both know that Montserrat would want you to come. And you want to be there anyways."

The glare Rafael was giving Kara wasn't something anyone wanted to be caught under, but Kara just smirked and went on her way rather proudly.

Sonny mumbled a quick 'sorry' to Rafael as he followed Kara out into the hallway. Of course once they were out of hearing shot, he had a go with Kara. "You can't do stuff like that!"

Kara just rolled her eyes while she waited for the elevator to open. When they finally did, Sonny blocked the way inside with an arm.

"I'm serious, Kara. That wasn't okay!"

Kara's eyes flickered to the detective, getting annoyed by the second. "Let me go through, right now. I have plans I can't be late for." With a sigh, Sonny did but he followed her in. Kara pressed the down button then stepped back and allowed a heavy silence to fall on them for a couple seconds. "I'm not choosing to be an ass, you know."

Sonny still lightly sighed. "I didn't say that-"

"-no, but you're thinking it."

"No," Sonny said loudly for it to be clearly clarified. "I just disagree with how you're taking this whole...situation. I don't think it's your place-"

"-my best friend is in Brooklyn right now, thinking about staying to live there!" Kara exclaimed and walked out the moment the elevator door opened again. "I have to do something and, unfortunately for Rafael, he's the only one I can think of who can stop Montse. And you know why, Sonny, so stop pretending like those two are."

"Okay," Sonny put his hands on Kara's shoulders, hoping to calm her down before she left the building. Now that he saw where her mind was, he could help better. "You don't want Montse to leave and that's completely understandable. What's not going to work, however, is you harassing both Montse and Rafael. It's not going to end well and you know that."

"I'm desperate here!" Kara frowned. "I don't want her to leave, and much less run away from someone. Doesn't it feel like that?"

Sonny bobbed his head while he considered the idea. "On some level, sure, but...we can't be 100% sure about it. We'll just have to wait for Montserrat to come back and tell us her decision. In the meantime, let's just make sure she has a nice welcome back party."

"It's a birthday party," Kara pointed.

"Well she didn't want that so let's call it a welcome back party or she might just hurt us."

"Good point," Kara nodded.

"So...we good…?"

Kara's smile said it all. "Yeah." She let him hug her tightly for a few minutes before it was time for her to really go.

~ 0 ~

"Just out of curiosity, will you be going to this party?" Rafael simply could not help himself with the matter. He watched Olivia drop her things at her desk and give him quite a look.

"I thought you were smarter than this," she said bluntly. "Of course not. I respect Montserrat's wishes and I wished everyone else did too." Now it was Rafael's to give her a look. She noticed it after sitting down. "What?"

Rafael tilted his head at her, continuing to stare at her until she shifted in her seat. "You know more than I do."

Olivia raised an eyebrow at him, clearly not getting what he meant. "What?"

"You're the only one actually not going," Rafael continued with his words, letting Olivia wallow in confusion for the next minute, "And that can only mean you know exactly why Montserrat hates her birthday. Like Casey."

Olivia shook her head, doing that noise with her mouth that Rafael had come to learn was her 'You got me but I'm not admitting' noise.

"Casey's also not attending," he said for her sake. "What is it that made you and Casey so trustworthy that Montserrat decided to confide in only you two?"

Though Olivia would never openly admit that he was right, she did turn her gaze back on him. "Why do you sound so bothered by it?"

"No so much 'bothered' as I am tired of this same subject."

"Look, I cannot say anything except what you already know. And what we know is that this party will only hurt Montserrat, and us attending - just as everyone else - will only show that we don't care what she decided."

While that sounded logical, Rafael had to disagree. He didn't say it because there was no point. Olivia knew what he didn't, and no matter how much he asked her, she would never tell him because Montserrat wouldn't tell him.

But there was this idea of his that compelled him to do the opposite of what Olivia and Casey were planning. Sure, Montserrat would hate anyone who attended this godforsaken party, but if he, Olivia and Casey didn't go then she would be stuck with the clueless people who believed she wanted the party. At least if one of them went, they could help her out.

~ 0 ~

When Montserrat entered her apartment, it was a literal twenty minute hug-fest from Kara. Montserrat felt truly loved in that moment, as well as a little claustrophobic.

"I'm just so glad you're back!" Kara exclaimed as Montserrat was finally able to peel her off. "And happy birthday!"

As Kara went for another hug, Montserrat dove to the side and wheeled her suitcase towards the hallway. "Thanks, but...please don't."

"Oh c'mon, don't go to your room," Kara tailed after the ginger down the hallway. "Let's go out for some drinks. My treat."

"I'm not in the mood for it, Kara," Montserrat opened her bedroom door and walked in, along with Kara.

"But it'll be fun! And relaxing! Plus, you can tell me about Brooklyn. You can start with whether or not you'll be moving."

Montserrat sighed as she brought her suitcase to her bed. "I just...Kara, I've said this before over and over...I don't like my birthday. I'd really rather stay in my room."

"Well that's just depressing," Kara folded her arms over her chest. "And I'm not leaving until you say you'll get drinks with me."

"You're being extra childish today," Montserrat took notice. "Who pissed you off today?"

Kara would love to say it was her almost boyfriend but she knew if she did Montserrat would never agree to going out. "I'm a little upset you won't come out with me, that's all."

With another sigh, Montserrat turned to her roommate. "I'm sorry. I really did miss you, though."

A smile returned to Kara's face. "Then c'mon! Let's go out! Couple drinks and then we can come home."

Montserrat nearly rolled her eyes. She knew this 'drink night' was really Kara's surprise party that wasn't such a surprise. She did have to hand it to Kara in that she was persistent and thoughtful. She should be more grateful, she knew, but her birthday still felt...wrong. Like, what was she meant to celebrate? Her rapist was still out there, living his own life, while she had to switch jobs, move cities, make new friends.

But you did have some good times, she thought after a moment.

Yes, she did switch jobs but she did find SVU to be a good place. The city was okay too. And her new friends? Yeah, they were good too. She couldn't deny she hadn't been handed some good things this year but...it was hard to focus just on that when the bad was so...impacting.

"Montse?" Kara was now putting her hands together to plead. "Let's go out, yeah? For a little bit?"

"I'm going to regret this," Montserrat mumbled under her breath before agreeing.

Kara was ecstatic and, to Montserrat's surprise, she already had an outfit in mind for the night. Though after a moment, Montserrat realized she should've seen this coming. Still, she told herself to be prepared for this party and its livelihood she wasn't quite ready for.

~0~

Montserrat's mind raced the moment she stepped into the restaurant. Everyone screamed 'Surprise!' and while they cheered for her and wished her a happy birthday, Montserrat kept a tight smile on her face as she thanked each person. It shouldn't have been that hard considering these were people she liked. There was Sonny, Fin, Amanda, Nick...there was Madison and Caroline. Her father was even there, sans Damian, Gael and his daughters.

"Yeah they're still away on that seminar," Montserrat's father said after giving her a hug. "But he wishes you a happy birthday too."

"Thanks Dad," Montserrat said.

"How does it feel being 30 now?" He picked up his glass of bourbon from the table.

"Honestly, not that great," Montserrat knew that was as much as she could say without lying.

He didn't get it of course. "Yeah, I remember that one. But this doesn't mean you're old, sweetie. Just means a new chapter of your life is starting." Montserrat nodded, listening to his words but as seconds passed by she felt like she had to breathe harder. "Could be that this is the year you finally settle down…"

"Oh, Dad…" Montserrat knew this topic definitely wouldn't help her feel any better.

"I'd like some more grandkids, dear--"

Montserrat nearly choked on her saliva. A certain memory was popping into her mind and it was not letting her breathe easily. As her dad went on and on about new grandchildren, Montserrat started to feel like she was going to drown. Eventually, she just couldn't do it. "Sorry Dad, I gotta go." She turned away and made a hasty stride for the entrance doors. She practically shoved some people out of the way, ignoring their dirty looks, till she could see the doors. Her heart was racing and she honestly felt like if she didn't breathe in fresh air she would pass out.

Am I having an anxiety attack? Montserrat realized this was a possibility. It never really manifested past biting her nails but it certainly wasn't impossible. She had feared her birthday for months and now that it was finally here she was spiraling.

She practically slammed the doors behind her and leaned against them, breathing hard and fast but at least she was outside now. Oh dear Lord help me. She closed her eyes for a moment and focused on just breathing.

"Montserrat?"

Montserrat nearly fell from the door - if that was even possible considering she'd been leaning against it - but got her balance in time. She saw Rafael cautiously approaching her, probably wondering what the hell was wrong with her. "You came…"

"Yes, and I know you didn't want this--" Rafael made a nod at the restaurant where they could hear the loud party going on, "--but I'm not here as a guest."

"You're not?" She leaned away from the door and looked him over. He wore a white collar shirt with a dark jacket and matching pants. "Because you're dressed like one."

"I could say the same about you," he countered with the same accusing tone she used, only his came with a smirk.

Montserrat wore a sleeveless, tight, black dress that hugged her body and ended a bit above her knees. There was a golden necklace around her neck, bringing some attention to her plunging neckline. Her red lips didn't smile nor smirk like they usually would.

"It wasn't my choice," she frowned. "Kara had everything planned…everything."

"You don't look good…" he noted her nervousness, accompanied with a frantic glance at the restaurant.

"Yeah, I'm not," she didn't hesitate to confirm. "I'm, well…"

"Not good?"

"Yeah," she bit her lower lip. She awkwardly folded her arms over her chest. "I thought I could handle it but it turns out that I can't, and if I don't get out of here I'm going to lose it."

Even though it was a quick paced ramble, Rafael followed perfectly. "Do you want to go home? You know that's why I came. I may not know what's going on but I would like to help you."

Montserrat could appreciate that and she would take it. She glanced at the restaurant before deciding she really did need to go. "Let's have drinks. Somewhere away from here."

"Are you sure--"

"--yes," she said rapidly. "Let's go!"

Well, he wouldn't argue with that. She looked like she would chew someone's head off at the first chance she got and he was not putting himself on the line. Luckily for her, he was an expert at knowing places that had great drinks.

Once Montserrat was in the presence of a new, peaceful restaurant she seemed to act more like herself. "Thank you." Her gratitude was so quiet Rafael almost missed it.

"Of course."

The two had sat down at a particularly empty bar counter. They'd already ordered some drinks and were just waiting.

"So you came to this party just to...help?"

Rafael bobbed his head. "More or less. My logic was that I'd be the only one who knew you actually hated the damn party so I could actually help you out."

"Well thank you," Montserrat honestly said, and meant it too. Who knows where she could've ended up if he hadn't shown up. "I needed it."

The bartender passed by to hand out their drinks at the same time. Rafael picked his up first and with a light smirk on his face he said, "Not-so happy birthday to you."

Montserrat chuckled as she picked up her own drink to clink with his. "Sure."

"Thirty is an awful year."

"Really? You still remember yours?"

Rafael rolled his eyes. He took a drink from his glass then set it down to reach for something inside his jacket. "Even though it's not a wanted birthday, I hope you'll accept this."

Montserrat's eyes blinked when he set down a small rectangular black box on the counter. "Please tell me you didn't actually buy something…"

"My mother would kill me if I went to a birthday party without bringing a present," Rafael said and looked dead serious about it too.

"I gotta meet your mother some time," Montserrat smirked for a moment then looked down at the present again. "But, I mean, you shouldn't have. And I know that's what a lot of people say and don't mean it but in this case I do. You shouldn't have because I said I didn't even want a birthday."

"But I'm happy you made it to another birthday. It's a small win but an important one nonetheless. And I don't know what your year was like before coming to Manhattan but I am glad you made it here."

Montserrat blushed against her better instinct. "Wow, didn't think you could say things like that." Rafael frowned for a moment, about to ask what she meant by that when she spoke up again, "... I'm staying at SVU." She rested her arms on either side of her drink.

The sweet smile on her face unintentionally reminded Rafael of a time, months ago, when they had drinks together after working their first case; though now Montserrat had shorter hair and was far more comfortable with him. Whether or not he'd wanted to, he ended up smiling as well.

"What made you decide that?"

"Honestly? It's just not the same as Manhattan," Montserrat shrugged. "Everyone's nice there, but...I like it here."

"I did say Brooklyn wasn't as nice as Manhattan," Rafael picked up his glass again to take a drink.

"Well, there were some things that...were good," Montserrat had a secret smile on her face that grew when she said, "I, uh, went to that restaurant you suggested and wouldn't you know it? I met your old friend, Elise."

Rafael choked on the alcohol in his mouth. "What?" came the scratchy voice a second later.

"Yeah," Montserrat started bobbing her head. "She remembered you and she had a lot of stories to tell."

"Don't…"

"Should we start with June 2012? The day you-"

"-I said don't, Montserrat," Rafael warned. Even the way he said her name had become sharp, but not at all terrifying. In fact, she started to laugh instead.

It didn't stop her from re-telling all the stories Elise had confided in her. And boy was there a few. With each story, it got harder for Montserrat to say it without laughing...until she just couldn't stop.

"And here I thought you went to Brooklyn for work," Rafael sourly said, side-glancing her laughing figure. He had to admit, however, that he preferred this Montserrat over the version he had earlier. She was happier, livelier...just her.

"I did, I did, but-" Montserrat couldn't help it. She just couldn't do it. She brought a hand up to her mouth to cover her laughter, but she had to lean away to get all of it out.

"Happy birthday I guess," Rafael raised his glass to the air as if toasting before taking a last drink.

"Okay! Okay! Okay! I'm done! I promise!" she had to take in a deep breath in hopes of finally calming herself down. "Here, let's switch subjects." She raised her hands to show she was done, or at least that she was going to try and be done. She noticed his present was still sitting on the counter, unopened, and that just couldn't be. "I know what'll help."

"Will it though?" Rafael sent her a hard look that subsided once she smiled again. She really had a knack for that smiling thing. Her nose seemed to crinkle each time.

Montserrat ignored his snippy question, as well as his look, in favor of the present. When she took its lid off, she found a rose-gold necklace inside with a pendant in the shape of a ballerina. The ballerina was in a dance pose - one foot on the other leg - with her skirt outlined with silver stones.

"That is...beautiful," Montserrat gawked with widened eyes. "This could not have been a $20 gift."

"You are not guilt-tripping me for this," Rafael warned, but she could see he was shifting in his stool. She was right.

"I can't take this," she shook her head. "It had to have been expensive. I can't--"

"Well, you have to because I'm not taking it back," he looked her dead in the eyes and told her the same thing with them. "It's for you." Montserrat opened her mouth as if to protest but...there wasn't much to do if he'd already decided against it. "It's for you and your ballet dancing dreams."

The fact Rafael still remembered that she'd once said she'd originally wanted to become a dancer was...it made her feel special.

She smiled so widely it could've cracked her face in two. "Can't believe you remember that."

"I remember everything you say," he said matter-of-factly then smiled for a brief moment, "Even when you're yelling it at me." She chuckled but gave that to him.

"Thank you," she said softly. She drew her hands to the back of her neck and unfastened the necklace she was already wearing. She put it down on the counter and gingerly picked up the new necklace.

"You need help?" Rafael asked her after watching her trying and failing to put on the necklace on her own.

"Please," she said and handed him the necklace. "But don't break it. You break it, you buy it."

"Because I haven't already done that?" He got up from his seat like she did.

She turned away and raised her hair off her back, giving him perfect access. As his hands moved forwards on each side of her neck, she could smell whiffs of his cologne. Each time she smelled it, she remembered she loved it. Get ahold of yourself Montserrat, she berated herself. She always did this. Every time. Without fail. Like it was a--

Rafael's fingers had brushed along her skin. He hadn't meant to, of course, but it was impossible to avoid.

Oh dear Lord. Montserrat felt chills and she really wished she could stop acting like a teenage girl but it was so difficult.

Putting a necklace on someone shouldn't be taking so long, but for some reason Rafael doddled with the task. He could smell Montserrat's perfume from where he stood and each time he did he felt like backing away was out of the question. He couldn't budge from his spot even when he was more than unprofessionally close to her. He'd never stand that close to, say, Olivia? Or Amanda?

But Montserrat was different. She always was. Whether it was her ability to keep up with his mouth or handle his snark, she always had something to throw back at him. It was like she had the perfect talent - the perfect ability - that allowed her to pull the right strings with him. And he really liked it...but it was really wrong. When his fingers touched her skin, he felt her flinch in surprise. Yet when he set the necklace on her and let his fingers stroke down her exposed skin, she didn't shy away from it.

Montserrat turned around to face him and let her hair fall back over her shoulders. "How does it look?" She asked, raising her head to give him a better view of her necklace, though Rafael could see a little more than just her neck.

"...good," he said, sounding like he needed more air. Even his nodding was off. Maybe Montserrat knew why, maybe she didn't...but she probably did. "We...should probably go," Rafael's suggestion went right over Montserrat's head.

"It's not that late, is it?" She stepped closer to him, if it was even possible, and brought her hands to his chest.

Rafael was pretty sure it wasn't late but that's not what he was going for. For someone who rarely felt nervousness, this was probably his worst case. She smelled absolutely delicious, and if he got into how she looked right now...I'm losing it. How the hell am I losing it?

Montserrat smiled sweetly and unknowingly answered his question. He watched her fingers stroke circles over his chest, playing a wicked game with him. His hand suddenly snatched one of her wrists and after taking her second one, Montserrat thought enough was enough. She kissed him.

It was surprising but Rafael wasn't ready to pull away. Her lips tasted of alcohol and when he put his hands on her waist he discovered she was curvy. He wrapped his arms around her, unknowingly reminding Montserrat that, apart from his scent, she loved the feeling of his arms. It was probably the first thing she ever noticed about him. Back when she was his witness, 9 months pregnant, he'd caught her in a moment of imbalance. He was able to once again see the very light freckles under her eyes and she saw the flecks of brown in his green eyes. He was strong, and the way he held her made her feel...protected? She didn't know if that was the right description, but it was close enough. To have him back, like this, was even better.

The two seemed to find their fit with each other in a matter of seconds (which, if they'd been more in-tune with reality, they would've been surprised by). It could've been minutes of beautiful bliss if someone's cell phone hadn't gone off.

Rafael was in a daze as he got to his phone in his pocket. He wasn't even sure if he'd actually answered it but upon hearing Sonny's voice on the other end of the line, reality started settling again. Montserrat watched him with more or less of the same daze in her eyes.

"Have I seen Montserrat?" He repeated what he was being asked. He saw Montserrat silently shake her head, almost looking like a plead. "No. I didn't even go." Rafael scrunched his face for a second, looking like he was getting irritated by the second. "I know what I said, Carisi, but I didn't! Go find her yourself!" He ended the call with that snap and turned away from Montserrat. He pressed his hands on the bar counter and leaned forwards, closing his eyes for a moment.

She recognized the look on his face. It was regret. And it hurt.

"I'm sorry, Montserrat," he apologized quietly. She opened her mouth to respond, but he cut her off before she could say anything, "It's unprofessional. And it's…" he leaned away from the bar counter and faced her once more. He looked her over, wishing nothing more than to have her all to himself.

But it wasn't right.

Least that's what he kept telling himself over and over.

Montserrat, being who she was, couldn't take his words without protest. "You can't tell me this after a kiss like that. You want me like I want you." The fact the words slipped through her lips so easily didn't even faze her at the moment. She'd need a few hours.

"Yes, but it's not--" Rafael forced himself to stop before he got more upset. He took a deep breath in and started again, though he knew he had to keep it short so that he could get the hell out of there without falling back. "It just wouldn't work. Your age, our jobs...the way we are with each other? It just can't."

Montserrat's eyes widened slightly at his words but only briefly before anger started settling across her face. That was the moment Rafael knew he had to leave. He knew if he faced her while she showed clear pain that he caused, he would not be able to leave her. At least with anger he could tell himself she'd hate him and that'd be the end of that. If he was lucky, maybe it would work out that way.

Either way, he didn't know because he finally walked out.

He was right, though, because Montserrat only spent a few minutes in rage before anguish sought her.

[mrsalwayswrite]

Touch My Hands and Heal Me (BuckyxOFC & StevexOFC)

So just a fun one shot to help me get over some writer’s block. I’ve had this idea in mind for awhile so I’m excited to finally get it out. 

Warnings: Some swearing, violence. 

Words: 6k

Touch My Hands and Heal Me

This was the last place Steve wanted to be on a Thursday night. Nothing against the bar itself but it had been a hellish week and all he wanted to do was relax in his suite in the Tower and pretend for 5 minutes that he was an average guy.

 Which is probably why Sam dragged his ass to this bar. 

And of course, Bucky tagged along even though he was just as exhausted. Either from a self-induced guilt trip or his belief in Steve's inability to stay out of trouble, Bucky grumbled but tucked his head down and followed silently. Jerk. 

 Sam led them down the streets of NYC to a little hole in the wall sports bar an air force friend recommended. 

 It always amazed Steve how easily people failed to notice him without the suit and shield. Walking down the sidewalk with a vintage Brooklyn Dodgers baseball cap on and a brown leather jacket over jeans, no one looked at him twice. Or Bucky in a black hoodie. Or Sam in a gray Nike long sleeve and ball cap. It was nice that there was somewhat a sense of esoteric, that only on the rare occasion was he swarmed now, or perhaps people were used to him. What it truly made him realize was that most people only really saw and cared about Captain America and not Steve Rogers.  No one cared about the little guy from Brooklyn anymore. All they wanted was the glorified icon of patriotism. 

 He pinched the bridge of his nose for a moment, willing the tension in his head and muscles to leave. Tony and him had a long meeting with Senator Thaddeus Ross today and when it finally concluded, he fled to the gym to make use of the weight bags. He probably would be receiving a bill from Tony because of all the busted bags he left behind. The man was a genius, you would think he would have reinforced them long ago. 

 Apparently he needed a drink- according to Sam. 

 He was pleasantly surprised when he walked through the door of the bar -The Old Guys Tavern-  and found it calm. It was a smaller establishment, nestled between a BBQ restaurant and a sporting goods store on a back road. It was a sports bar with several TVs showing different games playing, framed pictures all over the walls of different famous athletes, a few framed mirrors, a jukebox in the back corner near 2 pool tables. A long bar took up half of one wall, across from it several booths and a few scattered tables near the pool tables. It was simple and felt reminiscent of how bars used to be. The lights were dim but instead of feeling like a club -no matter what Natasha said he was NOT doing that again- it gave an illusion of privacy. 

 He quickly noticed that among the 23 people already there, most were male and either middle aged or elderly, with the leaning towards those with gray hair. 

 "I thought you two would feel at home here amongst your age group." Sam quipped, scanning the bar with a smile on his face. 

 "Does that mean we need to find a kindergarten for you?" Bucky retorted. 

 Steve just shook his head as Sam laughed.

 They settled into an open leather booth, a Minnesota Vikings versus Green Bay Packers football game played on the TV across from them. 

 "You dragged our asses out here, you got first round."

 Sam narrowed his eyes at Bucky. "A'ight man, I see how it is. I try to help you have a social life and this is the thanks I get. See if I bring you out again, cyborg."

 Steve watched Sam walk up to the bar before turning to his oldest friend, seated across from him. The dark rings under his eyes only confirming how the week had affected him too. 

 "I'm fine, Steve."

 "Your face says otherwise."

 The corners of Bucky's lips turned up for a moment. "I'll be fine. It's just…" He sighed heavily, running a hand through his long, dark hair. 

 "A reminder that we're in the wrong century?"

 "Yeah...we shouldn't be here."

 "I know, Buck. I know."

 3 days ago they had attended Dum-Dum Dugan's funeral and it hit them both hard. He had been the last Howling Commando alive besides Steve and Bucky and it felt like a knife in the heart. They did not just lose a friend. It felt like the closing of a book. Another reminder of something they used to be a part of, something that they knew, was gone. Yet here they were, drowning in the murky waters of the 21st Century. 

 "Alright boys, here it is." Sam slid a glass bottle of Heineken to both of them while slipping next to Steve in the booth with his own. "You guys made plans for next week yet?"

 "Clint said we could visit the farm. Natasha and Wanda will go, I'm certain." Steve said, idly rubbing the label as the condensation dampened his finger. 

 "Vision will go if Wanda goes." Bucky snorted, taking a sip of his beer. 

 "You sure it's alright if I leave? I can tell my family that something has come up. Can't promise they won't show up at the Tower with enough food to feed an army though." Sam smirked.

 "No, you deserve to go see your family." Steve said, hoping to hide the pain in his voice. "Buck and I will figure out something." He hoped. 

 Next week was Thanksgiving, the first one Steve and Bucky would be together for since 1944. The one last year, Bucky had been in Wakanda, still working to get the trigger words out of his head. Thankfully Princess Shuri figured it out. Which reminded Steve to contact T'Challa soon to get an update -from his viewpoint- of the revisions of the Accords. Steve did not trust Senator Ross' update from earlier. That man had an agenda and clearly resented the need to keep the Avengers updated. 

 "I'll make sure to bring some of my mom's pumpkin pies back for you guys. Soon as I tell her the great Captain America ate the whole one last year, she will lose her mind."

 Steve blushed and rubbed the back of his neck at the reminder.  "I didn't realize it was to share. I thought Pepper bought it for the kitchen."

 "Hey! Don't compare my momma's home-made, award-winning pumpkin pie to some cheap-ass, store-bought kind! I should kick your ass for that insult."

 "Oh, I want to see that." Bucky deadpanned, keeping his eyes on the TV across from them. 

 Steve changed the subject before the bickering started. He knew it was mostly in good humor but sometimes it grated on his nerves. "Parker stopped by this morning to try out the new suit Tony made him."

 "You still seriously considering using him on the field? He's a kid." Sam questioned. 

 "He took out both you and Buck at the airport."

 "Alright, touché, but still. A damn kid."

 "I told Tony if he keeps his grades up and practices hard with us, I won't fight it." Steve smirked. "But if he gets hurt, Tony has to deal with Aunt May."

 That made them all chuckle. Once when Peter practiced with them, he had landed wrong and twisted his ankle. From what they heard, you would have thought Peter had lost a limb with how Aunt May berated Tony and fussed over her nephew. It had become a running joke amongst the team. 

 An hour passed, Steve and Bucky both having to take their turn buying the beers, as they chatted or just watched the games on the TVs. Everything had been going so well, which should have been a flashing beacon that something was going to happen. If this week had been any indication. 

 One of the guys who had been playing pool with a few others started their way. He was in his forties, slightly overweight, in business attire, looking like he got off work at an office and came out to grab a beer with friends.  Steve had noticed him several times over the past hour glancing their way but paid no mind. No one else had approached them or even acknowledged them. Most likely someone trying to figure out how he recognized their faces. 

 He approached the table and stared at each of them before a toothy, crooked grin appeared. Looking back over his shoulder, he called over to his friends. "It is those goddamn Avenger shits. I knew it. Coming in here like they own the place."

 "Hey, back off, man." Sam tried to keep his cool but Steve could see that the guy had gotten under his skin. "We are just here for a beer, minding our own business."

 "You know, I bet all those stunts you pull, the "world-saving" and shit, it's all fake. You pretend, keep the masses happy and feeling protected while you just live like kings off government money. Yeah…I know the truth."

 Before any of them could respond to the guy, about how very wrong he was, a new voice from the bar spoke up. 

 "Chuck, quit trying to start a fight. They could kick your ass without breaking a sweat."

 The guy -apparently Chuck- glared over his shoulder at the speaker. "Shut up. No one asked you to get involved."

 A woman probably mid twenties slid down off the bar stool she was sitting on and stalked their way. Steve can't help but watch her, feeling as if a hurricane was approaching.  Her honey blonde hair was pulled back in a ponytail, her hazel eyes stared defiantly at Chuck. She wore a loose white t-shirt with some kind of symbol on the front and black leggings that highlighted all her curves and showed off her long legs. Combat boots and a dark leather jacket completed the look. 

 "Just cause you're still pissed doesn't mean you gotta start shit. Now, leave them alone, you're bothering them."

 "We will leave. We didn't come here to start trouble." Steve injected, glancing between the man and woman standing at the end of the table. 

 She turned slightly to pin him with a pointed look that had him regretting his words and shutting his mouth.  She turned back to the guy -Chuck- and they glared at each other for several long, awkward, tense moments before he huffed and took a step back. 

 "Bitch," he muttered but glared at her still, "probably going to let them all fuck you like the whore you are."

 As soon as the last word spewed out of his mouth, she hit him with a right hook that left him half sprawled on the table beside them. 

 "Dee, no fighting. God, girl, get out of here!" The bartender called over, clearly exasperated as he ran his hand through his white hair. 

 "Sorry, Ray." She shrugged unapologetically. Flexing the fingers on her right hand, she turned back to Steve, Bucky and Sam. "Have a good night, boys." 

 Steve watched her walk out of the bar. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Chuck get up, spitting blood on the floor, with the help of one of his friends. He looked like he wanted to say something but his friend quickly dragged him back to the pool tables. 

 Perfect. Steve was not in the mood for a fight. 

 "Think she's ok?" Bucky was staring at her retreating form also, even when she disappeared from view. He turned back slowly to meet their confused looks. "That hit...might have broken something."

 They sat in silence for a second before sliding out of the booth and heading out.

 The air had a winter's bite to it but not yet unbearable. Although it took a lot for Steve to feel really cold now. Those rare moments always brought up painful memories of icy waters and darkness. Something he prefered not to think about. 

 They managed to glimpse her before she turned down another street. Simultaneously they started to jog to catch up. Thankfully not too many people on the sidewalk stopped to stare at three huge guys casually jogging at 10pm at night in jeans. 

 "Hey yo! Dee!" Sam called out as they turned down the street.

 She stopped, slowly turning around to watch them approach with a single eyebrow raised. "You boys lost?"

 "Naw, we wanted to see if you're alright. That was quite a punch."

 Thank God for Sam's ability to always talk. Steve never thought he would be glad for that one day but right now he was. Staring at her, he felt tongue-tied.  

 She smiled, holding her hand up and wiggling her fingers. "I'm fine. Not a big deal."

 Steve could not help but notice her nails were painted a shimmery dark blue. 

 "Why did you do it?" They all looked at Bucky with his hands in his pockets as he spoke. "I mean, you didn't have to stand up for us. Hell, he has to weigh twice what you do. So...how come you got involved?"

 "I don't like bullies."

 "Ah shit, she's the female version of you, Steve." Bucky bemoaned, dragging a hand down his face.

 She giggled, the sound rich and feminine, and Steve could not help but smile in response. 

 "I'll take that as a compliment, Sergeant Barnes." 

 "Call me Bucky, please."

 "Ok, Bucky."

 "I guess you already know Steve and I." Sam said, crossing his arms over his chest. "Your name Dee?"

 She seemed to hesitate for a second, looking back over her shoulder. "Lydia."

 "Nice to meet you, Lydia. Thanks for helping out back there."

 "Oh believe me, it was my pleasure. I've been wanting to hit him for a while. I doubt Ray will let me back though."

 "Cause you hit a rude customer? I'd think you're doing him a favor." Sam snorted.

 "Ah no, I may have hit Chuck's cousin last week...broke his nose."

 The three stared at her in varying degrees of amusement and shock.

 "What? He was bad mouthing the New England Patriots. Tom Brady is my boy."

 "Shit, doll, you're something else." Bucky laughed. 

 "Thank you. Now it's lovely to meet you all but I need to go. Tootles."

 "Wait!" Steve was not sure why he stopped her except that some part of him was not ready to lose her yet. He took a step closer. "Where are you headed?"

 She raised an eyebrow, clearly wondering what he was getting at. "Home."

 "Let us walk you. It's the least we can do."

 "It's not that far, I promise. I'm sure you superheroes have better things to do. I'll be fine."

 "Come on, Lydia, we got you kicked out. Let us make sure you get home safe, yeah?" Sam joined the petition. 

 She chewed her bottom lip, eyes scanning between the three of them before letting out a sigh. "If it makes you feel better."

 ----------

 When Bucky went to the bar with Steve and Sam, his expectations were to keep an eye on Steve, taunt Sam and just pretend that he had actually slept the past five days instead of pacing or staring at a wall all night. 

 Watching a beautiful dame punch a guy to defend them… this night got a whole lot more interesting. 

 The four of them walked down the sidewalk together, Steve and Bucky behind Sam and her...Lydia.

 "So, you know who we are and what we do," Sam said casually, "tell us about you."

 "Well I get into fights at bars and I watch football. I'm not that interesting."

 Bucky could not help but snort. A shared glance with Steve confirmed his own amusement.  

 "Alright. Who taught you to fight? You got a mean swing that clearly shows some training." Sam continued. 

 "My brother." She shrugged. "What were you guys doing out? I would think you'd have booze at the Tower or be more likely to go to a high-class, expensive bar instead of Ray's little place."

 "Naw, we just wanted somewhere quiet and out of the way. Besides, if we break out any booze, Tony always somehow senses it and magically appears."

 She laughed, and Bucky felt his heart lighten at the sound. 

 "Maybe we were hoping to meet someone as beautiful as you, doll." Bucky was not sure where the words came from, but for a moment he felt like the Bucky from the 40s who knew how to charm and flirt.  A forgotten piece of him buried beneath the decades of trauma endured under HYDRA'S thumb. 

 She spun around to look at him, still walking backwards with a smirk and teasing glint in her eyes. "I'm far from beautiful but I'm more than happy to pretend for you."

 He chuckled, he could feel Steve's curious eyes on him but he paid no mind. It felt good to remember this piece of him, to remind himself he was more than a damaged person, even for only a minute. "Dollface, you just gave the best right hook I've ever seen a dame throw. I'm certain that is the sexiest thing I've seen in a long time."

 Laughing, she paused momentarily to slide to his side and kiss his cheek. Her arm slipped through his and they continued walking like nothing had happened. 

 Except something had happened. 

 With her touch, it felt like all his senses tripled in intensity. Her kiss...such an innocent kiss yet it set his blood on fire and brought out a warmth in his bones that even HYDRA could not freeze out. 

 "You go around kissing strangers often?"

 She winked at Steve. "Only the cute ones."

 "She called you cute, man!" Sam laughed. 

 Bucky pretended to scoff. "Cute...I'm not cute. Take that back." He nudged her with his elbow, thankful she was on his right side. 

 "Would you prefer devilishly handsome?"

 "Hey, if the shoe fits…" Bucky shrugged, trying to keep a straight face. Steve's chuckling almost broke it. His blue eyes met her hazel and he realized he was glad they had met. She was beautiful in a girl-next-door kind of way- Cupid's bow lips, button nose, soft features. She was tall for most women, about 5' 10" even in just combat boots. Yet it was the energy around and within her that made her stand out. She felt like joy...she radiated life...there was a sparkle in her eyes that had not been tainted by the evils of this world yet. 

 "Pain in the ass also fits." Steve muttered, walking on Lydia's other side. 

 "Punk."

 "Jerk."

 She slipped her other arm through Steve's.  "I'm pretty sure 'trouble' is the best description."

 "Now that I can attest to." Sam said, leading the group. 

 They walked another block in the same formation. Lydia between Steve and himself, her arms looped through theirs. They chatted, flirted and teased easily, like they had known each other their whole lives. It was odd but Bucky was not complaining. It felt good. He found himself hoping this was not the last time they would see her. The warmth infusing itself into him from her touch was addictive. Her laughter and smiles made the darkness in his mind slowly fade. If the shared looks between him and Steve just over her head meant anything, he knew Steve felt the same way. 

 "My apartment is just down the street. You don't have to walk me to the door."

 "Trying to get rid of us?" Steve asked.

 She just laughed and shook her head. "When did I become so lucky to have three such handsome gentlemen to escort me home?"

 "When you slugged a guy to defend us." Bucky caught her eye and winked. "You're stuck with us now."

 "I'm not complaining." 

 One moment they all are laughing and talking like the best of friends. In the next moment, everything changed.

 A shot rang out.

 Bucky could feel the bullet whizz between his and Lydia's head. 

 Shit. 

 In a split second all three guys went into defense mode. Steve grabbed Lydia, shielding her with his body as he pushed her against a brick wall in a side alley. Immediately, Bucky and Sam flanked him on either side. Without a word, Bucky pulled out a pistol for both Steve and Sam, handing them over, then retrieved one for himself. He knew after this, Steve would criticize the amount of weapons on him for just a run to the bar. Bucky did not plan on sharing about the amount of knives on him additionally. He did not want to worry Steve that much. The less he knew in this case, the better. 

 His eyes scanned the nearby rooftops. The trajectory of the bullet showed the shooter was somewhere above them. At least that narrowed his search. Somewhat. On the other hand, he doubted they acted alone. Why give away their position? Did the shooter just have terrible aim? Were their others? Why the hell did this have to happen now?

 His breathing slowed, senses on high alert, eyes trained for any movement. He waited, listening intently for any sign of back-up. Quickly peeking around the corner, he noticed the side road they were on was deserted. It consisted of several closed stores on the side they had been walking on and across the street was apartment complexes. Logically there should have been someone walking around at this time. It was NYC, there was always someone awake. His eagle-eyes scanned around them, searching desperately for wherever that bullet originated from. Or for the others bound to be laying in wait somewhere around here. 

 He hated being shot at. 

 "Sniper, my ten o'clock. Apartment building, top floor, third window in." He reported, glancing behind him at the others after another peek around the side. 

 Sam faced the opposite way, keeping an eye on the other side of the alley, but nodded at Bucky's report. 

 Steve hovered over Lydia, who was crouched on the dirty ground. His eyes swept over the area and the switch from casual Steve Rogers to righteous Captain America was evident. Most likely wishing he had his shield. 

 "HYDRA?"

 "Not sure." Bucky replied, grip tightening on his pistol. Of course when they were having a great time, those bastards would show up. Damn it.  "You alright, doll?"

 "Yea...yeah." She stuttered out, still crouched underneath Steve. Her eyes were wide but clear, breathing fast but manageable. His opinion of her increased. Although she seemed frightened, she was not panicking. A reaction most common in civilians being shot at for the first time. 

 Steve spoke to Bucky. "Think you can get him?"

 "Not here."

 "Go. We got your back."

 Before he moved, a hand gripped his hoodie, surprising him. Following the hand that was holding him in place, he met her eyes. 

 "Be safe." She murmured, hazel eyes meeting his stormy blue in earnest. 

 "Just for you." With a wink, he slipped out the alley, keeping to the shadows and moved silently as a ghost. 

 It did not take long for him to get into position. He only wished he had his sniper rifle.  Climbing some rickety, metal stairs attached to the back of a store, he swiftly placed himself across from the sniper on a rooftop. If he had more time, he would have preferred to go into the apartment and silently kill the sniper, but for some odd reason he felt like he was working against the clock. 

 Breath in. 

Breath out. 

Breath in. 

Breath out. 

Breathe in.

Bang. 

 Holding the smoking pistol in the direction of the apartment, he waited. There did not seem to be any further movement.  He wondered if he should go investigate, just to confirm. God, if this was HYDRA, he did not want to leave any civilians without protection. With the gunshots fired, he figured someone would have called the cops by now. Hopefully they would be useful with the civilians.  

 Racing back across the rooftop, he flew down the stairs ready to confirm the sniper's death. It was then a new sound drifted to him…and he bolted towards it. Heart racing within his chest. 

 Please no. He begged silently. 

 He turned the corner to see where the fight really was. The sniper had only been a diversion. Something to force them into the intended alley.

 They had played right into the enemy's hand. 

 Twelve guys in all black, faces covered, made the crowded alley even smaller. One was on the ground lying still, a pool of blood growing beneath his chest. Three were cornering Sam, taking turns attacking him with batons. Six were actively fighting Steve, trying to take him down using tasers, yet they were never able to subdue him fully.  Two had Lydia between them, both gripping one of her arms each as she struggled and thrashed to escape looking like a wildcat.

 Please no. 

 Bucky threw himself into the fight, fear and rage pouring into his blood to fuel him. He tackled one of the men cornering Sam, a knife slipping in between the man's helmet and Kevlar, blood spurting from his neck. Bucky rolled off him, and in two strides jabbed a knife into the back of the knees of one of Steve's attackers. The man dropped, howling and unable to stand. Another swipe and kick brought another man under his knife, blood oozing where a kidney was. 

 "Lydia!" Steve cried, throwing one of his attackers against the brick wall behind him. 

 The two men were trying to manhandle her into a doorway but her twisting, kicking and flailing made it difficult. 

 Bucky threw his bloodied knife into the thigh of one of them. The man stumbled, almost dropping Lydia, who cried out at the harsh treatment. Before the other man could raise his own pistol, Bucky grabbed it with his metal hand and crushed the end. Pure rage filled him at the thought of them trying to take her. He punched the man, now holding the useless gun, in the side of the head with his metal arm. The man dropped like a rock. The pistol bounced on the ground when it fell from his hand. 

 In a fluid motion, Bucky yanked the knife out of the other man's thigh and kicked him in the head. The man's head rocked back further than humanly possible with a cracking sound. 

 Silence hung over the alley after Steve and Sam knocked out or killed their attackers. Bucky stood there for a long moment, surveying the carnage around him, and trying to steady his breathing. His hands shook slightly. Blood was splattered on his black hoodie and jeans. It had been so easy -too easy- to take the lives of those men. Even though he did it to protect Steve, Sam and Lydia...his hands never felt clean. Would he ever be clean? Would he always be a monster?

 "Bucky?"

 His rage evaporated at the soft whimper of his name.

 "It's ok, doll. I got you." He pulled her into his arms, away from the bodies of the men who tried to take her. Her arms wrapped around his neck, her face buried in his chest while his own arms held her close. She trembled but if it was from fear or fading adrenaline, he was unsure. Murmuring soothing words to her, he ran a hand up and down her back in comfort. 

 Why did this have to happen tonight?

 He glanced back over to see the spread of bodies on the ground, all wearing black clothing that looked vaguely military. Nothing like what HYDRA usually wore. Sam was on the phone, probably calling the fellow Avengers for clean up and to scout the area. Steve was stepping over the downed men, coming to his side. 

 "Are you hurt?"

 Bucky shook his head, his eyes scanning over his best friend. "You good?"

 "Yeah, she ok?"

 Lydia turned her head, reaching an hand out to place on his forearm. "I'm fine...thank you."

 Steve patted her hand on his arm but did not remove it. He glanced around once more before meeting Bucky's eyes. "This doesn't...these men don't seem like HYDRA."

 "I noticed. Wrong weapons and fighting tactics. More like mercenaries."

 "Mmmm." He rubbed the back of his neck before looking at Lydia, still in Bucky's arms. "They seemed pretty intent on taking you. Any reason why?"

 That question had itched at Bucky too. HYDRA would be more interested in taking himself and Steve. She had been the focus of this attack. He shuddered to think what would have happened if they let her walk home alone. 

 "No...no...I don't recognize them."

 "It was a long shot. Well I think you should stay with…" suddenly Steve's eyes widened and he recoiled. A second later, blood soaked his white t-shirt in the middle of his chest. 

 Then the sound of a muffled shot rang out in the alley. 

 Bucky glanced over to see one of the downed men Steve had been fighting, on his knees, pistol extended. He staggered to his feet and took off back on the side road. 

 "Sam!" Bucky cried, pointing to the escaping man. 

 The Falcon did not hesitate. He raced after the man, a snarl on his face, eyes determined. 

 Turning back to his best friend, disbelief clouded his mind as he saw all the blood soaking Steve's shirt. 

 No. 

 No.

 NO! 

 Steve placed a hand on his chest, a dazed look on his face as he pulled it back and watched the blood drip off his skin. Ever so slowly, he dropped to his knees, still staring at his hand. 

 "No, no, no! Damn it, Steve! NO!" Bucky moved to his side, practically ripping the leather jacket off Steve's shoulders and tearing the t-shirt in two to see how extensive the injury was. The bullet had entered Steve's upper back, almost hitting his spine and exited the middle of his chest, leaving a gaping hole. Blood poured out, leaving trails of red on Steve’s torso. 

 "Sorry, Buck."

 "No, no. Don't you start that shit. You'll be fine. Damn super soldier shit is good for something." He tried to staunch the blood flow with Steve's ripped shirt but the training in the back of his mind told him it was useless. His lungs would be filling with blood now. It would take a miracle to save him. Yet Bucky did not stop his first aid. He refused to let his best friend die. He couldn't...he could not live without Steve. They had only just found each other again. He couldn't...God, please no, not Steve...he had to live. Bucky was not ready to be alone again.

 Lydia slipped to Steve's other side. Gently she took his bloody hand and clasped it between her own. Tears coated her cheeks as she watched. 

 "Buck…"

 "No, stop talking. Everyone is on their way. Sam called them. It'll be fine."

 "I need you to…"

 "Nope, don't even start trying that speech."

 Steve rolled his eyes, blood beginning to taint his lips. "Jerk."

 "Punk."

 "Steve, look at me." Lydia stated. Both soldiers watched her, her commanding tone unable to ignore. "You're going to be alright but you'll still need to rest for a while, ok?" She glanced over at Bucky, a fire burning in her eyes. "Hold him steady."

 What?

 He did not have time to question her before the strangest thing happened.  

 Lydia leaned forward and pressed her lips to Steve's bloodied ones. One of her hands cradled the back of his head, as her kiss deepened. Even on the brink of death, Steve had no problem reciprocating. His bloodied hand cupped her cheek, leaving behind a stain on her skin. Their lips moved as if they had done this before...no hesitation...no awkward fumbling… What started off as a soft caress was turning into something more heated. 

 Bucky momentarily felt like a voyeur and was beyond confused. Steve should be saving his breath, not exerting himself. Damn that looked like a great kiss though. 

 The kiss lasted only five seconds and when they separated, both were breathing heavy like it had been far longer. Her lips were tainted red now, but her eyes shone brighter like starlight caught in her irises. 

 She looked at Bucky, tears streaming down her cheeks unashamedly. "Take care of him." Quickly she leaned over Steve, grabbing a handful of Bucky’s  hoodie, and gave him a hard kiss on the lips before standing up and dashing away. 

 "What….LYDIA!" Bucky yelled after her, watching her run down the alley and turn onto another street. Part of him wanted to chase after her and demand answers but a cough from Steve diverted his attention. 

 "Hey, it's ok. They will…."

 "Look." Steve interrupted, motioning at Bucky's hand. 

 He glanced down to see scraped knuckles, probably from when he tackled one of the men. Not a big deal. The serum would heal them within a day. Yet they were healing...immediately...right before his eyes. Within seconds, they looked completely normal, only Steve's blood marred them. 

 What?

 Immediately, Bucky pulled the torn shirt from Steve's chest, gaze locked onto the exit wound that would surely kill his best friend. A gush of blood should have resulted from the compact being removed from the wound, blood allowed to flow freely once again. Yet nothing happened. Dried blood caked his chest turning a dark red but there was nothing bright red...nothing fresh. 

 "Holy shit."

 In the next moment, Bucky felt as if the world tilted off its axis. 

 The wound slowly began to heal. Muscle and skin grew and reattached. The once graying complexion that Steve wore was returning to a healthy pink. His breathing deepened, not short, rapid breaths of dying lungs. Steve's blue eyes stared at Bucky, mouth gaping open. Curious and a bit frantic, Bucky peeled the shirt off Steve's back to see the entry wound. Both holes, once profusely bleeding and killing his best friend now looked like they were weeks healed. Some redness around the sites and fresh skin sealing the holes but still tender. 

 WHAT?!?!

 "Steve…." He did not know what else to say. His oldest friend, his best friend, his brother...he was dying...and Bucky could not save him. It was his worst nightmare come to pass. The very thing he dreaded most. Now though…

 Steve stared back at him wide-eyed before turning his head to look down the alley where Lydia fled. "She healed me….she saved…" He looked back at Bucky. "Who is she?"

 "I'm not sure…"

 "We need to find her."

 Steve started to get up but Bucky pushed him back down. "You were just shot, punk. She said to rest."

 "We can't let her get away! What if more of these mercenaries find her?!"

 "We'll look for her. Wait till the others get here. I'll go with Sam." Bucky held Steve's gaze until he relented, slumping back onto the unforgiving, concrete ground.

 The sounds of the city enveloped the quiet of the alley- car horns, sirens blaring, someone singing loudly the next street over. The two sat there, waiting and thinking. Both of their minds struggling to fully comprehend what just happened but desperate to chase after her.  

 "You just want another kiss, huh?"

 Steve chuckled, rubbing a hand over his chest and wincing. "That was some kiss. It felt like electricity going through my veins."

 Bucky thought of his own quick peck and how it felt like a shock hitting him. "Yeah. That's some dame."

 "Find her, Buck. I don't…" He sighed.. "It felt...no, she felt right."

 All Bucky could do was nod. He prayed she stayed safe until they could find her. Something in his gut told him they needed her. He looked down the alley once more, wondering where she went and who she really was. 

[banesapothecary]

remember me as I was (not as I am) - 3x11 coda

read on ao3

I don’t know who I am anymore.

Magnus wants to scream it, wants to feel the words tear through the quiet of the loft and shatter the white noise of the city into millions of irreparable pieces. The thought has been a constant fear, a steady slice, tormenting him since he returned from Edom without his magic.

He thought it would hurt, when his father took his magic. He thought it would feel like a limb being torn from his body, or blood pouring from wounds inflicted in battle, or being skinned alive until he was nothing but muscle and blood and bone.

He never expected to feel nothing at all.

That’s what I am now, he thinks bitterly. Nothing.

No thrum of magic just beneath his skin, comforting and reassuring as an old friend. No insistent buzz waiting to be let loose in a show of power. No red, angry sparks ready to attack his enemies and protect those he loves.

Magnus has survived centuries, has led countless lives, but none have ever been like this. Never has Magnus felt so utterly lost and useless.

“I can’t protect Madzie, let alone give her a nightlight,” he mutters angrily to himself. He’s been sitting on the floor in the apothecary for who knows how long, hiding away as soon as Catarina had collected Madzie and taken her to the High Warlock of Estonia’s protection.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

Magnus jumps at the voice, though really he should’ve expected Alec to come looking for him sooner or later. He’s standing in the doorway, brow furrowed in a way that would be adorable if the underlying concern there didn’t make Magnus’s heart ache.

“Sorry,” Alec frowns. “I didn’t mean to sneak up on you. If you want to be alone, I’ll—”

“No, it’s alright, Alexander,” Magnus says, tapping the floor next to him lightly in invitation. Alec takes it immediately, resting his hand on the ground next to Magnus’s, palm up. Magnus stares at it for a minute before curling his own around Alec’s, their fingers weaving together.

They sit in silence, the weight of the evening and everything left unsaid settling over them both.

“It’s not your fault, you know,” Alec says, his voice low and quiet and steady. “None of this is.”

“I couldn’t protect her, Alexander,” Magnus says, and he winces when the words come out sharper than he meant them. Alec doesn’t flinch, though. Instead, his thumb ghosts up and down Magnus’s, the motion grounding. Magnus breathes for a moment, closing his eyes. “I tried to stop Iris, but I couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t stop her.” The words are defeated and Magnus wants to laugh. If only Asmodeus could see him now:  the great Magnus Bane, former High Warlock of Brooklyn, the defiant son he so desperately wanted to control, defeated.

He supposes that was his father’s point in all this, in claiming the one thing that’s always been a part of him. The one thing he’s learned to trust more than he’s trusted people, in most cases.

“You did, though,” Alec says after another moment has passed. “Maybe it wasn’t with magic, but you did stop her. You distracted her, and Madzie got to you. That was enough.”

“Tonight, perhaps,” Magnus mutters, the words bitter on his tongue. “But distraction isn’t enough. I’m not enough. Not anymore.”

“That isn’t true,” Alec says immediately, his voice fierce and sure.

Magnus wishes he could believe him, wishes his magic was still strumming through his veins, wishes he was still strong enough to protect the people he loves. I’m not the man you fell in love with anymore, he wants to yell. Gone is Magnus, the all-powerful High Warlock of Brooklyn capable of taking on princes of hell. Now he’s just broken and lost and weak.

“Losing your magic doesn’t make you weak, you know,” Alec continues as if reading his mind, and Magnus turns to him in shock. “You’re still the strongest person I know.”

Magnus shakes his head, partly in disagreement and partly dumbfounded by the unadulterated way in which Alec Lightwood loves him. “It sure doesn’t feel like it,” he whispers.

Alec leans closer, bumping their shoulders together. “That’s because you aren’t used to this, yet, but I know you. You once told me I’d blow up the very ground to make things right, and maybe that’s true, but I think it’s more true for you.”

Magnus makes a noise of protest, not trusting his own voice when his throat feels tight and raw.

“You’ll figure this out, and I’ll be right there with you.” Alec’s hand tightens around his and it’s the safest Magnus has felt since he returned from Edom, but he can’t bring himself to squeeze back. Instead, he lets himself lean closer, his head dropping on Alec’s shoulder.

“I don’t know what to do. I don’t know who I am anymore.” The confession is quiet and he feels Alec tense slightly before he presses a kiss into Magnus’s hair.

“Everyone gets lost sometimes. It doesn’t make you weak,” Alec says softly.

“What does it make me then?” Again, his words have come out harsher than he intended, a snap that Alec doesn’t deserve. Again, Alec doesn’t flinch. He slides his hand from Magnus’s and winds it around his back instead, his hand warm against Magnus’s tense muscles.

“Human,” he answers simply. “You always have been, you just aren’t used to relying on that part of you.”

Magnus knows it’s true, knows on some level this should make him feel better, knows that somehow, someday, he’ll be used to it and mostly okay. But right now, he doesn’t know what to feel. “I don’t know how to be anything other than who I was, Alexander.” The words are a choked whisper. He swallows, tastes salt as a teardrop reaches his lips. Oh, he thinks, as he wipes a hand roughly across his cheek and feels the tear tracks there.

Alec laughs, but the sound is humorless. Pained, almost. The knife already embedded in Magnus’s heart twists. “You’re still that person. You’re still you.”

“But—”

“Your magic is gone, but you are still Magnus Bane.” Alec’s voice is hard, but not angry, like he’s trying to block out any doubt in Magnus’s mind, any argument.

“I don’t know who that is without magic,” Magnus whispers anyways because he needs Alec to understand, needs to understand himself.

Alec shifts away from him, turning Magnus’s gaze towards him with a hand cupped to his cheek. “I know him. He’s brave and self-sacrificing if it means he can protect the people he loves, regardless of the consequences.” His thumb brushes along Magnus’s cheek, and Magnus feels a streak of wet following in its wake. “He’s stronger than anyone I’ve ever met. He’s lived through centuries of love and heartbreak, pain and betrayal, and yet he still opened his heart up—to a Shadowhunter, of all people, even though he had every reason not to trust me with his heart.”

“Alexander—” Magnus starts, his throat tight and choking. He swallows.

“He’s caring and thoughtful and so full of love—for me, for Madzie, for every single one of your friends.” Alec leans closer, presses a kiss to Magnus’s tearstained cheek. “And he’s smart, so incredibly smart and I could listen to him talk about absolutely anything for the rest of my life. He’s—”

“Alexander, please,” Magnus interrupts. He’s not sure he quite believes Alec’s words, but his heart wants to, so badly. Between the tightness in his throat and chest, Magnus doesn’t know how he’s still breathing. No, that’s not true, he thinks. Breathing always comes just a bit easier when he’s looking at Alexander. “Thank you, but I…” he trails off. The rest of the sentence echoes in his mind, like it’s bouncing off the walls in his head:  I want to believe you, but I can’t, not yet.

Alec seems to hear them, too. He shrugs, a small, teasing smile on his lips, but his eyes still serious. “Don’t take my word for it,” he says softly. “You’ll find out for yourself.”

His sureness is a balm, even if Magnus can’t share it himself. It’s almost religious, Alec’s belief in him. Magnus has never been one for prayer, but without thinking he’s sending a silent prayer to the gods above that he might even be an ounce of the man Alec believes him to be, that he might be worthy of Alec’s love.

“How?” Magnus asks.

Alec’s eyes light up, just a bit. Magnus recognizes the gleam:  the one he gets when faced with a challenge. “We have a rogue warlock to catch,” he says. “And you know more about Iris and where she might go than any of the rest of us.” Alec stands, stretching a hand down to Magnus. “Come on.”

Magnus stares up at him, his eyes wide and still full of tears, but drying. I can still do this, he thinks. He hopes.

He takes Alec’s hand.

[elegantmoonchild]

WIP Game

The Rules: Post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous.

I was tagged by the wonderful @jimalim a while back. It took me a bit to compile all the projects I’m working on, but here they are! Fingers crossed that some actually get finished 😂

Bughead:

For All Time — World traveler and photographer Betty Cooper knew her entire life that Jughead Jones was meant to be the love of her life. When they finally meet, somewhere in the shops of an old Brooklyn borough, he is taken aback by her sudden insistence that they belong, however he is subjected to her theories as they continue on their assignment together, backpacking across Europe collecting tales for his travel blog. When he begins to have visions of her death, however, he begins to question whether what she says is true, and as their relationship deepens, he starts to give in to the emotions she claims they’ll share together. When signs point to her impending demise, can he work to stop the clock in time or will he lose the one person he never knew he needed until he had her? And should she perish, can he fight to get her back or will he learn that sometimes love may not be enough to transcend time? 

Snapshots — What’s a story only half-told?An afternoon of reading old diaries and manuscripts turns into a lifetime of memories played before Betty and Jughead as they dig through the past. What were the moments leading up to the romance of sophomore year that stood out to Betty in her diaries, Jughead in the manuscript he wrote about his story with the girl-next-door? How did their epic love story play out for the couple beyond the events of Jason Blossom’s murder that shook the bedrock of Riverdale? -- Currently on AO3

INSIDE -- Stepping into her father’s shoes was always the plan for ambitious detective Betty Cooper, her endless dream of taking down the bad guy imprinted on every step of her path from childhood to adult. She had worked hard to gain the respect of her superiors, and suddenly she lands the opportunity of a lifetime – going undercover to investigate the shocking murder of Jason Blossom, the son of a well-known businessman in Riverdale, NY. The job was simple: get beneath the surface, lie low, and pay attention. However, when Betty is assigned to infiltrate the Serpents, a notorious gang in the Southside part of town, she finds it harder than expected to blend in, catching the eye of nefarious leader Jughead Jones. Will she make it out alive with the answers she craves, or will she find herself stepping in the path of a very dangerous man, locked in the snake pit that she can’t escape?

In Her Own Words -- At the young age of 19, Elizabeth Cooper, daughter of the Earl of Cooper, found herself courted and wooed by the famous heir to the House of Andrews, the crowned prince who she was to wed. After a hasty engagement, a whirlwind of press and protocol, Betty found herself surrounded by people but still felt so alone, her mental health taking a dive as her marriage began to crumble around her feet. Her husband’s secret affair with long-term friend Veronica and the spotlight of the world upon her both lead to years of self-harm and isolation, and soon the only joy she feels is the sparkle of laughter she shares with the Prince’s personal secretary, Forsythe “Jughead” Jones. She puts on a brave face beneath the scrutinizing gaze of the public eye, but inside she’s falling apart, and it isn’t long before she learns she has to push back and fight for herself or else she won’t survive. Will the reaffirmed belief in true, albeit forbidden love with her close friend and confidante claim her downfall or will it give her the strength to stand on her own two feet and become the Queen she was always meant to be?Or the retelling of Princess Diana’s tragic, yet inspiring life based off the documentary “Diana: In Her Own Words”. This story will be interview style in the first person with Princess Elizabeth “Betty” Cooper with memories and flashbacks retelling her ill-fated romance and involvement with the House of Andrews, and her future beyond the weight of the crown.

But Now I See -- Ever since she was a child, Betty Cooper felt she was meant for something greater, meant to make the world shine brighter. As she grew older, and life became too difficult, she sought comfort in the church, soothing her emotional scars with the words of God and Christ. Devoted to her cause and her faith, she sets forth on a course to take a vow of postulancy. For most of his life, renowned pianist Jughead Jones always kept his head down, choosing to create his own masterpieces in the shadows, free without the confinements of society. His life is forever changed, however, when he gets into a horrific car accident, the end result being a crippling blindness that makes him question everything he thought he knew.When the two meet in the hospital ward and strike up a friendship, they begin to doubt their beliefs in both faith and purpose. Will Betty complete her journey to become a nun or will she realize her purpose lies in the heart of another, and will Jughead finally learn to believe in the good of fate or will he succumb to the demons that haunt him forever?

That’s Why I’m Here -- oneshot where Betty and Jughead meet at an AA meeting, bonding over their broken parents

Title still undecided -- Betty is a sex talk show host who is, in reality, fairly inexperienced with good sex. Jughead is a journalist who tries to uncover the truth about the sensationalized, famous show host. She ends up getting him to break down his walls while he teaches her a thing or two about good lovemaking. Basically an excuse to write porn with good plot.

SweetVee:

Title still undecided -- serial killer AU where Veronica and Sweet Pea try to track down a killer obsessed with Veronica 

Title still undecided -- Veronica takes her daughter with her to live at Alice Cooper’s ranch after her messy separation from her husband where she meets ranch hand Sweet Pea.

Relatively Stable -- For the first time since medical school, Veronica Lodge, MD was on top of her game. One of the youngest and most sought after doctors at Riverdale General, she exuded both sophistication and grace as she fought to save life after life in the Intensive Care Unit. But when an ambitious new nurse named Sweet Pea challenges her authority, she takes it personally, and the two butt heads by the bedside, patient after patient.When a young man comes through the Emergency Room one night, bleeding out from a massive car wreck, Veronica and Sweet Pea have to put aside their differences to save his life. Fighting to keep their patient stable starts to bring them closer, their feelings becoming far more carnal than clinical, and despite their numerous differences Veronica may learn that Sweet Pea is just what the doctor ordered.Will both their relationship and their patient survive the night? Find out in Relatively Stable, a medical narrative that asks the question – is love the best medicine or can the heart only take so much before it arrests and dies?

On The Run -- Veronica Lodge was on the verge of seventeen, and all she wanted to do was forget about the responsibilities her parents expected of her and revel in the passion she shared with secret boyfriend, bad boy biker Sweet Pea, who had a reputation that made her rich father’s blue blood boil. Defying her parents’ wishes, she sneaks out of her penthouse bedroom one evening for a twilight filled with freedom, experimental sex, and cocaine-fueled excitement. However, what starts as an act of teenage rebellion quickly turns into a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, a run-in with the Ghoulies leading to an all-out brawl that spells trouble for the ill-fated lovebirds. As Sweet Pea and Veronica flee for their lives, on the run from violent gangs, vigilant law enforcement, and her family’s disappointment, Veronica has to make a choice — give up the rush to enter adulthood with a safe, respectable reputation or throw it all away for the bad boy with a cold sneer and a heart of gold.

My Favorite Piece of You -- Cakes, tarts, and pies -- all delectable treats served up at the Serpentine Bakery, the lunch time haunt that ambitious businesswoman Veronica Lodge frequents every single day. For the past year, she’s been coming to the cafe, indulging in its simple pleasures, until one day she unknowingly insults the attractive yet surly owner, motorcycle enthusiast Sweet Pea. After a sour meet cute, the two begin to form a connection over the concoctions that he creates behind the counter of the bakery, an appetizing alliance that takes them both by surprise. However, over time they begin to wonder if the chemistry between them can withstand a dose of sugar or if their relationship has too much spice to be a good thing. They’ll have to knead out the kinks in their peppery personalities if they want their love to rise, but one thing’s for sure -- Veronica Lodge has got one Hell of a sweet tooth.

Multiship:

To Riverdale, with love -- What is Christmas to the stranger next to you? Is it a time to sing joyous carols door to door in the freezing cold? Is it a time to curl up next to a fire with a cup of hot cocoa while surrounded by loved ones? Is it a time to bury beneath blankets to hide from the sorrow of what a Christmas without that special someone feels like? Follow along in this seasonal treat as nine stories weave in and out like holiday tinsel in this Love Actually inspired fanfic, including the romance and friendships of nine different pairings in Riverdale, the town where one might just find that love truly is all around. -- COMING CHRISTMAS SEASON 2018

There’s also a whole host of one shot ideas and other multi-chapter fics I have saved, but haven’t quite touched yet. 

If you’d like to know more about any of these projects, please feel free to reach out to me!!!

[notcompliant]

Headcanon :: The Dynamic Duo :: Steve and Bucky 

This headcanon is based as a sort of meta but also default for my dynamic’s between Steve and Bucky. Please note two things, firstly this is adaptable as varying portrayals obviously have different canons and styles and secondly it is a basis for mainly my MCU default verse. 

As such, if parts of it weren’t in your canon, or you really love the MCU dynamic you don’t have to worry but also please be aware this isn’t gushy and St.ucky praising. Because on this blog I will spill truth about Bucky no matter the cold chill it takes to swallow it. 

Don’t worry though it has soft openings and a chance to be better. I’m just not a popular sugar coater whoops. 

So on we go!

1940′s the Brooklyn Boys:

Bucky meets Steve as a young teen, helping him get out of a tight spot during a fight and taking him back to his mothers diner for patching up. The two bond quickly over sciences, technology, an enjoyment of games and a want for a better tomorrow. Becoming best friends is easy, and Bucky cared for Steve like he did all of those closest to him.

This care extended to helping Steve in other ways, some he didn’t know about. As Steve’s illnesses became worse the Rogers were struggling with paying for the multitude of medication. Already having a paper route Bucky knew it wouldn’t give much, so he began looking for a second job. 

The one he found wasn’t the best of things, or entirely legal. Bucky ended up boxing for money. Already having the athleticism and training for it from his self defence classes (his mothers insistence with the turning tides of society, his father wasn’t fond of it but understood) meant that he was good. Good enough to stay alive anyway, and good enough to make some bucks from it. 

Steve’s parents didn’t ask and he didn’t tell where and how when he turned up with the medication. Glad for the help, and happy to help the silence worked well and Bucky got to see his best friend keep going and well enough to be the fighting little shit he was.

Now at this point in my portrayal Bucky doesn’t have romantic feelings for Steve. More he doubles as both a carer and a friend. It’s platonic, but intense due to the twist that comes when your life revolves around keeping someone else alive. You’ve got to understand, between boxing for Steve, fighting people with Steve, spending time with Steve and studying with Steve almost 80% of his day was wholly and entirely given to Steve who became a major part of his daily routine and life. That’s important later so keep it in mind. 

The War:

Being drafted was what changed Steve and Bucky’s dynamic, oddly enough. Away from Steve for an extended period of time, with the memories of games and the comfort of his friend Bucky did what a lot of people do when memories all they got. 

He got rose tinted glasses.

Steve became a sort of safe space mentally along with his family, to the point that Bucky’s feeling to Steve went from the role of carer and friend to more romantic in nature. Separation makes the heart fonder and all that.  

When Steve then saved him from Hydra the first time, Bucky’s mental romanticisation of Steve lingered into something close to hero worship that most people experience when being helped. Attraction comes with it. At this point, Bucky is inexplicitely heart eyes and willing to follow Steve into deadly hydra operations against any and all form of fucking logic. But hey, they’ve got their best friends back! Yay!

God don’t we wish that lasted. 

TWS onwards:

Breaking conditioning isn’t easy. Contrary to MCU belief a cutesy hand touch from a pretty redhead you potentially banged one night wont do it will i ever not drag mcu? no It’s got to be something substantial enough that your mind has made it a long term memory, not a short term one. 

Steve is that substantial memory. 

For Bucky, Steve was 80% of his daily life for years, and then someone who saved his life, who he was very likely in love with, who he idealised. Steve was a long term memory and oof did that come back with a vengeance. 

The only problem we have here is that whilst Bucky’s memory is jagged pieces and he feels affection for Steve, it’s not at strong or as all consuming as war Bucky had it. Think of it like the difference between seeing someone you love in person, and waking up from a dream you can’t really remember but you knew they were in it. You still feel warm, but you’re not all that sure why or how warm. 

Steve however, is now in the situation War Bucky was in. Idealisation and Romanticising of memories and lost potential. Or, rose tinted glasses. 

Problem with rose tinted glasses? They have the potential to make you blind, and in like in this case, make things worse. 

Steve and Bucky’s dynamic becomes toxic. Yeah, yeah I embrace the rumble of an angry fandom with a smile as I walk back into the truth of hell. It WAS toxic and you can quote me on that. 

Here’s why though since I’m going all out with this.

Steve is currently in a stage of denial, and likely due to his PTSD though remember kids mental illness isn’t an excuse to be an asshole, is currently desperately trying to cling to his image of Bucky that is right now being shredded by reality. 

Bucky’s popping his Bucky bubble and Steve isn’t taking it well, it sucks all around, especially for us watching. 

Steve is currently Bucky’s only source of information about his past and his identity, Bucky trusts him because the memory of trusting Steve is a strong and driving factor. Steve meanwhile is driven by having his Bucky back. 

In any way.

Even if for instance he has to traumatise him into reliving potentially false memories, degrade him when he doesn’t fit the mould the way Steve wants, i will fight him for the “that’s not good enough” line alone try and stop me to outright just dismissing anything Bucky says or wants and gaslighting him into “no, no I know better! I know YOU” ( “i’m not bucky” “yes you are” “no im not” “you fucking well will be even if I have to drag you through a civil war and to wakanda by your pigtails” ring any bells?) 

NOW DON’T GET ME WRONG I DON’T THINK STEVE DOES IT DELIBERATELY. Please don’t confuse me here, I’m not saying Steve is a deliberate piece of shit, only that in his own desperation he accidentally becomes the worst possible way of helping. 

And uh, well, it kinda goes downhill from there. Sadly because Steve tried to protect Bucky and in doing so lost the trust of Bucky. This is especially fitting in my portrayal where IW didn’t happen, so buckle in we’re on our last legs. 

Steve lied to Tony about his parents yeah yeah we all know blah blah civil war BUT what people don’t want to talk about is that Steve didn’t just hide it from Tony. He hid it from Bucky also. 

Look, when Bucky watches that Video not only does he go through pretty violent flash backs and border on a panic attack, but he also comes to the realisation that he can’t trust Steve to tell him the truth. 

You can see it in the way he flinches back from Steve (who is closest, reaching out, and moves first) and the way he fully intends to bolt before the real fighting starts. 

In my portrayal he steps in to try and break it up, and only fights against Tony when Tony actively starts gunning for his ass. Which is fair. Well, it’s not because neither should have been in that situation and it’s a shitty situation but like, it’s fair he’s defending himself. 

BUT from there on Bucky has an issue, and that issue is that he doesn’t know who he is, he doesn’t trust his own memories and he knows he can not trust Steve to tell him all of it, or be honest about it, or to not keep things from him. 

Which is why Wakanda happens. Bucky no longer trusts Steve, and it’s not safe for him to be out. So he willingly agree’s to be frozen for a while, and let them see if they can help. Now in my canon once unfrozen he slips out of the hold because he desperately needs to learn about himself without Steve’s influence or control over the story. He NEEDS to find himself, he doesn’t hate Steve but he needs that.

By my main verse Bucky isn’t on either side, he doesn’t fully trust either side and he’s moving alone to try and figure out who he is and who he wants to be. Whilst the affection remains for Steve, it’s not romantic at that time, and Steve will have to earn his trust back just like all the other people who have (inadvertently or not) manipulated him. 

So that’s that! Thanks for making it this far, please come and cry with me about how both of them deserve better and then please give Bucky a friend he can trust, and also build a really dramatic and heart breaking reality stucky with me thank you. 

[voulezvous-rpg]

Congratulations, Nadia! You’ve been accepted as The Bachelor — Samuel Hamilton, with a face claim of Michael B Jordan!

First of all, let me just emphasize how fucking cool it is that you’ve based Sam’s lineage off of a real person. The fact that it also happens to be a real person who built a profited off of a massive fire, thus making Sam extra conscious about his ties to the newly reopened club?? Incredible. Not only that, but you’ve taken that foundation and built it into such a wonderful character — cunning and ruthless, yet not entirely without a heart; craving intimacy, but not willing to truly give it in return. I’m thrilled to see how Sam’s first steps back into the new club pan out, and so excited to welcome the both of you to the group!

OUT OF CHARACTER

Name/Alias: Nadia

Pronouns: She/Her

Age: 26

Timezone & Activity: EST, I’m on at least once a day or every other day. Usually once I’m home from work for several hours before bed.

IN CHARACTER

Desired Skeleton: The Bachelor

Name: Samuel Hamilton

FC: Michael B. Jordan

Pronouns: He/Him

Age: 30 years old

Occupation: Wall Street Broker (currently on Sabbatical)

How long has your character been around the Moulin Rouge? Sam has been coming sporadically for the last ten years, more regularly in the last 2 years, but hasn’t been back since the fire and reopening.

How did the fire impact your character? For someone who has been coming to the Moulin Rouge as long as he has, it was still a shock to see the place burn. He hadn’t been there when the fire took place, he had been discussing a business opportunity elsewhere that fateful night, but he had seen enough of the after effects to know that he needed to stay away. His family fortune came at the price of those involved in a fire and he didn’t need his name to be among those speculated to have caused this one for profit. Sam hasn’t been back to the Moulin Rouge since it reopened, but by god, is he itching for it.

Biography:

Ever since he was born, Samuel Hamilton was regaled with the tales of his grandfather. Jeremiah Hamilton, who had escaped from Haiti and hid from authorities for almost two weeks in a fishing boat before transporting counterfeit coins for a group of merchants in New York and being sentenced, in his absence, to shot if he ever tried to come back home. Jeremiah Hamilton, who made his first $5 million dollars after New York’s Great Fire of 1835, thanks to some kind hearted souls who didn’t know any better than to trust a wolf in sheep’s clothing and made countless millions more by investing in land all over the Hudson river. Jeremiah Hamilton, who was the only person to ever stand up to Vanderbilt and earn his respect in a game that was dominated by white folk, even when the insurance companies and Wall Street tried to knock him out due to the color of his skin. Jeremiah Hamilton, who had earned both the title of “The Prince of Darkness” and “The only black millionaire in New York” by the time he died in May 1875. Sam never had the chance to meet the man — he had died five years before his birth, but it was the stories, and the money that he made, that had followed him around his entire life.

The only son of the 3rd of Jeremiah’s sons, it didn’t take long for Sam to realize that his family was different than the other black families in New York City. His grandfather’s riches and business dealings had afforded the family the ability to join an elite that was only reserved for the white citizens of the city. After all, money was the only color that can resolve any differences, a lesson that his grandfather had exemplified in his lifetime. The lessons that were passed down were all the same; to be rich, you had to be smart. To be smart, you had to be cunning. To be cunning, you had to be ahead of the game or the world would eat you alive. The money continued to roll in, thanks for the properties and investments that had been made, which meant that Samuel was only treated to the best. His father had joined the family business, retaining a family home in Brooklyn that his parents still reside to this day. From the outside, everything seemed picture perfect and for a lot of the residents in the city, the Hamiltons hit a high that seemed unachievable for people like them. Good looking successful parents with beautiful polite children in a home to die for, what was not to love?  Behind closed doors was a different story. There was his father, a man who wrapped himself so much in his work that he was practically unrecognizable to his children and a mother who found her comforts at the bottom of a liquor bottle. As soon as he was able, Sam was out of the home and onto Howard University in Washington, DC, getting a degree in finance, like what was expected.

The first time Sam went to Paris was with his parents when he was 8 years old. He had heard about the family excursions that his grandfather used to arrange, European tours that stopped in every major city on the continent and Paris, with it’s sparking lights, had enthralled the boy. He was twenty years old the second time he found himself in Paris and this time, he had fallen in love with a new set of lights. The Moulin Rouge had welcomed him, and his money, with open arms. In New York, his race wasn’t as big of a deal as in many of the Southern states, but in the Moulin Rouge, it didn’t seem to matter at all. He could buy whatever affection and company that he wanted for as long as he wanted and after seeing the way his parents had treated each other over the years, Sam couldn’t think of a reason why that wasn’t a good idea. Visiting once every couple of months, Sam always headed back to the States, back to his job on Wall Street, and to more money than he would ever know what to do with.  It wasn’t a surprise that he was great at his job. It didn’t take Sam long to realize the importance of all the stories that he had been told about the grandfather that he never knew. HIs good looks only got him so far, but it was the personality, his desire and his resourcefulness that would get him the comfortable life he always had. He had to fight dirty, push himself to be the best, manipulate and lie when needed with a smile on his face. Why? Because that was the only way he could succeed and for years, the competition fueled him. He was twenty eight when the idea came to him. Sitting in his office in the city, Sam planned a hiatus, a sabbatical from the job that he held. How long the sabbatical would be, he had no clue, but it was his heart that led him to get an apartment in Paris for the year and his dick that brought him to the Moulin Rouge every night.

That was, until the night of the fire. In his almost two years in Paris, Sam has made himself known among the citizens and with that, came the history of his wealth. A fire, just like this one, hell even more disastrous, had made his family rich beyond belief and there was no way in hell that he would be caught anywhere near the place. They still lynched people in the States and even though he was nowhere near the scene when everything went down, he was still a black man in a foreign country. No amount of money could ever change that. For the last six months, Sam has been keeping a low profile, at least as low as a profile that someone of his stature can make, and trying to break his habit of the Moulin Rouge. Bad habits, however, are hard to break and now that it is reopened, Sam has stopped himself from walking through the double doors. At least, for now.

Potential Plot Points: I’d love for some skepticism about Sam not being responsible for the fire. I’d also love for Sam to have some friendships, especially since he has been in Paris for the last two years. Honestly, I’m really open to a lot of different plots and I tend to bounce off of other people, so it’s kind of hard for me to answer this question.

FREESTYLE

So Jeremiah G. Hamilton was actually a real person! What I wrote for Jeremiah’s background is mostly accurate based on the research that I was able to do, though there were some things that were altered slightly. There isn’t a lot of info on the lives of his descendants so that part is fictionalized.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jeremiah_Hamilton

https://opinionator.blogs.nytimes.com/2013/07/25/gothams-only-black-millionaire/

Headcanons:

+Samuel Albert Hamilton was born on 8/10/1880. Due to this, he believes that 10 is his lucky number.

+Sam has 4 sisters, which sounds like a lot until he remembers that his father was one out of nine children. Two of his sisters passed away as children and the other two still live in the city with his parents.

+Sam can now speak fluent French, having hired a tutor to teach him once he decided to make the move to Paris.

+Sam hasn’t decided if or when he will head back to the States. Paris has treated him well and he has been in many talks about more investments in the city and the country. He feels his grandfather would be proud.

[kaleidopewrites]

Unexpected Meeting (Finale)

Summary: Bucky is your saviour, your solace and your everything

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader (Soulmate AU)

Word Count: 1798

Warnings: comatose reader, so much fluff

A/N: I apologise for the sudden break in my posting, I got very drunk over the weekend and wasn’t sober enough to write something up to par until Monday. So, in hopes I’m not seen in the evil eye, I give you the finale to Unexpected Meeting. Enjoy!

Masterlist

Your first sign of life, was the awareness of the darkness that surrounded you. This endless cavern that ignored light and solidity. You were nothing and yet, you were all, gently flowing through an invisible river.

Your mental image of yourself had disappeared. Where you small? Where you big? You had become nothing more than the darkness that you saw. You were the background, as well as the foreground and the midground.

You were everything.

The silence was stiff and consistent. As you both floated and remained still, it was the one thing you saw and heard the most. A silence that encompassed all and yet nothing.

There was this heavy weight of despair in the darkness. An eternity of suffering and loneliness complied into one place, ready to keep you locked in your own cage.

It was this dark misery that wanted you to rebel.

That wanted you to fight.

“The bullet did some serious damage, we don’t know how long she’ll be under for,”

“But surely there’s something you can do?”

“We’re doing it. She’s stable, and that’s a good thing,”

“A good thing? She’s in a coma! How can that possibly be a good thing?”

“Hey, calm down,”

“Don’t tell me to calm down, my soulmate is dying and there’s nothing no one is doing!”

“You’re not the only one that cares about her, you know?”

“Then why am I the only one fighting to keep her alive?”

“Guys, calm down, she wouldn’t want us to fight,”

“She wouldn’t want us to go bowling without her either, but we’d do it anyway,”

“That’s different and you know it,”

“Maybe you should both take this outside. I need to check over her,”

Your second sign of life, was when you could correctly identify whether you were floating or falling. It was neither. You could feel more of yourself, a form to create a silhouette of yourself in the darkness.

Nothing still made a lot of sense, like why you were here, and how you got here in the first place. Why the darkness was so grief-stricken and why it pushed you to fight.

With every passing unit of time, you found yourself discovering more of your form. You could tell that you weren’t small, but bigger than expected. Human, with arms and legs and a body. The more you focused, the more you could feel, understand.

And the more you realised, you couldn’t move.

You were locked in an invisible cage, something keeping you from moving. It repelled your wishes, your pleads to discover more of yourself. It disagreed with everything you wanted to do.

But you became more sensory. You can hear things, small words whispered around you. Things you can’t pick up or differentiate, but sounds that fill the darkness.

There is one voice that stands out amongst the rest. It adds colour and light, brightening the cage that restricted you. It could banish the heavy feeling of despair and misery by bringing happiness and peace.

You felt like you knew this voice, in much the same way that you loved it. You had no recollection of it, but you trusted it with your life. You craved its presence, wishing that you could skip forwards until it spoke again.

You couldn’t identify an origin. It would come and go as it pleaded, echoing through the darkness like music. You couldn’t understand what they were saying but you loved everything they said. Every syllable that crashed against your cage.

It could rattle your insides, warming the coldness that had begun to build. It can shake the cage, giving you belief that you could be free once again. With every speech, you were closer to freedom, but every second of separation made you fall deeper.

But the misery that returned still wanted you to rebel.

Still made you fight.

“Buck, you should go and have a shower,”

“I can’t leave her, not yet,”

“Bucky, you’ve been in this room for the last few weeks. Have a shower, get something to eat and I’ll watch over her,”

“But I can’t leave her,”

“Why not?”

“She moved Steve,”

“What?”

“She moved! I was talking to her the other day, just talking and she moved. Her hand was about to grab mine. I saw her move,”

“But Tony said…”

“I’m well aware of what Tony thinks, Steven,”

“Bucky,”

“No, I know what I saw and I saw her move,”

“Staying in here, watching her the way she is; Bucky, it’s not healthy for you,”

“Steve,”

“No, you listen to me this time, James Buchanan Barnes. There is nothing, nothing more we can do for her. She’s stable and she’s alive, that’s what matters. You can’t spend weeks on end staying in this room and talking to a comatose girl,”

“She’s my soulmate, Steve, what else am I supposed to do?”

“Take care of yourself! Take a break, have a shower, eat something. Please, Bucky,”

You could finally feel everything, see everything. You knew who you were, why you were here and how. And it scared the absolute shit out of you.

You wanted to scream, to shout, to call until someone could hear you. You couldn’t move, you couldn’t see but the darkness that surrounded you.

The voices were your only solace. Bucky’s voice.

He came and went with a non-existent wind. While although you were aware, you couldn’t really hear what he said, what he talked about.

A few words or syllables would pass through the void to reach your ears, but not enough to understand full sentences. Everyone else was just a blend of voices.

But not Bucky.

Every time he spoke you didn’t know whether to feel happy or upset. You were relieved that he was there, talking to you and just generally being beside you during what is quite probably a traumatic experience for him.

But at the same time, you couldn’t begin to understand what he was going through; and not even the soulmate link could help. Something had happened to shift the link, tear it somehow, because you could no longer identify Bucky’s emotions.

You felt empty, torn and it was a feeling you didn’t want to get accustomed to.

So, you didn’t stop fighting.

You didn’t know how it happened, but you could finally see the light behind your eyes. You could feel the heaviness in your limbs and with as much strength as you could muster, your fingers could twitch.

With your heart hammering in your chest, you slowly peek open your eyes, squinting them when the light blinded you. After a moment of adjusting, you could finally pick out the tiled ceiling of the infirmary in Stark Tower.

You let your eyes roam, finding more things like armchairs and machinery, all surrounding you haphazardly. You could feel a slight heaviness on your left and you slowly adjust your head so you could see properly.

Your heart lifted when you spotted Bucky sitting next to you, leaning against the bed with his hair framing his face. You were surprised to find him not holding your hand or something, just resting his head on his arms and sleeping.

Considering you couldn’t exactly speak, you slowly reached up with your hand, letting your fingers brush through his hair. It was soft and beautiful and the first thing you could feel.

As soon as you touched him, Bucky flinched, moving so he could see what was causing his hair to move. His eyes landed on your hovering hand and he stared at it blearily, trying to decide if he was seeing what he was seeing or not.

He sat forwards so your fingers could trace the worried lines and the fabric lines that had been pressed into his skin. You watch as his eyes flitter to a close, absorbing the softness of your fingers.

Finally, after pausing to cup his cheek, he glanced up and his eyes instantly met with yours. They softened considerably as he rose from his seat, moving to hover over you as he held your hand to his cheek.

“(Y/N)?” He questioned, voice hoarse and his bottom lip quivering. You smile as you mouth him a yes, spreading more relief through his muscles.

“I thought I’d lost you,” He mumbled, slowly leaning down towards you, ignoring his duties of contacting Bruce or anyone.

“Can’t get rid of me that easily,” You managed to mumble, voice wheezing and broken, but spoken just loud enough that he could hear.

“That’s my girl,”

You stand in the middle of the living room, eyes barely scanning the boxes already stacked. You were staring out at the beautiful view of Brooklyn, admiring what you could from a few dozen buildings with reflective windows.

You felt a sharp twinge of pain in your toe and can hear Bucky swearing just down the hall of the apartment. You smile as the pain slowly ebbs away, just as your soulmate shuffles into the room. You turn, watching him struggle slightly with the four stacked boxes.

“I sure hope they weren’t marked fragile,” You tease and watch as he swivels slightly to the side, just so he could see you.

“Oh, doll, stay right there,” He sighed, features relaxing as he gently placed the boxes to the side. Thinking it was something serious, you tense, hoping it was a spider-type situation and not a sniper dot-type situation.

“What?”

“You look absolutely fucking gorgeous,”

Bucky strode easily towards you as you relaxed, giving him a pointed look but smiling up at him. He licked his lips as he stopped before you, holding your hips. You lean backwards slightly, only to press play on your phone connected to the speakers.

I’ve been tryna do it right / Been living a lonely life

“The Lumineers?” You raised an eye as Bucky took your arms, gently swaying you to the side.

“You’re a fan of his, weren’t ya?” You laugh before resting your head on his chest, letting him slowly sway you to the music.

“I can’t believe it took us this long to get our own apartment,”

“Well, you were in a coma for a few months,”

“Ugh, don’t remind me. I feel like I’ve missed a huge chunk of my life,”

“That’s fine, because we get to make up for lost time,”

As the music picked up slightly, Bucky swung you out of his arms, spinning you around a few times before dragging you back into his arms.

“You’re a dork, you know that?”

“Yeah, but I’m your dork,”

“How’s that toe doing, then?”

“I don—Shut up,” You laugh, listening to the music softly fade away.

I belong with you, you belong with me in my sweet heart

Tagging: @bucky-in-paradise @lokiandbuckyaremine

Tagging for UM:  @ly–canthrope @elaacreditava @ starkgaryan @supersoldierslover @ dinorapreira@growingupgeek @kyber-hearts-and-stardust-souls @blue-berry-barry-allen @phiauniverse

[ml2338]

Wendy White

Wendy White, an American artist, is famous for producing aesthetically pleasing contemporary artworks with a hidden strong meanings.

During her lecture, she described her practice, influences, and interests by going through specific artworks she has done over the past years. When defining her artistic practice, she explains that she has a liberal idea of what art should be, in fact she claims that it is all about connotations of materials. She is taught that depiction was illustration and that there is a deeper meaning of combination of a materials, and to obsess over quality.

She describes her work as being positive however it has reasons for doubt and she tries to include that paradox in order to tell real stories occasionally being “tongue and cheek”. Her recent sculptures connote symbols of optimism presented as clean ideal gestures and she looks into symbols that resembles images found from weather apps to instagram buttons to emojis. Such as using black cloud icons, pixel hearts, and rainbows.

Additionally, she likes creating randomness like uninvited marks on the walls, and makes tweaks to her artworks over time. “I hate things ending, I want paintings to drift off into an illusion of space, to not end or finish abruptly” She prefers the Brooklyn bridge over the Manhattan bridge because it looks as if it is trailing off into the sky. She likes challenging space, because it doesn’t just have a defined space or end like shapes. This is inspiring because she has taught me to view things in a different way where things do not have to seem confined on materials I use like paper. She has changed my viewpoint on art by empowering me with the knowledge that art is like freedom, there is nothing holding it back, it doesn’t need a finishing point. This reminds me of the quote taken from the video on Edward Said called Framed: The Politics of Stereotypes in News: “How does it feel to be fixed, captured, framed?” The similarity is obvious between Said and White here, White doesn’t want to feel limited and trapped in her artworks and wants it to never end, it is the same concept when Said reminds us when we are reading the media. He suggest we make the implicit explicit and not be fooled from what the media feeds us and it is up to ourselves to discover the real truth. This also reinforces White’s idea of the use of symbols and materials with connotational meaning, in order to us to see the deep truth behind her artworks.

Car culture has always played a big influence in her theme of work for the last couple of years. According to her: “Cars themselves used to be time capsules” which links to how she got this interest and inspiration of cars from her father who was into them. When she was young she would experience her dad always working on car projects in the garage independently most of the time. She identified his work as “sculptures”. Also, she found retro stuff really trend based and she wanted to incorporate this gesture into her artworks. So she started looking at sticker use which she incorporated into her car interest. She would take series of photos of stickers stuck densely onto parts of cars most of the time on the windows, in order to produce a satisfaction of polarizing and personalizing the object and making her own personal story out of it. In her lecture she stated “women were always the prop or prize for car ownership but rarely the drivers”. Being a feminist with an obsession with cars, she incorporates these two inspiring stimulators which made her cut up sexist ads found in car magazines to make collages. She has a firm belief that “Men ruins things, and they make sure there are laws set in place for preventing women to do all the stuff they can do”. Therefore cars played a huge role into her retro phase and developing her feminist personality. This reminds me of Stuart Hall because he focused his interest into mass culture where he explored at the influence of mainstream media in gender, race, ethnicity, class, and religion. In the video he described one of the problems with mass culture is the male dominated society on gender’s ideas, he therefore went on about how although some people agree with these views, some were unsure, and others like Wendy White disagreed with these ideologies completely. Some people portrayed opposition to this through protests and bloggers on social media, and here White does it through her artworks. White, also interested in graffiti work which links to her retro style, is very similar to another feminist artist, Ana Mendieta, who was a part of the second-wave feminist movement where she created a graffiti artwork called: “Blood Writing” created with this dripping bright red paint resembling blood which showed this text: “SHE GOT LOVE”. This piece has a central focus on the violence issued on women. “Love” connotes the action of sex and the paint signifies the violence which dedicates this piece on rape culture. Like White, she incorporates texts and these symbols (fake blood) in order to convey the deep inner meaning of an artwork.

Taking on an interest in connotational materials, she uses symbols sometimes emoji-like to connote personal meanings through her artwork for example the black cloud. It was this emoji like symbol which came from her piece: Santa Cruz, which was made in summer 2016. The black cloud symbolizes escape, optimism and a longing for innocence. It was about the dark side (hence the color black) of the American small town life that she grew up in, teenage dreams and adult let downs. I find her use of materials to be very inspiring and clever in order to convey such a strong personal meaning through minimalistic and simplified symbols / objects. The video: Whitewashing: Last Week Tonight with John Oliver has got me pondering on where, why, how and who decided colors were set to their specific connotations. In the video, Oliver reinforces the idea of Hollywood Whitewashing and its existence in the modern day. For example, in 2016 the academy awards’ nominees were all very white for both men and women, some say this is due to the fact that Hollywood isn’t giving enough good roles to the darker skinned actors and actresses, others say the reason is because Hollywood prefers white over darker skin for example in the movie the Prince of Persia, a white actor, Jake Gyllenhaal, is playing the role of the Prince who should have darker skin, and a white blonde actress named Emma Stone casted into the movie Aloha, who played a character who is meant to be half asian. Both of these actors didn’t have any edits to their appearances to even make them look like their characters. This is similar to the CNN Concatenated video, where we see white reporters only for one of the most popular news reporting channels available. Not only has this been a modern problem but this has occurred over history on screen like in past movies such as in the Conquerer, John Wayne plays Genghis Khan and in West Side Story, Natalie Wood as Maria, etc. According to the site https://www.bourncreative.com/meaning-of-the-color-black/ the color black connotes negativity, fear, death, evil, gloominess, etc. whereas white connotes positivity, purity, goodness, safety, cleanliness, perfection, innocence, etc. Therefore just from comparing these connotations, I can’t help but notice the similarity to racist stereotypes of skin color. Why is black chosen to be negative and white as positive? This brings into perspective of the Guardian’s article: There is no such thing as western civilisation, where the concept of the Golden Nugget is explained. It is where in the western culture, ideologies becomes the “norms” where it is the traditional views. These ideologies could incorporate race, nationality, religion, culture and gender. Every belief passed down from generations, which causes the labelling of people’s identities. This relates to the the black and white color connotations, because in the past of the western culture, white was the predominant color whereas black was the inferior one. Therefore these connotations seemed to be derived through the Golden Nugget concept.

By trying to be concrete but not literal, she decided to explore texts use. Texts became a way of architecture. She uses the word itself as both form and context. Several things that influenced her to display texts in her work is from the vibe of Chinatown, it’s signs and Steven Rendall’s book: Practice of Everyday Life Chapter of Walking in the City. Cities like Chinatown seem to have their own secrets, this fascinated her that she took pictures just to look at the signage signs and to explore and compare how they have developed or faded and what parts were town down or remained. Not only did the architecture excited her but also the body language of the people there, how they walked, posed and leaned on the exciting chinatown architecture. She goes on to explain the importance of body language by describing how boring Jackson Pollock’s work is unless there were people standing in front of it which made it seem alive and much more interesting.  This fascination of space of abstraction was activated by figures, humans with the essential to move around and that there was no such thing as scale so she thought about how architecture can be dominating and comforting at the same time like how on the street, pedestrians and building facades interact in the same way. This is what pushed her to realize that photographs themselves were the anchor to what she was looking for, she believes that it is the real thing that has its own set of perimeters that pushes paintings into another space, an atmosphere of tangible space that buildings occupy which lead her to create a series named Photobuilts.

[ilovecharlie1957-blog]

Why Must Life Be So Unkind to Young Ones?

I wept before I fell asleep last night.

I kept asking God “why, why, why” do young ones have to suffer or die early, sweet, innocent young ones.

  The death that has many of us in mourning involves Matadi Sela Petit, an 8-year-old Congolese boy born in Kinshasa who suffered from cleft lip and a huge facial tumor that greatly distorted his face.

  The Dikembe Mutombo Foundation announced Saturday that the youngster died after he “suffered a rare and unpredictable genetic reaction to anesthesia.”

  Mutombo enjoyed a 17-year NBA career for which his legendary defense earned his eight all-star berths and election to the NBA Hall of Fame in 2015. Since then he has lived in Africa and immersed himself in humanitarian efforts.

  The Dikembe Mutombo Foundation is “dedicated to improving the health, education, and quality of life for the people of the Democratic Republic of the Congo,” according to the charity’s website. Mutombo’s foundation has built a hospital in his native country.

  It was through his aforementioned foundation that little Matadi was able to travel to the U.S. for surgery that would remove the tumor, fix his cleft lip, and allow the world to see his beautiful smile. Surgeons at the Osborne Head and Neck Foundation in Los Angeles would operate for free, according to WLS-TV.

  The hospital was supposed to perform surgery two days before Christmas Day 2018. But under anesthesia on Friday the 21st,  Matadi’s body reacted horribly and he died.

  Dammit, he died!

  My mom tried to calm both my sadness and anger by saying “I guess God decided it was time to bring this boy home.” I love the Lord, but when a young child dies or is stricken with a life-threatening disease my belief wanes. I guess that’s why those St. Jude’s Hospital commercials hit me hard, seeing those kids with beautiful smiles bravely fighting to stay alive.

  It is not fair.

  The little thing ones I mentioned above don’t have to be humans. They are often animals. Minutes after seeing a report on FIOS News about Matadi watched an episode of “Amanda to the Rescue,” which follows a woman who has fought off cancer run a sanctuary for sick, abandoned, injured or lost animals. Ger idea is to get these animals healthy and have them adopted. The ones that don’t stay with her forever.

  She is fabulous….except for tonight. She had the sweetest little bulldog puppy named “Splat” that suffered from a condition that didn’t allow her to stand and walk. Instead, it got around like a seal. The condition is called “swimmers syndrome.” Amanda worked her heart off to help that dog to no avail. So she decided to “humanely euthanize” the dog amid a room full of tears. That little sweetheart did not live two months.

But according to the DogzHealth.com website, dogs like Splat don’t have to die. “ In most cases, the condition will go away as the puppy grows and the adductor muscles develop and strengthen,” according to the website.

“In a case study, the researchers found that home care treatment involving food and environmental control, as well as physiotherapy such as massage helped treat a 50-day-old puppy.”

  I also remember a “Pitbulls and Parolees” episode in which there were two smaller puppies with the same problem. Villalobos head Tia Marie Torres refused to give up. Her young adult sons built a maze-like structure on the floor that was thin enough to make the dogs sling their legs over each side. By doing so, it gradually strengthened the dogs’ legs made them walk. It took a few weeks, but the dogs began to walk. Within months they were walking so well that one was featured in the 2018 Puppy Bowl, an annual appetizer for the Super Bowl.

  Animal Rescue shows like “The Incredible Dr. Pol,” “Dr. K’s Exotic ER,” and “Dr. Jeff: Rocky Mountain Vet” show true acts of love and often nurturing by humans to hurt or sick animals, some as small as a goldfish and others as big as elephants.

  For humans, there are some doctors and hospitals that think of the patient first, instead of financial greed or medical expediency. But like those who work at St. Jude’s Children's Research Hospital based in Tennessee, the Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia, and the top-ranked (US News and World Report) Boston Children’s Hospital and a number of others go the extra mile in trying to save children.

  Across the U.S., infant mortality rates for full-term babies were 50 percent to 200 percent higher than in Austria, Denmark, Finland, Norway, Sweden and Switzerland, the study found.

  This is unacceptable and maybe that Oval Office Hyena should allow that bed bug of a brain he has to stop with the Great Wall of “I Hate Spanish People” and put those billions it would cost to improve our medical crisis, especially mental health.

  But why does whatever greater power you believe in allow 11-year-old Camron Jean-Pierre of Brooklyn to develop an allergy to the smell of cooking cod (that’s a fish to you Trump-brained) at his home that wound up killing him on New Years Day.

  And then there are those eight pukes from India who had a night of thrills by roasting three puppies alive. The video atrocity went viral on this medium and the jerks received slaps on the wrist. If I had my way, I'd go eye for an eye on these jerks starting with a well-aimed torching of their mid-body extremities.

   But I must comfort myself with these words from the Mia Foundation (which is dedicated to saving animals with birth defects): “If they are born, they deserve to live.”

Ron S. Tuitt, 61, is a retired teacher and award-winning journalist from NJ

[rightsidenews]

Islam, Replacement Migration & White Genocide

Ash Sharp Editor

On The Tragedy of Neoliberalism.

I do not like Islam very much. This is a dangerous thing to write these days. I do not believe that whatever benefits Islam brings outweigh the costs. I do not like that the West cannot reconcile that it too, does not like Islam very much- and pretends that it actually does, against all reason.

It is also not popular to mention that Europeans are by any measure, being slowly replaced in their own countries. Whether you wish to call it a genocide, a great replacement, or merely the natural cultural enrichment of multiculturalism, doesn't really matter now. Hard left activists openly demand the extermination of White people. This is not satire. These people want you dead.

Islam also wants you dead, or subjugated.

Our leaders bleat on about a religion of peace and diversity, all the while our newspapers avoid reporting that the Quilliam Foundation found that 84% of the perpetrators of gang rape in the United Kingdom are Pakistani.

Some of these men quite blatantly tell us that their reasoning was that they chose their white, teenage victims- who number in the many thousands- because they are white. Little white slags, they say.The British Police did nothing for many years and despite being in full awareness of these most heinous crimes. Why did the police ignore the rape of children? Because they were afraid of being called racist if they did their sworn duty and arrested these racist gangs of rapists.

This spineless mentality is now infecting most Western countries.

A failed improvised bomb attack at New York’s Port Authority Station earlier this month was yet another opportunity for a multitude of New Yorkers to prove their fabled fortitude. Ah, he didn’t stop us from going about our daily lives, this is New York. Fools!

“You got to live your life,” she said. “You got to work. You can’t stay locked up in your house all the time.” — Port Authority Bombing Witness

Yes, but what does your life mean? What is your life worth to your political masters? What is it worth to you?

The bomber, from Bangladesh, cited that the United States had recognized Jerusalem as the capital of Israel as his motive for trying to assassinate civilians. Blue check verified Twitterati instantly took to the internet to stand in solidarity with Muslims. As we all know thanks to a decade or more of indoctrination, blowing your own testicles off while trying to murder people going to work is nothing to do with Islam.

Ah, that dastardly devil Donald J. Trump. Always at the root of everything when you look hard enough, like a Scooby-Doo Villain camped out at the old haunted White House amusement arcade.

The newspapers reported that the bomber is actually from Brooklyn. They lied.He is not from Brooklyn. He is a Muslim from Bangladesh who hates Jews.

This issue surely transcends the petty bourgeois squeals of racism that emanate from the wealthy left, who never seem to live in the areas enriched by diversity. The conflict with Islam, this centuries-old clash of civilizations- it will outlive us all.

Ignore people who say, “well, since Sept.11, it’s actually not Muslims, the far right, etc. They are liars.”

It will outlive us all because whether we like it or not, the dreaded Alt-Right has got at least one thing absolutely right. People of European descent are slowly but surely being replaced.

As we are replaced by migrants from the Islamic World, we might find ourselves asking the question; 'Why?' Why must we be replaced? Why don’t I recognize my country anymore? Why does the crescent moon of Islam rise where the Cross of Jesus stood? Where is our church? Where are our leaders? Why does the Pope lie and capitulate?

What did we do that was so wrong that we must die?

Fortunately, the advocates of unending immigration have the answers for us- Liberal elitists are here to save the day.

Colonialism

Communists and groups calling themselves ‘Stand Up To Racism’ (actually just Neo-Marxist activists) will tell you it is because of our colonial past. We must pay for the sins of our evil ancestors- but nobody says to the Turkish;

“Hey, Turk- your grandfather drove the Armenians into the desert. That is genocide. Hey Turk, the Ottoman Empire was an imperialist, conquering power for six hundred years. You must pay for those sins.”

The argument that people should make reparations for colonialism is only applied when the colonialists were White, or Jewish. That Israel today is accused of being imperialist and genocidal is nothing short of a disgrace to anyone who says it- and I have said it myself when I still thought in Neo-Marxist ways, a foot soldier of ideologies I refused to denounce. How sick it is to be a well-meaning leftist.

Motivated more by Stalin than Hitler, the Anti-Semitism is present nonetheless.

Duty

It is the responsibility of the West to allow all people to enter our nations and become citizens because we are liberal and everyone is equal. To question this means you are a racist. Other countries are poorer than us, so we must allow their peoples to benefit from our wealth. We should share with them. We should give in to them.

Why? With all due respect to the peoples of the world, why should the West, which has ascended through great hardship, merely hand others our spoils? If you are to respond like this, you will be called selfish. It is selfish to want to maintain your culture, it is selfish not to want to pay for others to live and contribute nothing.

It is not selfish to go to another country and demand they look after you, even though you are not a refugee. Even though you are in a multitude, even though you harbour terrorists among you, even though you are unable to comprehend that women are free people. Even though you find yourself having a sexual emergency and thus raping a child, or a mother, or a teenager, or an activist who works for your interests. Even when you murder her. Even when you lie about your age to gain sympathy and leniency from a nation that is altruistic to a fault.

That is not selfish. No, it is the Westerners who are the selfish ones. It is their duty to accept you all into their lands. To complain is racist.

Culture

Cultural enrichment has become a meme. Every time another truck of peace murders our children we joke with gallows humour about how we are culturally enriched. Proponents will argue that we have such great cuisine now. How dare you oppose unending, ceaseless, brutal, civilisation destroying migration.

Wrong.

You ate a curry last night so you cannot complain.

It is preposterous to think that we are unable to follow a recipe to produce food from other countries- coming to think about it, do not Neo-Marxists accuse people of cultural appropriation for doing just that? All the more reason to enliven ones’ taste buds with exotic foods, then. No, this line of reasoning makes no sense- not only this, it reveals the asinine and frankly racist belief prevalent among many that the only thing the immigrant can do is make food for us. It should not even be an argument, but here we are, discussing whether we should accept off-duty soldiers being beheaded in the street because the perpetrator comes from Nigeria, and the Nigerian migrants bring whatever food they eat in Nigeria for us to enjoy.

Don’t complain about migration. We have an international food fair.

Multiculturalism is just better.

We live in a Multiculture. This means there is no British culture. As Lauren Southern discovered, all it takes to be British is a British passport. However, it is not so that we can go to China and become Chinese. That’s ridiculous. We are told that we have always been nations of immigrants, but that is also a lie.

So prevalent is this narrative that despite not having any major immigration for nearly 900 years between 1066 and 1945, most Britons believe we are a nation of immigrants. Of course we are! Angles, Jutes, Saxons, Norse, Norman, and so on. So pervasive is the idea of an immigrant nation that the most recent article I found in the mainstream media refuting this lie is over ten years old.

The idea that a multicultural society is better than one dominated by a single culture would have merit if there was give-and-take between the cultures. Now, the leftists out there will bleat 'Ah ha! colonialism!' And I will say, no. We’ve covered colonialism. If you only care about an issue when white people do it- you are a racist bigot. In a multiculture, we have seen only that the host nation must give up parts of its culture to accommodate the interlopers. The cultures that move in have to give up nothing. We host nations will provide housing, money, education- protection. All for free.

What are we given in return? What benefit? Over 17 years, migration to the UK from outside the European Union cost the nation over £120 billion. The report that showed these statistics was effectively buried by the British Government; statistics produced in the subsequent years have been massaged to the point of irrelevancy and illegibility, to protect the only thing that matters- the narrative.

If there’s no financial benefit, no cultural benefit, no ethical or moral compulsion, and by any metric immigration from outside the West has simply made our lives worse: What argument is left?

We are getting old.

Now we come to the bones. We all know that we live in so-called ageing societies. We are told it every day, that we are getting older; so we need migrants.

“Ha ha ha ha all the whites are dead. Except this one. We keep him alive for the virtue points.”

This is a lie, brought about by an addiction to Neoliberal Capitalism. Let me explain.

Neoclassical economics -which is the underlying theory of Neoliberalism- essentially requires permanent growth. This is why we are in a Boom/Bust economy; capitalism is imperfect, and the imperfections in the economic system lead to catastrophic failures every now and then. Capitalism is still the best system we have- I contend however that Neoliberalism has outlived its purpose.

During the banking crisis of 2008, the banking cartels demanded money from nation states to pay for their mistakes. The nations, being funded by the taxes of the people, paid the ransom. That is a fundamentally socialist act. Neoliberalism was subverted to cover up the failure of neoliberalism. Under truly capitalist methods, the banks should have been allowed to fall. Yes, it would have caused chaos. Yes, it would have been hard. But we would have been freed from this sick mentality of permanent, unending expansion.

Neoliberalism cannot comprehend resources. It deals only with manpower and end product. This means that in order to deal with the demographic effects of capitalism, which are long life and low birthrate, it needs immigration. Without population growth, there will not be enough taxation raised to provide the state pensions.

The world’s governments know that the plebians will accept many things. We will not accept the disrespect of our parents, as Theresa May has found to her cost. There would be a revolution if people were taxed and worked like churls their whole lives, and then receive nothing but a raised middle finger from the tax man when it comes time for us to retire.

To avoid this eventuality, our leaders have gambled that huge migration is a better bet than fixing the system. It is better. For them. Not for you. Not for me. For them.

All that replacement migration does is kick the problem of elderly care down the line for a few years while importing the enriching qualities of the third world. The present political class cares about nothing but retaining power, right now. Not good governance or the future of the nation. Replacement migration is barely even an understood policy- it happens because these imbeciles are too dense to consider the ramifications.

But this also is not enough of an answer; if it were solely about replacing our elderly, the richer European nations could have encouraged migration from poorer ones. Spain. Greece. Poland. Italy. All of southern and central Europe suffered in the aftermath of the banking cartel’s thievery, in the form of huge youth unemployment. These people were left to rot on the workless streets of Valencia, Athens, Warsaw. The richer nations of Europe did not even think to encourage their immigration.

We could make starting families easier, through governmental policy. Most people in the West want to have children, despite being assaulted with propaganda that we are committing a planet-destroying evil if we do.

Appeals to morality from the most unethical scum of the planet. Hilarious.

Because here is a startling fact. You need money to migrate. You cannot emigrate from the ghetto while you earn a ghetto wage. So where are all these migrants coming from, and how? Money talks. Always. So the kids of Portugal did not come to London. The young Greeks did not go to Berlin.

Instead, we imported Islam.

Either our leaders did not know the consequences, or they did not care. In any case, replacement migration to prop up neoliberal capitalism is a band-aid. It can only be temporary, as the migrants, if they work and contribute, will be entitled to be cared for in their old age, just like any other citizen. So what happens then? We will need even more migrants. Every year the Germans become less German. Every year the French are less French. Every year the Britons wither. Every year the Swedes are dying out.

What number will be the tipping point for your country?

The only conclusion is that there is some other ideological reason at play, or we are being led by the most ignorant buffoons imaginable. Either we need to stop having babies to save the planet, or we need more people to support the ageing society. It cannot be both.

It is a Neo-Marxist tactic to destroy us to claim that this is so.

The betrayal of our culture by our elected leaders is why the West is lost. We can find it again. We can change the path we are on, but none of us can do it alone. It is time that we take responsibility for our future and our own minds. It is time for you to learn about what your culture is and what is happening to it. What is being done to it.

And when you see what is happening, and what is being done, will you not feel sick? Will you not feel betrayed? If you think that what is being done to Paris, to London, to New York, to Barcelona; if you think that is enriching, then we are enemies. I do not wish to live in a world where my children are slaves. I will not accept that we Europeans are worthless people who are somehow inferior to other races, and it doesn’t matter if we become extinct.

Coming soon to a city near you.

Do you see how the Alt-Right grows? It’s because people who are centrists will not engage this problem. The evidence for this to be true is insurmountable. If you want to fight the Nazis in your closet and under your bed, you have to accept that these people are not incorrect on this topic- at least in the assessment of the situation. What can you say otherwise? I await any liberal writer to prove me wrong on any of these points- to date, all I am shown are lies. No one can disprove this analysis.

I really wish someone would. I would sleep better. I would feel better about the future for our children. I wish there were some easy answers, that for whatever reason I had simply strayed down an intellectual dead end and become what the left already call me; a bigot, an Islamophobe. Still, for all the name calling, nobody can answer my question.

How are we to avoid the future certainty that we, as a civilization, are going to experience sectarian violence that will make Northern Ireland look like a street party celebrating a Royal Wedding? What kind of action we must take, I do not know. That is for all of us to decide- though time is short and getting shorter.

Slowly with time the past slips away But deep in our souls their memory stays Weapons of guilt won't conquer our minds Just strengthen our will to defy

The ignorant void ever opening wide But we keep their names and spirits alive Arrows of fear won't pierce our minds Just strengthen our will to defy ~ Rudyard Kipling

Greater bloodshed is inevitable unless we act. To save ourselves, we must Make The West Great Again.

http://bit.ly/2loKMWN

[saiilorstars]

Dare to Forget Me

Ch. 21: Birthday Blues

Fandom: Law & Order SVU

Pairing:  Rafael Barba x Original female character

Warnings: Due to the nature of the series’ plots, I do have to rate this as ‘mature’ for constant mentions of rape.

~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ` 0 ~ 0 ~ 0 ~

Chapter Summary: Montserrat makes her decision about her transfer and returns to Manhattan on the night of her birthday...the day she'd been dreading so much. Rafael wants to help, part of a way to make up to her for his past mistake, but will it turn out fine this time?

(Previous chapters)

While things with Heba's case had died down, though not with a good ending, SVU gradually seemed to fall back into its normal routine that week. There was only one thing that was still up in the air for everyone to see.

Montserrat was on her way out of the bullpen while Rafael was coming in. He walked on like nothing but despite his efforts to keep going, he came to a stop anyways. He had fresh new thoughts thanks to one Carisi who, for some reason, had gotten the idea that he, somewhere along the way, had developed some feelings for Montserrat. Rafael thought that was probably the moment he ever felt so much anger towards one person. Needless to say, he'd thrown Carisi out of his office with the threat that he better not say such ridiculous things in his face again.

That had been this morning. It was lunch time now which had given him some time to think about Carisi's words, no matter how uncomfortable it made him.

"Montserrat?" Rafael had gone back to the hallway and stopped the detective halfway towards the elevator. She turned back and, for the first time that week, she didn't look like she would kill him on the spot. "I know you're not speaking to me but...I just need to say that I'm sorry. Again. I'm really sorry. I was never owed any of your secrets and...I still screwed up."

Montserrat could immediately see differences between now and then. She had finally managed to control her feelings. Before today, she was furious beyond belief. If this was still before, she wouldn't have heard Rafael out - she'd probably curse him and then leave. But that hadn't been getting her anywhere expect for fueling more rage. For her sake - and for the sake of her blood pressure - she needed to calm down. After all, like she once admitted to her therapist, Rafael accidentally letting her secret out took away the fear of having to do it herself. She hadn't been brave enough to tell the squad of her plans. And now, with a clearer mind, she could straight away see the guilt on Rafael's face.

"I know," Montserrat said quietly, even nodding her head to show she'd heard him loud and clear. The mere fact she'd listened was already surprising for Rafael. "And I'm sorry it took me this long to understand."

Rafael gave her an uneasy look. She was acting too strange, too...180. "... you're not upset anymore?"

"I mean, I am but…" Montserrat drew in a deep breath and sighed, "I'm... I'm leaving for Brooklyn," she instead said, now truly surprising Rafael. "I'm visiting their Homicide division for a few days. I think it's a good idea to put some space between me and everything here."

"Right," Rafael agreed, although he wasn't sure why he would. He didn't like it.

"I should be back on Friday."

"Your birthday?"

There was visible dislike for that reminder. "Friday," Montserrat reiterated. She offered him one small smile then turned to leave.

There was a feeling in the pit of Rafael's stomach warning him that even if Montserrat returned, things would not be the same as before. He didn't quite like that either.

~ 0 ~

Montserrat packed light, after all she was only going to be gone for two days. She argued with Kara probably during all her packing and preparation time.

Kara was relentless that Montserrat was running away from problems. And she was not quiet about it either. "Montserrat Irene Novak, this is the most childish thing you have ever done!"

Montserrat scoffed after shoving in a blouse enter suitcase. "Really? Going to observe a different division is childish?"

"When you're doing it to avoid facing reality, uh, yeah it is!"

Montserrat rolled her eyes and continued moving around her room to get the last of her things into a suitcase. "I promise you, Kara, that I am not running away. I really think some space is what I need to clear my head and maybe get rid of any lingering anger I have. Hell, I think it might even be good for us to have some space. We might end up killing each other."

"I think you're doing things wrong," Kara folded her arms. "And it is kind of scaring me because I've never seen you act like this before."

Okay, that one Montserrat would give to Kara. She was confused herself why she needed to do all this just to be okay again. But the point was that she needed to do this.

"It'll just be for a few days and then I'll be back," Montserrat said with a cheery smile.

"Well, what if you end up liking it there?" Kara frowned for a second. "And you don't want to come back."

Montserrat thought about that possibility and could only shrugged. "Then I like it."

"Montserrat!" Kara whined.

"What?" Montserrat laughed for a bit. "Kara, you and I were supposed to be only temporary roommates, remember? I was supposed to find my own place eventually."

"Well, yeah, but…" Kara shifted on her feet, looking more like a child than an adult right now. "You're my best friend. It's kind of fun living with you."

"Thanks," Montserrat offered the woman a smile. "But I just have to go. I'm sorry."

Kara saw there wasn't no point in arguing with her. She'd made her choice to go, but it didn't mean Kara would stop hoping Montserrat hated the place.

~0~

Two steps into the Brooklyn Homicide bullpen and everyone already knew who Montserrat was. She felt bombarded with all the "hello's" she got as soon as she walked in. There was a moment where Montserrat felt overwhelmed enough to turn around and leave.

"Miss Novak," a tall, older man emerged from the Captain's office. He was already gray on the head but he had piercing green eyes that looked like they could catch anything wrong in a second. "You made it. And I see that my squad has already given you a vibe of our dynamic."

"Uuh, yeah," Montserrat couldn't come up with anything to actually say right now. She didn't like being the center of attention from strangers.

"Captain Delisle," the man held a hand to shake with Montserrat. She smiled and shook hands.

"Montserrat Novak. Can I ask how everyone knew who I was before they even saw me?"

"Simple, you're the only redhead we know in the building," one of the detectives answered from their desk. Montserrat turned to give a strange look, making the man laugh. "Kidding. We know your cousin? ADA Novak? You guys got the same hair."

"Oh," Montserrat didn't know if that was worse or better than the former explanation.

"Alright, Detective Novak is here to observe how we run things in this precinct so let's make a good impression," the Captain said. "Novak, if you'd stay you'd be Mulvoy's partner," he directed her towards a man who'd risen from his desk at the call of his name.

"Jake Mulvoy," the detective introduced himself as he crossed through the desks to shake hands with Montserrat.

"Montserrat," she smiled politely. He looked nice enough, though there wasn't that playfulness Sonny seemed to naturally carry.

"Please treat Montserrat well as she visits us. She might become one of ours by the end of the week," Delisle said playfully then spoke to Montserrat. "We can talk at the end of the day to see how you like it here and discuss other things."

Montserrat nodded and was freed to mingle through the bullpen. She got to know the rest of the detectives, which she immediately could tell would not be like her SVU squad. For one, Detective Miranda Kim was, to put it in simple terms, was a downright bitch. It appeared that Mulvoy's previous partner was Kim's best friend who was transferred to a different department. In Kim's eyes, Montserrat was there to replace her best friend.

Great.

Detective Xavier Lance, Kim's partner, was a somewhat better person. He was tall, had a charming smile, and was kind to newcomers. He lamented their old detective's transfer but was excited for the prospect of a new co-worker. He kind of reminded Montserrat of Nick, except that Lance could be a bit more snippy once you started asking questions about their specific cases. It was as if Lance thought Montserrat was there to steal the cases they were already working on.

"Don't worry about them," Detective Connor Shein brought Montserrat to his desk. He wasn't as tall as Lance but he was still taller than Montserrat. He had nice blue eyes and rather shaggy brown hair. "They're a little more on the reserved side. But they're good detectives."

His partner, Detective Paulina Quell, was a smiley blonde woman that made Montserrat instantly think of Amanda. The only difference was Paulina was taller. And no accent. She came to stand beside Montserrat and placed a gentle hand on Montserrat's arm. "Yeah, if you stay they'll warm up to you."

"Would you like to see some of our cases right now?" Shein asked Montserrat and gestured to the files sitting on his and Quell's desks.

"Sure," Montserrat gave a nod. "It'll almost be like a trip down memory lane since I used to work homicide back in Queens."

"You did?" Mulvoy suddenly asked then exchanged looks with Shein and Quell stopping to glance at each other then to look at the ginger.

"You've been around then," chuckled Quell. "Homicide and SVU? Which one do you like better? If that's not a weird question…"

"Well, they each have their own things," admitted Montserrat. "Homicide you don't know how to deal with live victims which saves you a lot of sleepless nights and standoffs with the victims and their families. But SVU gives a little bit more of a satisfaction because when you do get the victims' culprit, you got the satisfaction of knowing that you got the guy and you made justice for someone who's alive to see it." And as Montserrat said these words, she grew distant with thoughts. SVU, however challenging at times, always brought a different type of satisfaction when they were able to put the culprit away because more than often the victim was still alive to see it happen. They could see the impact they made on the victim. Homicide didn't offer that.

"Do you mind if we ask you why you're thinking about transferring here?" Shein asked quietly. "I mean, you've started making a name for yourself back in Manhattan."

"I have?" blinked Montserrat. That's the first time she heard any of that.

"Yeah, you and SVU as a whole. You guys are pretty good at what you do over there," Quell said and had the agreeing nods from the other two detectives. "I mean, don't get us wrong, we would love to have you on board with us but we're just a little curious why you would want to leave that department that's doing so well?"

"Fair question," Montserrat nodded. "It's just personal reasons. Um, just wanting to see if Homicide is my true calling." Well, she couldn't very well say the truth here could she? Still, the answer was deemed good enough for the two detectives.

For the rest of the day, Montserrat spent her time going through cases with Mulvoy, Quell and Shein, featuring remarks from Lance but absolutely nothing from Kim. She got to know a few of the officers lingering in the office, and most importantly she began to get the feel of the squad as a whole.

"So, how do you like it here?" Captain Delisle asked once they were both seated in his office.

"It's different than what I'm used to now," Montserrat began with, considering it was the easiest things you could say that didn't involve a lie.

"I'm sure it is," Delisle nodded. "I've talked to your sergeant and she doesn't seem like she wants to let you go. But that didn't stop her from giving me good remarks about you."

"Olivia's very kind," Montserrat said with a small smile. "Too kind."

"May I ask why you're looking to transfer?"

If Montserrat was score how many times she'd been asked that question today, she'd probably lose count. It was a fair question, she knew, but it didn't mean she wanted to keep hearing it. It involved a lot of things she couldn't (and didn't) want to talk about.

"I used to do Homicide," Montserrat began with what Delisle probably already knew, "And it was hard, sometimes, to see what we had. The corpses. The way they died. But sometimes, SVU is a little harder. We typically have live victims and...hearing what they've gone through…"

"It's tough," Delisle nodded. "But someone's gotta do it, right?"

Montserrat took those words more to heart than she planned to. "...yeah…" She felt her phone buzz inside her pocket but didn't get it right away.

"Well, we'll see you tomorrow then. Hopefully by then you'll have made your decision regarding where you want to be," Delisle got up to shake hands with her then led her out the door.

As Montserrat checked her phone, Detectives' Mulvoy, Shein and Quell called to her from their desks.

"Hey, how'd it go?" Mulvoy's question didn't register for the first few seconds as Montserrat had focused too much on her phone.

A smile came to her face after checking the new text message she'd received from Rafael.

If you haven't already had dinner, try Morgan's Barbecue. I think you might like. Your type of food I...

"Hey, Novak?" Quell's voice finally broke through Montserrat's concentration.

The ginger looked up from her phone with blinking eyes. "I'm sorry?"

Quell only chuckled. "We were just wondering how'd it go with the Captain."

"Oh, it's fine. I'll be back tomorrow to keep observing. Thank you for letting me do that, by the way. I know it's probably annoying to have some newbie looking over your shoulder."

"Nah, it's fine," Shein assured. "Better to know what you're getting into before you put in your papers."

Montserrat nodded. She looked down at her phone for a quick second then smiled. "Would either of you know where Morgan's Barbecue is?"

~0~

As much as they offered, Montserrat reassured the Homicide detectives that she was fine eating dinner on her own. She was tired anyways so she wasn't sure if she'd even eat inside or just do take out in her hotel.

She had to admit the restaurant was nice, though. Its lights were dim to give it a nightly look, but gave off a relaxing atmosphere from the moment one stepped inside. When Montserrat saw bar right on the side, she immediately pictured Rafael coming in at least four times a week. The stock looked pretty full...and good.

She eventually found herself drifting towards the bar counter after having enough of looking around. From there, she looked at the menu and, to her delight, found that there was indeed many barbecue options. After ordering, she started going through the wine selection and was surprised to see so many options. They seemed to have a lot on whiskey so of course Rafael would know the place.

"Now I know why you came here," she mumbled her thought about Rafael. He could get over the barbecue because of what was at the bar. She was so focused on choosing a drink, she didn't notice someone taking a seat beside her.

"Can I buy you a drink?"

Montserrat, of course, flinched and looked up from the menu to find a blonde sitting next to her stool. "Me?"

The man nodded. "Who else? You're the only pretty redhead in this place."

Montserrat cleared her throat and offered one polite smile. "Thanks, but...no thanks."

"Are you waiting for someone?"

"No, but I'm not interested. I've got...things going on." What things Montserrat spoke about she had no idea, but neither did the man anyways.

"I'm James," the man first introduced himself, giving Montserrat the indication he was not leaving soon. "I come here every week, so believe me I know the best drinks here."

"Well, my friend probably came here everyday so I'll just go with his recommendations, thank you," she smiled ever-so-politely as she got up from her stool and picked up her menu and bag, "And just so we're clear, this is my definite no. Don't need to show you my SVU badge, do I?" her snappiness came as a surprise to James but she didn't stop to see his full reaction as she stormed off to take a seat at the very end of the bar.

Okay, maybe she shouldn't have been that snappy since the man hadn't really done anything except ignore her first 'no'.

One of the bartenders, a woman who looked just a bit older than Montserrat, stopped by Montserrat's new seat to chuckle. Montserrat could see the name 'Elise' written on the bartender's name tag. "Nice one. I don't see a lot of snippy women around here. It's like they're too scared of being mean or something."

"Well, I'm a bit guilty right now, so…" Montserrat admitted.

"Oh don't be," Elise waved a hand to the side. "That guy's in here every night trying to pick up women. And let me tell you-" she leaned an elbow on the counter, "-that he is not interested in dating, if you know what I mean."

"Oh, well in that case, screw him," Montserrat nodded, making the bartender chuckle.

Elise gave an approving nod of her head. "What can I get you, then?"

"Honestly," Montserrat put a hand over the closed menu on the counter, "I have no idea. I'm from Manhattan and, really, the only reason I'm here is because a friend who used to live here in Brooklyn told me I should come here. Though now that I think more about it, I assume he only ever came in here for drinks than actual dinner. Rafael's more of a eat-while-on-the-job guy than actual breakfast, lunch and dinner."

Elise seemed to pause for a second, something Montserrat caught but wasn't sure how to ask about it. Luckily, Elise spoke up after a few seconds of pondering. "You wouldn't happen to be talking about Rafael Barba, would you?"

Montserrat blinked, and somehow nodded slightly. "...yeah...how did you…?"

Elise smiled at the woman's confusion. "You said SVU before and then Manhattan, plus what you mentioned about a friend living in Brooklyn? The name was just a bonus."

"Wow, maybe you're the detective in this conversation," Montserrat tilted her head, honestly impressed by the woman.

Elise laughed for a moment, but Montserrat seemed dead serious which just made Elise laugh even more. "Okay, you're definitely his type."

Instead of snapping like she usually tended to, Montserrat quietly sighed and closed her eyes. "I'm not…" she didn't even bother with the same response. She opened her eyes and came at it from another angle. "Can I ask you something?" Elise nodded her head. "I literally said 'friends' like two or three times so...why would you say something like that to me?"

"What -- the being 'his type' thing?" Elise asked and Montserrat nodded. "Rafael used to come here every night, literally every night, when he worked for the Brooklyn DA's office. So believe me when I tell you I know him very well."

"Were you and him…?" Montserrat found herself asking and when she realized it, she felt a warmth on her face. "Sorry. Didn't mean to ask that…"

Elise just smiled again. "Nah. We just really bonded over what drinks were the best. Though due to his profession I lost almost every argument."

"He's snippy but not impossible to win, believe me," Montserrat said all too proudly. "I've won a few rounds against him."

"I believe that based on how you got rid of that guy earlier," Elise smirked. "I told Rafael he'd meet his match sooner or later. Too bad it's not yet happened, huh?"

Montserrat was more pensive than she would've liked to be. As Elise recommended some of the drinks she thought were good, Montserrat's head was somewhere else - more specifically on someone else.

~ 0 ~

"Okay, just, please change if you get a stain or something," Kara trailed after Sonny into the bullpen, ignoring his looks for her to stop talking and the others' amused smiles.

Sonny went straight to his desk and plopped down, but that didn't stop Kara either. She was a woman with a plan today and she was getting things done. "And you said you'd be out by 7:00, right?"

"I guess," Sonny shrugged.

"What's going on, Carisi?" Amanda just couldn't stop smiling at the pair. "You had lunch for an hour, what could you possibly have done in that hour?"

"Nothing," Sonny scowled, and thankfully Kara was still there to clarify.

"I'm just making sure everything's good for Montse's birthday," the woman smiled excitedly.

"Oh right, that's today," Amanda looked to Fin and Nick, all three realizing it was indeed Montserrat's birthday today.

"Yup! And I'm expecting everyone at eight o'clock today. It's Montse's favorite restaurant," Kara wagged a finger at them as if she were speaking with children.

"Yeah, but, Montserrat's still away in Brooklyn," Nick thought Kara needed a reminder since the woman was probably going detail-crazy. "What if she's not back today?"

"She said she would be," Kara shrugged. "I don't think she needs more than 2 days to realize Brooklyn ain't happening."

"How are you so sure?" asked Fin.

"Because I'm Montse's best friend and I know she's not going to stay in Brooklyn," Kara seemed very sure of herself they almost believed it. "So-" she clapped her hands together, "-we're all set for eight, right?"

"Set for what?" Olivia asked as she'd only caught the last part of Kara's question.

Kara looked back to see her and Rafael coming into the bullpen. She grinned, though, because now she had all of them in one place. "Montserrat's birthday, remember?"

The two in question looked at each other then nodded.

"Yes, what about it?" Rafael was the one to ask.

"What do you mean?" Kara raised an eyebrow. "It's today."

"Yes, and she asked us, many times, not to celebrate it," Rafael reminded her, looking pretty serious in that he'd be following the request.

"But that's what everyone says," Kara rolled her eyes.

"But she means it," Olivia said, internally sighing because she knew without a proper explanation Kara would never give up this birthday party. "And that's what Rafael and I are going to do."

"You're not coming?" Kara's face fell but was quickly replaced with offence. "Neither of you?"

The two shook their heads. Behind Kara, the rest of the squad exchanged confused looks amongst each other.

"It's what Montserrat wanted," Rafael reminded once again but with a touch more annoyed.

"Oh of course you're going to listen to her," Kara waved him off. "You still want to get into her good graces."

"I decided that a long time ago. I don't need your incessant shouting for us to do something Montserrat specifically asked us not to."

Seeing Kara getting actually mad, Sonny shot up from his seat with the intention of removing the stressor - which in this case, unfortunately, was his girlfriend. "Kara, let me take you to your car."

"Fine," Kara said and only because she was on a tight schedule. She let Sonny walk her towards the exit but she stopped at Rafael's side. "But you and I both know that Montserrat would want you to come. And you want to be there anyways."

The glare Rafael was giving Kara wasn't something anyone wanted to be caught under, but Kara just smirked and went on her way rather proudly.

Sonny mumbled a quick 'sorry' to Rafael as he followed Kara out into the hallway. Of course once they were out of hearing shot, he had a go with Kara. "You can't do stuff like that!"

Kara just rolled her eyes while she waited for the elevator to open. When they finally did, Sonny blocked the way inside with an arm.

"I'm serious, Kara. That wasn't okay!"

Kara's eyes flickered to the detective, getting annoyed by the second. "Let me go through, right now. I have plans I can't be late for." With a sigh, Sonny did but he followed her in. Kara pressed the down button then stepped back and allowed a heavy silence to fall on them for a couple seconds. "I'm not choosing to be an ass, you know."

Sonny still lightly sighed. "I didn't say that-"

"-no, but you're thinking it."

"No," Sonny said loudly for it to be clearly clarified. "I just disagree with how you're taking this whole...situation. I don't think it's your place-"

"-my best friend is in Brooklyn right now, thinking about staying to live there!" Kara exclaimed and walked out the moment the elevator door opened again. "I have to do something and, unfortunately for Rafael, he's the only one I can think of who can stop Montse. And you know why, Sonny, so stop pretending like those two are."

"Okay," Sonny put his hands on Kara's shoulders, hoping to calm her down before she left the building. Now that he saw where her mind was, he could help better. "You don't want Montse to leave and that's completely understandable. What's not going to work, however, is you harassing both Montse and Rafael. It's not going to end well and you know that."

"I'm desperate here!" Kara frowned. "I don't want her to leave, and much less run away from someone. Doesn't it feel like that?"

Sonny bobbed his head while he considered the idea. "On some level, sure, but...we can't be 100% sure about it. We'll just have to wait for Montserrat to come back and tell us her decision. In the meantime, let's just make sure she has a nice welcome back party."

"It's a birthday party," Kara pointed.

"Well she didn't want that so let's call it a welcome back party or she might just hurt us."

"Good point," Kara nodded.

"So...we good…?"

Kara's smile said it all. "Yeah." She let him hug her tightly for a few minutes before it was time for her to really go.

~ 0 ~

"Just out of curiosity, will you be going to this party?" Rafael simply could not help himself with the matter. He watched Olivia drop her things at her desk and give him quite a look.

"I thought you were smarter than this," she said bluntly. "Of course not. I respect Montserrat's wishes and I wished everyone else did too." Now it was Rafael's to give her a look. She noticed it after sitting down. "What?"

Rafael tilted his head at her, continuing to stare at her until she shifted in her seat. "You know more than I do."

Olivia raised an eyebrow at him, clearly not getting what he meant. "What?"

"You're the only one actually not going," Rafael continued with his words, letting Olivia wallow in confusion for the next minute, "And that can only mean you know exactly why Montserrat hates her birthday. Like Casey."

Olivia shook her head, doing that noise with her mouth that Rafael had come to learn was her 'You got me but I'm not admitting' noise.

"Casey's also not attending," he said for her sake. "What is it that made you and Casey so trustworthy that Montserrat decided to confide in only you two?"

Though Olivia would never openly admit that he was right, she did turn her gaze back on him. "Why do you sound so bothered by it?"

"No so much 'bothered' as I am tired of this same subject."

"Look, I cannot say anything except what you already know. And what we know is that this party will only hurt Montserrat, and us attending - just as everyone else - will only show that we don't care what she decided."

While that sounded logical, Rafael had to disagree. He didn't say it because there was no point. Olivia knew what he didn't, and no matter how much he asked her, she would never tell him because Montserrat wouldn't tell him.

But there was this idea of his that compelled him to do the opposite of what Olivia and Casey were planning. Sure, Montserrat would hate anyone who attended this godforsaken party, but if he, Olivia and Casey didn't go then she would be stuck with the clueless people who believed she wanted the party. At least if one of them went, they could help her out.

~ 0 ~

When Montserrat entered her apartment, it was a literal twenty minute hug-fest from Kara. Montserrat felt truly loved in that moment, as well as a little claustrophobic.

"I'm just so glad you're back!" Kara exclaimed as Montserrat was finally able to peel her off. "And happy birthday!"

As Kara went for another hug, Montserrat dove to the side and wheeled her suitcase towards the hallway. "Thanks, but...please don't."

"Oh c'mon, don't go to your room," Kara tailed after the ginger down the hallway. "Let's go out for some drinks. My treat."

"I'm not in the mood for it, Kara," Montserrat opened her bedroom door and walked in, along with Kara.

"But it'll be fun! And relaxing! Plus, you can tell me about Brooklyn. You can start with whether or not you'll be moving."

Montserrat sighed as she brought her suitcase to her bed. "I just...Kara, I've said this before over and over...I don't like my birthday. I'd really rather stay in my room."

"Well that's just depressing," Kara folded her arms over her chest. "And I'm not leaving until you say you'll get drinks with me."

"You're being extra childish today," Montserrat took notice. "Who pissed you off today?"

Kara would love to say it was her almost boyfriend but she knew if she did Montserrat would never agree to going out. "I'm a little upset you won't come out with me, that's all."

With another sigh, Montserrat turned to her roommate. "I'm sorry. I really did miss you, though."

A smile returned to Kara's face. "Then c'mon! Let's go out! Couple drinks and then we can come home."

Montserrat nearly rolled her eyes. She knew this 'drink night' was really Kara's surprise party that wasn't such a surprise. She did have to hand it to Kara in that she was persistent and thoughtful. She should be more grateful, she knew, but her birthday still felt...wrong. Like, what was she meant to celebrate? Her rapist was still out there, living his own life, while she had to switch jobs, move cities, make new friends.

But you did have some good times, she thought after a moment.

Yes, she did switch jobs but she did find SVU to be a good place. The city was okay too. And her new friends? Yeah, they were good too. She couldn't deny she hadn't been handed some good things this year but...it was hard to focus just on that when the bad was so...impacting.

"Montse?" Kara was now putting her hands together to plead. "Let's go out, yeah? For a little bit?"

"I'm going to regret this," Montserrat mumbled under her breath before agreeing.

Kara was ecstatic and, to Montserrat's surprise, she already had an outfit in mind for the night. Though after a moment, Montserrat realized she should've seen this coming. Still, she told herself to be prepared for this party and its livelihood she wasn't quite ready for.

~0~

Montserrat's mind raced the moment she stepped into the restaurant. Everyone screamed 'Surprise!' and while they cheered for her and wished her a happy birthday, Montserrat kept a tight smile on her face as she thanked each person. It shouldn't have been that hard considering these were people she liked. There was Sonny, Fin, Amanda, Nick...there was Madison and Caroline. Her father was even there, sans Damian, Gael and his daughters.

"Yeah they're still away on that seminar," Montserrat's father said after giving her a hug. "But he wishes you a happy birthday too."

"Thanks Dad," Montserrat said.

"How does it feel being 30 now?" He picked up his glass of bourbon from the table.

"Honestly, not that great," Montserrat knew that was as much as she could say without lying.

He didn't get it of course. "Yeah, I remember that one. But this doesn't mean you're old, sweetie. Just means a new chapter of your life is starting." Montserrat nodded, listening to his words but as seconds passed by she felt like she had to breathe harder. "Could be that this is the year you finally settle down…"

"Oh, Dad…" Montserrat knew this topic definitely wouldn't help her feel any better.

"I'd like some more grandkids, dear--"

Montserrat nearly choked on her saliva. A certain memory was popping into her mind and it was not letting her breathe easily. As her dad went on and on about new grandchildren, Montserrat started to feel like she was going to drown. Eventually, she just couldn't do it. "Sorry Dad, I gotta go." She turned away and made a hasty stride for the entrance doors. She practically shoved some people out of the way, ignoring their dirty looks, till she could see the doors. Her heart was racing and she honestly felt like if she didn't breathe in fresh air she would pass out.

Am I having an anxiety attack? Montserrat realized this was a possibility. It never really manifested past biting her nails but it certainly wasn't impossible. She had feared her birthday for months and now that it was finally here she was spiraling.

She practically slammed the doors behind her and leaned against them, breathing hard and fast but at least she was outside now. Oh dear Lord help me. She closed her eyes for a moment and focused on just breathing.

"Montserrat?"

Montserrat nearly fell from the door - if that was even possible considering she'd been leaning against it - but got her balance in time. She saw Rafael cautiously approaching her, probably wondering what the hell was wrong with her. "You came…"

"Yes, and I know you didn't want this--" Rafael made a nod at the restaurant where they could hear the loud party going on, "--but I'm not here as a guest."

"You're not?" She leaned away from the door and looked him over. He wore a white collar shirt with a dark jacket and matching pants. "Because you're dressed like one."

"I could say the same about you," he countered with the same accusing tone she used, only his came with a smirk.

Montserrat wore a sleeveless, tight, black dress that hugged her body and ended a bit above her knees. There was a golden necklace around her neck, bringing some attention to her plunging neckline. Her red lips didn't smile nor smirk like they usually would.

"It wasn't my choice," she frowned. "Kara had everything planned…everything."

"You don't look good…" he noted her nervousness, accompanied with a frantic glance at the restaurant.

"Yeah, I'm not," she didn't hesitate to confirm. "I'm, well…"

"Not good?"

"Yeah," she bit her lower lip. She awkwardly folded her arms over her chest. "I thought I could handle it but it turns out that I can't, and if I don't get out of here I'm going to lose it."

Even though it was a quick paced ramble, Rafael followed perfectly. "Do you want to go home? You know that's why I came. I may not know what's going on but I would like to help you."

Montserrat could appreciate that and she would take it. She glanced at the restaurant before deciding she really did need to go. "Let's have drinks. Somewhere away from here."

"Are you sure--"

"--yes," she said rapidly. "Let's go!"

Well, he wouldn't argue with that. She looked like she would chew someone's head off at the first chance she got and he was not putting himself on the line. Luckily for her, he was an expert at knowing places that had great drinks.

Once Montserrat was in the presence of a new, peaceful restaurant she seemed to act more like herself. "Thank you." Her gratitude was so quiet Rafael almost missed it.

"Of course."

The two had sat down at a particularly empty bar counter. They'd already ordered some drinks and were just waiting.

"So you came to this party just to...help?"

Rafael bobbed his head. "More or less. My logic was that I'd be the only one who knew you actually hated the damn party so I could actually help you out."

"Well thank you," Montserrat honestly said, and meant it too. Who knows where she could've ended up if he hadn't shown up. "I needed it."

The bartender passed by to hand out their drinks at the same time. Rafael picked his up first and with a light smirk on his face he said, "Not-so happy birthday to you."

Montserrat chuckled as she picked up her own drink to clink with his. "Sure."

"Thirty is an awful year."

"Really? You still remember yours?"

Rafael rolled his eyes. He took a drink from his glass then set it down to reach for something inside his jacket. "Even though it's not a wanted birthday, I hope you'll accept this."

Montserrat's eyes blinked when he set down a small rectangular black box on the counter. "Please tell me you didn't actually buy something…"

"My mother would kill me if I went to a birthday party without bringing a present," Rafael said and looked dead serious about it too.

"I gotta meet your mother some time," Montserrat smirked for a moment then looked down at the present again. "But, I mean, you shouldn't have. And I know that's what a lot of people say and don't mean it but in this case I do. You shouldn't have because I said I didn't even want a birthday."

"But I'm happy you made it to another birthday. It's a small win but an important one nonetheless. And I don't know what your year was like before coming to Manhattan but I am glad you made it here."

Montserrat blushed against her better instinct. "Wow, didn't think you could say things like that." Rafael frowned for a moment, about to ask what she meant by that when she spoke up again, "... I'm staying at SVU." She rested her arms on either side of her drink.

The sweet smile on her face unintentionally reminded Rafael of a time, months ago, when they had drinks together after working their first case; though now Montserrat had shorter hair and was far more comfortable with him. Whether or not he'd wanted to, he ended up smiling as well.

"What made you decide that?"

"Honestly? It's just not the same as Manhattan," Montserrat shrugged. "Everyone's nice there, but...I like it here."

"I did say Brooklyn wasn't as nice as Manhattan," Rafael picked up his glass again to take a drink.

"Well, there were some things that...were good," Montserrat had a secret smile on her face that grew when she said, "I, uh, went to that restaurant you suggested and wouldn't you know it? I met your old friend, Elise."

Rafael choked on the alcohol in his mouth. "What?" came the scratchy voice a second later.

"Yeah," Montserrat started bobbing her head. "She remembered you and she had a lot of stories to tell."

"Don't…"

"Should we start with June 2012? The day you-"

"-I said don't, Montserrat," Rafael warned. Even the way he said her name had become sharp, but not at all terrifying. In fact, she started to laugh instead.

It didn't stop her from re-telling all the stories Elise had confided in her. And boy was there a few. With each story, it got harder for Montserrat to say it without laughing...until she just couldn't stop.

"And here I thought you went to Brooklyn for work," Rafael sourly said, side-glancing her laughing figure. He had to admit, however, that he preferred this Montserrat over the version he had earlier. She was happier, livelier...just her.

"I did, I did, but-" Montserrat couldn't help it. She just couldn't do it. She brought a hand up to her mouth to cover her laughter, but she had to lean away to get all of it out.

"Happy birthday I guess," Rafael raised his glass to the air as if toasting before taking a last drink.

"Okay! Okay! Okay! I'm done! I promise!" she had to take in a deep breath in hopes of finally calming herself down. "Here, let's switch subjects." She raised her hands to show she was done, or at least that she was going to try and be done. She noticed his present was still sitting on the counter, unopened, and that just couldn't be. "I know what'll help."

"Will it though?" Rafael sent her a hard look that subsided once she smiled again. She really had a knack for that smiling thing. Her nose seemed to crinkle each time.

Montserrat ignored his snippy question, as well as his look, in favor of the present. When she took its lid off, she found a rose-gold necklace inside with a pendant in the shape of a ballerina. The ballerina was in a dance pose - one foot on the other leg - with her skirt outlined with silver stones.

"That is...beautiful," Montserrat gawked with widened eyes. "This could not have been a $20 gift."

"You are not guilt-tripping me for this," Rafael warned, but she could see he was shifting in his stool. She was right.

"I can't take this," she shook her head. "It had to have been expensive. I can't--"

"Well, you have to because I'm not taking it back," he looked her dead in the eyes and told her the same thing with them. "It's for you." Montserrat opened her mouth as if to protest but...there wasn't much to do if he'd already decided against it. "It's for you and your ballet dancing dreams."

The fact Rafael still remembered that she'd once said she'd originally wanted to become a dancer was...it made her feel special.

She smiled so widely it could've cracked her face in two. "Can't believe you remember that."

"I remember everything you say," he said matter-of-factly then smiled for a brief moment, "Even when you're yelling it at me." She chuckled but gave that to him.

"Thank you," she said softly. She drew her hands to the back of her neck and unfastened the necklace she was already wearing. She put it down on the counter and gingerly picked up the new necklace.

"You need help?" Rafael asked her after watching her trying and failing to put on the necklace on her own.

"Please," she said and handed him the necklace. "But don't break it. You break it, you buy it."

"Because I haven't already done that?" He got up from his seat like she did.

She turned away and raised her hair off her back, giving him perfect access. As his hands moved forwards on each side of her neck, she could smell whiffs of his cologne. Each time she smelled it, she remembered she loved it. Get ahold of yourself Montserrat, she berated herself. She always did this. Every time. Without fail. Like it was a--

Rafael's fingers had brushed along her skin. He hadn't meant to, of course, but it was impossible to avoid.

Oh dear Lord. Montserrat felt chills and she really wished she could stop acting like a teenage girl but it was so difficult.

Putting a necklace on someone shouldn't be taking so long, but for some reason Rafael doddled with the task. He could smell Montserrat's perfume from where he stood and each time he did he felt like backing away was out of the question. He couldn't budge from his spot even when he was more than unprofessionally close to her. He'd never stand that close to, say, Olivia? Or Amanda?

But Montserrat was different. She always was. Whether it was her ability to keep up with his mouth or handle his snark, she always had something to throw back at him. It was like she had the perfect talent - the perfect ability - that allowed her to pull the right strings with him. And he really liked it...but it was really wrong. When his fingers touched her skin, he felt her flinch in surprise. Yet when he set the necklace on her and let his fingers stroke down her exposed skin, she didn't shy away from it.

Montserrat turned around to face him and let her hair fall back over her shoulders. "How does it look?" She asked, raising her head to give him a better view of her necklace, though Rafael could see a little more than just her neck.

"...good," he said, sounding like he needed more air. Even his nodding was off. Maybe Montserrat knew why, maybe she didn't...but she probably did. "We...should probably go," Rafael's suggestion went right over Montserrat's head.

"It's not that late, is it?" She stepped closer to him, if it was even possible, and brought her hands to his chest.

Rafael was pretty sure it wasn't late but that's not what he was going for. For someone who rarely felt nervousness, this was probably his worst case. She smelled absolutely delicious, and if he got into how she looked right now...I'm losing it. How the hell am I losing it?

Montserrat smiled sweetly and unknowingly answered his question. He watched her fingers stroke circles over his chest, playing a wicked game with him. His hand suddenly snatched one of her wrists and after taking her second one, Montserrat thought enough was enough. She kissed him.

It was surprising but Rafael wasn't ready to pull away. Her lips tasted of alcohol and when he put his hands on her waist he discovered she was curvy. He wrapped his arms around her, unknowingly reminding Montserrat that, apart from his scent, she loved the feeling of his arms. It was probably the first thing she ever noticed about him. Back when she was his witness, 9 months pregnant, he'd caught her in a moment of imbalance. He was able to once again see the very light freckles under her eyes and she saw the flecks of brown in his green eyes. He was strong, and the way he held her made her feel...protected? She didn't know if that was the right description, but it was close enough. To have him back, like this, was even better.

The two seemed to find their fit with each other in a matter of seconds (which, if they'd been more in-tune with reality, they would've been surprised by). It could've been minutes of beautiful bliss if someone's cell phone hadn't gone off.

Rafael was in a daze as he got to his phone in his pocket. He wasn't even sure if he'd actually answered it but upon hearing Sonny's voice on the other end of the line, reality started settling again. Montserrat watched him with more or less of the same daze in her eyes.

"Have I seen Montserrat?" He repeated what he was being asked. He saw Montserrat silently shake her head, almost looking like a plead. "No. I didn't even go." Rafael scrunched his face for a second, looking like he was getting irritated by the second. "I know what I said, Carisi, but I didn't! Go find her yourself!" He ended the call with that snap and turned away from Montserrat. He pressed his hands on the bar counter and leaned forwards, closing his eyes for a moment.

She recognized the look on his face. It was regret. And it hurt.

"I'm sorry, Montserrat," he apologized quietly. She opened her mouth to respond, but he cut her off before she could say anything, "It's unprofessional. And it's…" he leaned away from the bar counter and faced her once more. He looked her over, wishing nothing more than to have her all to himself.

But it wasn't right.

Least that's what he kept telling himself over and over.

Montserrat, being who she was, couldn't take his words without protest. "You can't tell me this after a kiss like that. You want me like I want you." The fact the words slipped through her lips so easily didn't even faze her at the moment. She'd need a few hours.

"Yes, but it's not--" Rafael forced himself to stop before he got more upset. He took a deep breath in and started again, though he knew he had to keep it short so that he could get the hell out of there without falling back. "It just wouldn't work. Your age, our jobs...the way we are with each other? It just can't."

Montserrat's eyes widened slightly at his words but only briefly before anger started settling across her face. That was the moment Rafael knew he had to leave. He knew if he faced her while she showed clear pain that he caused, he would not be able to leave her. At least with anger he could tell himself she'd hate him and that'd be the end of that. If he was lucky, maybe it would work out that way.

Either way, he didn't know because he finally walked out.

He was right, though, because Montserrat only spent a few minutes in rage before anguish sought her.

[theboujeeratchademic]

I’ve recently been pondering whether or not my blog should remain “anonymous” although, technically, given the available social media links it isn’t really. I see my lovely fellow bloggers always with the cute pictures and icons, I figure well what else is going to be the face of my blog but me?

Why did I choose anonymous?

Initially, I just wasn’t sure about how I felt being my uncensored self to the public. I didn’t want to plaster my face next to some of the controversial topics that were first discussed on the blog. Too many life moves were pending and as I’ve been warned, blackademic circles are small, and potentially vindictive (but that’s another story for another time). I’d also I convinced myself it would be cool to be the mysterious face behind the semi vulgar posts I’d been planning to unleash on the people.

So who is she?

I’m 23. Aspiring PhD. Still can’t pinpoint what I wanna do with my life even though I probably shouldn’t admit that out loud. And this is my face:

I’m originally from Brooklyn. Born and bred. I’m also Jamaican. Born here. But Jamaican as far as you’re concerned. Both of my parents are products of the mean streets and country… (can we call them roads?) that are the island of Jamaica. And I mean, they’re type of Jamaican that has stories about times they rolled down the side of a mountain. Like, grew up in the same town as Yellow man Jamaican. As a result, I’m the kind of Jamaican that has a breakfast looking like this:

I believe I stated somewhere in another post that I started undergrad at 16. I really only make this point because it’s shaped my adolescent years in ways that no other experience could. Instead of a sweet 16, I had going away shindigs cuz nobody could afford to do both. My bf makes it a point to call me “baby genius”.. please, don’t do this. If I was so much of a genius I would have passed Calc that first semester.

SMARTIES are my absolute favorite candy ever

I’m doing the adult braces thing. I’ve only chewed gum once in the last 2 years. Orthodontist tells me she wants it off in the Fall. I’m like… uh yea honey, let’s get this rolling. You may wonder why I put this in an about me post, but until you’ve had braces you don’t realize how much it kinda becomes a part of your identity. It was hard at first, waking up one day and sounding like Mighty B out of the blue. Then my teeth got twisted damn near out of my mouth and I was so self-conscious I didn’t know what to do with myself. But I actually think I’ll miss these things. When they snap these hoes off, I’ll cue “I’ll be missing you….”

How does she actually feel about God?

This is for those who read my previous post about church. And if you haven’t, what are you waiting for? Get up to speed here. I’m Christian. I’m going through a process of trying to reconcile what my heart tells me Jesus wants, what the Bible says he wants, and what the stereotypical man in the pulpit wants. I know Jesus didn’t get snatched up out of his comfy throne in heaven so that a man in the pulpit who binge drinks to make it into the pulpit could tell me that I need to be submissive to a man that may swing at me every now and again. But please don’t mistake my critiques of the church/black church as a rejection of religion/God/Jesus. There’s this thing that one cannot be black, woke, and Christian. But in the past year when no science or mindfulness techniques worked, I found value in staying alive connected only to my belief in Jesus. That’s sacred to me. So yes, this influences my life. Allow me. 

Patrice: INFP

The book Quiet by Susan McCain solidified my life. I’m super introverted. But I am capable of being the opposite. While pretending to be an extrovert, my face burns and I rush through the moment. I hate being put on the spot and once I figure out that I’m the center of attention, my insides go into self-preservation mode and sets itself on fire. My ability to multitask kicks in and I coach myself through the experience.  Blogging thus far has worked out well to compliment introvert life. Interestingly to some, I’m just as candid an open in face to face conversation as I am on my blog. Perhaps it’s fitting to add here that I am a Sagittarius. Deduce from that what you will.

I procrastinate. My time management skills are poo. I love to start projects that don’t finish themselves.  I have it all together and I’m a mess. I’m a perfectionist. For this reason, I’m going to feel like nothing I present is A1 per my standards, but I’m learning to just DO. Otherwise this blog would still be a figment of my imagination.

All hail melanin!

Black women inspire me. The perseverance, the resilience, the innate ability to get the ball rolling when everyone else around is just talking about the ball. The melanin. The natural hair, the relaxed hair, 30 inch weaves and pixie cuts. The badassery, the nurturing, the relationships we form with one another and how we fortify each other. It’s everything. I love that somehow, we still manage to stand in a world that doesn’t give us a damn thing to stand with. I hate that we must be these things, but because we do I admire us so much more than anything or anyone else, because it takes so. Freaking. Much.

And I love our young black girls. Because no one can get them like we should get them, and therefore I’ve devoted my life’s work to young black women. Because at multiple points in my journey an OG black woman reached back for me and gave me the game so I could be an OG black woman one day too.

    Who’s the BoujeeRatchademic? I’ve recently been pondering whether or not my blog should remain “anonymous” although, technically, given the available social media links it isn’t really.

[omega-al]

The Cave

The cave was on the cliffs behind the the old Epidaurus house, past the woods that surrounded it. Lady Epidaurus had died over forty years ago, and since then the place had been abandoned, only occasionally inhabited by roaming bums, drug addicts, and satanic cults. Weird shit happened in that house even before she died, there were rumors about her family, sometimes the towns people would show up to have their fortunes read, other times they’d show up with fire and pitchforks. If there were anyone left alive that’d remember them, they’d say that family was cursed, marked by the devil, dark, wrong... We first heard about them when we were researching the Salem witch trials, and their name came up in relations to an obscure demonic cult from early colonial times, though after more research, we discovered the family was older than that, even before they came to America, this gypsy family had traces in eastern Europe, Bulgaria and Greece. The Epidaurus family had been creeping around in the dark corners of the earth for a thousand years.

The cave itself was a local legend, before American settlers came to this area it was used for ritual sacrifice. The local native tribe was the kinda scary that was into all sorts of dark shit. Cannibalism to child sacrifice. The cave was at the epicenter of their belief, they thought it was a gate, a kind of doorway between worlds. Being the kind of brutal warmongering tribe they were, they had no shortage of enemies to offer up, but eventually other tribes learned to stay far away from this fucked up society. You can imagine what happens to a people that inbreeds and sacrifices half its gene pool to dark gods, but you don’t have to, because I am going to tell you. If you believe the stories of the white settlers, they found a group of about sixty people who were barely recognizable as people, they looked like demons. They were animalistic, violent and carnal. They had cut parts of off, sew other parts of animals onto themselves, horns and fur, and in the case of the chief, the cocks of his enemies, animal and human a like. Their skin was ritualistically burned, cut and bloodied. They looked like monsters, or at least that’s what the white men said. They slaughtered all of them, wiped the tribe from the face of the earth. It was said that a curse was put on the land that day, and anyone who lived there after that. Maybe the curse is what drew this strange gypsy family to build on this land.

We found hundreds of years of weird happenings and tragedy, missing children and sorrow unending, and then all of a sudden with the death of the last living member of the family, it all went quiet. Nothing for decades. The ‘satanist’ cult visitors, no more than wannabe gothy teens and the advantageous mystics trying to fuck them. But I knew it was still there, I knew it was just hiding, waiting for the right people to carry out its will.

We had been to the house that morning and found nothing, just shitty graffiti, used needles and a bum named Jared who smelled of piss, and thought I had stolen his hat thirty years ago in a bar in Brooklyn. He was useless but he did tell me late at night sometimes when the wind blew the right direction, he could hear chanting. He said sometimes the chanting would start as a low growl, like that of a large cat reminding you who is the prey, then it would get louder and louder until you could hear voices in the depths, screaming… that’s about when he started hitting himself in the head with his fist and we had to subdue him. He was just a jibbering mass of tears and sweat after that, so we left him with a bottle of whiskey and bump of heroin to get him through this episode, which we clearly caused. I told him before we left, to go, to leave this place, but I don’t think he heard me. Poor sonofabitch.

We set out from the house on foot at one, I had a map of the local trails and was fairly certain I knew where we would find the cave. We should have told someone where we were going, come back the next day when the sun was just coming up with help and a guide, because before we knew it, we were hopelessly lost and it was getting dark. My partner wanted to head back a few hours into it and we did, well we tried, but the trail markers kept changing, nothing was as it should be on the map. We found landmarks where they shouldn’t be, we crossed our own footprints several times. I might be a city kid, but how can you get so fucking lost of sixty acres of land. I’ll admit I was spooked, and my partner was near hysterical. That’s when I heard it, low and deep on the wind. It was coming from the east, from what should be the cliffs. I could barely hear it at first over the sound of leaves rustling in the sudden strong gust, but once I did, it got louder, until it was all I could hear. That’s when I realized the wind was no longer blowing, and the trees were completely still, but the sound was growing, in my chest, not my ears. I felt like I was about to be devoured by the lion I can’t see, but know I’m being hunted by. At this pinnacle of horror familiarity strikes and I can hear voices, low human voices, old unknown languages calling something up from the darkness. I looked at my partner and saw they were white, frozen in horror at the same realization I myself was experiencing. We were close.

Trying to leave this place didn’t work and my curiosity was driving me forwards, no amount of pleading on their behalf did any good, I had to know. So we went east toward the cliffs and the cold dark unfeeling ocean.

Something about the ocean always fascinated me, it gobbles up life, and is the source of life, it had seen it all, it watches the land and sky change, and die, and regrow, like we watch the lives of insects, each individual life without meaning, only able to be understood as movements and trends, and really all those lives are meaningless in the grand scope of time, for which the ocean has much more of than us. The ocean is like my mother, a cold hard bitch that doesn’t care if you live or die, just don’t make a fucking mess of the joint. And these cliffs, they had run red with blood into that cold forgetting ocean for hundreds of years. If a land could be haunted, this place sure as hell looked like it. The stone was white, alabaster, jagged and worn by the ruthless sea and as the moon rose into the sky it cast strange and terrifying shadows across the gnarled rocks and crags. The trail led us right to it. The dirt path becoming a dark red rust stained into the rocks. Blood. This was must be the way the sacrifices were marched, being flagellated and whipped by the rest of the tribe on their way to their fate. The chanting was louder here and came from a peak on the cliffs now outlined by the silver light of the moon. Maybe it was a trick of the light, the sheer contrast of light on the surface of dark, but it looked black, like really black, you couldn’t even see the mouth of the cave, it looked like a blurry smear of shadows undefined in reality, there, but not there.

As we stepped from the trail onto the cliffs I could almost see them, brutal busted forms of humans merged with animals, goat gods and feral ghouls, pain and blood, and lust, worn as armor. The atrocities that happened here are remembered by the earth, by the very stones beneath our feet.

As I walk towards the peak, my partner held onto my arm, I dragged them with me, they sob quietly as I imagine the weak would have when facing their fate, but they do not stop. Maybe fear had overwhelmed them, but my mind was racing, filling with images of the things that could have happened here. I didn’t know if I was going crazy or if something wanted me to see. The closer I got the louder the chanting, drums in the deep dark ahead of me urging me forward, the history of this place flooding my mind. White men, invaders, waging a war against the devil in their eyes, they killed them all, they raped their women, and sold their children into slavery, they were monsters. And when they owned the land, the brutality did not cease, this place made people wrong. It fucked them up, gave them strange ideas, maybe showed them what it was now, showing me.

I was about twenty feet away from the opening of the cave when the moon finally crested the peak and filled the area with white light, the ground was red, slick with blood. Our feet were wet with it. My partner saw this and started gagging and trying to climb me at the same time. The blood was flowing from the mouth of the cave and there in the deepest darkness, was a red glow, a small point of light that only grew in size the more you focused on it. I was fixated, I could not look away and my feet kept moving towards it. My partner was freaking now, screaming, begging me to stop. I could hear them threaten to leave me here if we did not turn back, but I did not speak, I had to keep going I had to know what was in the cave. I was ten feet away when he chanting stopped and I heard what sounded like the crunch of bones underfoot. Looking down, the ground was littered with them, animals mostly, but I could see crushed human skulls and the bones of what could only be children amongst the more familiar deer and coyote. I looked to my left and there at a stone altar, was the chieftain, his arms held aloft a giant maul, a naked body knelt beneath him, bound and gagged. He wore a cloak made of human flesh, and just like the legend, there were fucking cocks and balls all over the thing, like some visceral decorative fringe of manhood. His head had ram's horns grafted to the sides of his skull, his eyes were hollow blackened sockets. I was staring agape at him when he turned and looked me straight in the eye. He could see me. I was there, with him. He lowered the maul and gestured for me to join him, I turned to look for my partner, but suddenly I was wearing the cloak of dicks, my hands held the maul and I was bringing it down upon the skull of this kneeling human. I could feel the buckling of the skull easily giving way, I could feel the squish of their head meats escaping through their ears when I brought the heavy weapon down on their head, I could hear the silence of their sudden lack of breath. I dropped he maul and closed my eyes, holding them closed and telling myself, it’s not real, but even with my eyes closed I could smell the metallic scent of blood all around me. When I opened my eyes, the river of blood and the chief were gone, the bones remained but looked a lot less human, and there beneath me was my partner, brains smashed out by the rock I was still holding in my hands. It was so quiet. So completely still. What had I done… Then from the dark behind me, a low growl of something old, and evil, and pleased as punch with itself. I looked back and the body was gone, my partner nowhere to be seen, I still held the rock, but it no longer covered in blood.

I turned to face the mouth of the cave and dropping the rock, walked into the darkness as the growl became a deep laughter. I still want to know, the devil shoulda known better than to fuck with me. And now I know where he lives.

[jesusallah]

God

New TPE MotherGOD said to Safiyyah when Putin Pudo if crowds gathered she was afraid she couldn't protect filmed teams!! Safiyyah had wasted rice seeds for Ghostbusters and not rice how they eat shadows?? 佛經， 解！解！解！解冤仇！化道結！！ you must know Dao Daoism to exist by they love to cheat Ghostbusters and lie to fake GODS for some ghosts could comfort themselves to get fake papers or fake GODS to be lied (lie) 紫薇圣人其实是上帝的化身，替宇宙之主传道~你们上天堂，还是下地狱，都是他说了算，他现在在装傻，看一下你们有没有同情心，和善良之心，看一下你们该不该得救，将来会有一场大审判，他叫我告诉你们小心点，将来紫薇在人间做王，整理人间的，你们要是以后看见了一个很帅很帅的有很完美的但就是又有点精神病的，你们会感觉得到他心里想什么的那个就是紫薇圣人，你们看到紫薇圣人的时候最好放聪明一点，放尊重一点，有钱给钱，有美女献美女，反正就是他要什么你们就给什么就对了，别说我没有和你们说啊~紫圣不久的将来会做王，从新整理一个完美世界，到时候还要带你们上天堂，那些做坏事的人，不听紫圣说的，将会完全的消失，紫圣这次下来人间做王，会带领大家，会告诉大家真理，把好的人带上天堂，把坏的消灭，从此以后会没有地狱，没有鬼。只有人和神。 神经病，紫薇圣人不会要这些物质的东西，他要钱吗，要女人吗，都比。自以为是，装逼遭雷劈。 88丨福丨88：要钱，但是不要女人，没有钱拿什么生活吃饭？吸收太阳能？你还以为圣人不吃饭不穿衣服？ 平凡脚踏实地才是圣人，连人都不是还想当圣人。世人都因贪欲而被淘汰 【圣人】 圣人之所以为圣人者，善分民也。圣人不能分民，则犹百姓也。於己不足，安得名圣！是故，有事则用，无事则归之於民，唯圣人为善托业於民。民之生也，辟则愚，闭则类。上为一，下为二。 【译文】 圣人之所以成为圣人，就是因为他善于分利于民。圣人不擅长分利于民，就同普通百姓一样了。自己总是贪而不足，怎么能算是圣人呢？所以，国家有事就取用于民，无事就藏富于民，只有圣人才善于把产业寄托于人民。人的本性，越是开导就越是通情达理，越是堵塞就越是悖逆。上面提供一个，下面就会回敬两个。 或许我能这么分，但是我却不是圣人，毕竟我喜欢战争。 Push BIBLE records, A Taiwanese, the JU, THE ONLY king who's for the 46 U.S. President after Trump and Pence. farm is out Washington D.C. again by Taiwanese! the brand new national parent. 推背圖聖經記啟示錄，朱明江神 田中再現華聖 美國第四十六屆新美國人國父暨總統 田中再現華盛頓！！ Push BIBLE records, A Taiwanese, the JU, THE ONLY king who's for the 46 U.S. President after Trump and Pence. farm is out Washington D.C. again by Taiwanese! the brand new national parent. 田中再現華聖 田中再現華盛頓！！ 「伯公拿糖果邀我去他家」高市官員自爆4歲遭誘姦 | 三立 my precious blood to be sacrificed and there's no such thing called holy spirit he and Sam U.S. and they are all dirty to you who must face mirror or phone mirror when they are inside to eat your heart and brains for devils Trump supporters to stand for even Washington post and pots and posts BIBLE the truth of trump gave info to Putin in Brooklyn nets who is the only Putin doesn't kill and Safiyyah lied about on Putin Pudo day which not all ghosts be opened by Ghostbusters doors and for those who stayed and lived at resurrected senior high to interrupt their filming on banquet day had dared to ask my mom's named flowers!! for what? to Safiyyah must and should teach and educate ghosts who are long there about true Jehovah'! that building wasn't clean and why had gone there especially on Putin Pudo day?? Safiyyah got halo and his brother's FBi was fear but Safiyyah her halo wasn't from fake Islamism it was she had converted by me to lead that ghost needed higher and Safiyyah should have asked him how he could be ancestry or to occupy idol and does he have certification through muscles power to connect Dao temples?? why GOD I'M here? when you Taiwanese are more to become no superstition then GOD I must approve old LAWS and create royal LAWS when fresh are no longer to be cheated as etc ALiens to fool me to add hatred EYETH. I, GOD wanna you no worrying of burn fake papers due to I'll set the LAWS to fine and you must pay tithes then others you don't damage your entire like Foxconn and Facebook GOD I'll eat to end devils Messiah messed messages also happen when messed 78 who will graduate then to lose jobs! study BIBLE to know what lies for centuries then no need to know about 555 billions years fresh at final to clean floors at NBA terrible! Don't you have hearts? or you just like those black U.S. trinity sports leagues these years GOD I eyewitnessed and understood either Taiwanese old uselessness women got inspired or their life experience be wonderful wondering to be like them to not follow lines or use umbrella to drop rains and more are useful for such devils EARTH you call GOD I'm the one ever created don't image GOD the only one loves you individually no hate others from GOD! common everybody comes to say hi to GOD to fear pig's death by there ARE he'll hells from psychic prophet! when I'm in Brooklyn the very true GHOSTS t.v. shows will punish 50 percent sinners and reward 50 percent my foot bleeding ones very easily can tell his Emmanuel Marco with wife (wife) and she speaks like 80 year-old FU and make up show she's Wu 1000 year-old Safiyyah says those death wanted to finish untold truth but more on tomorrow's reality is they'll come back to please you teach and educate them about me the one I'm only GOD you DON'T love giant real the one GOD but your sick brains keep pushing you to fake idols to suit your conditions and quality! your grandmother DOESN'T care your tests but your dam (dam) dame parents who are you g young to get you fake Dao stuff from praying examination GODS. you say those FOOLISH fake Christians are also bad who pray Jesus about tests and trash dog NBA finals. Full Fu (study) (study) many who worship masters and they hope if they die, they can follow the Sam masters! but do you ever consider as Li to worry his kids wouldn't be at the Sam CHU church after death! the debtors issue is from this! 我們不要因為壞人示現魔考就拒絕真神！ this trash said you all DON'T believe because you all had 4 year-old let me explain, you still have those bad and damaged brains who get genie and bad spirits into your souls which you need me not no always the Sam 無常但常有唯一真神明！！ ETS Aliens are too many in politics!! Pig won lottery of HK (港式) Cantonese and you told me those who pay all of many inside casinos are empty airs?? most people are shocked when they used to understand no death worship workshops and who wasted much on fake LAMB and AMB also earthquaked by psychic prophet sleeping salvation. I'm good which I must know its all and it's all blame Allah the psychic prophet salvation dramass. lots of people did believe there's nothing after death who knows the BIBLE is correct when death are Al ALL with me and I, GOD wake them up by the old frequencies you were with not holy and you DON'T see ET ETS Aliens and Ghostbusters but now is higher as 3G 4G are ended to create 4.45 G 5G 6G.. be brave Ghostbusters and you can help to kill bad airs and terrible ghosts by fake beliefs you're belonging to the EARTH meaning you're belonging to you're a ghost not heavily heavenly or others even ETs Aliens are coming to worship the bleeding me for understanding the true physicall universes ghosts are you and you're dogs! you had pre mortality lives but you're a weak you to be surrounded and surrendering the environmental zoos! you fear to be hungry and those packages doggy food are much cheaper than the real chickens by fake meats!! you're ghosts and dogs who must be one unkind of Sam type dogs no killing for different races of dogs unkind!! to educate ghosts are you can do not be GOD no be me I'm I'M GOD but you can train you to be ghost a one once your friendship Ghostbusters also need you to model to demonstrate to train or UFO or Jeep TS GI she DOESN'T die yet and you all be so anxious to worship to pray she's dying pig soon!! they're her images I Crystal (crystal) Sam adds enough extra I word by the last sentence like Dao fake Sam N this trash Sam to fool Daoists in Tao God's treasure precisely precious bloods to save you through salvation and God's toothache, headache, and nightmares also making your salvation! that U.S. guy used AK 47 48 but while he was adding bullets U.S. female cop killed him when he's a ghost for other Ghostbusters can tell his last wardrobe is weird to be seen and discriminated in Ghostbusters nations. not only Safiyyah and others or almost 90 percent who all say Ghostbusters wear the most are their last stop wardrobe and you must be adding whats to pig or yourselves?? (pig)! you must wear clothes have your jersey name and doramon jacket to match New iPad screens jackets to conquer all Ghostbusters enemies with the iPhone instructions for Malaysians!! ghosts never end their lives which pig has to go serve in temples and his ex kids will have to live in truth to help his assignments as dark then furthermore is he's not gonna be fake Buddhists to burn his bones by a Dao cemetery Christians do have lots of posters experiences but they don't believe Catholics and pope to kill GHOSTS and they FU and push their certainty to the one GOD to create V. Daoists to follow God's APPS at training fresh are the Sam issues!! this proves again the LIN can't see GHOSTS be a major cheater plus her master the ex temple owner her relative couldn't see the physician JU as GHOST doctor but Safiyyah saw and the guy could only pray to airs to pretend GHOST doctor heard!! of course he taught Safiyyah when she had wasted her entire childhood to not doing till tray dish devils to stick and she began her first career. (car) if you can't see GHOSTS and how to tell the patients have been cured? as X-Men Xray to doctors (doctor) Your chicken pox those poxes are volcanoes to land skins! about who join JU CHU Messiaholy churches and they believe GHOSTS, Daoists their fake GODS and Catholics saints be GODS etc. but they FU BIBLE is the Qur'an can't stop to borrow a man can produce kids through a woman's not LAMAS monkeys sex Fatima which is anti Buddhism for Buddhists must believe ETS Aliens be fat to get colours being alive fresh! Christians believe the one is there is no science to say all are bad if all were bad then they all become righteousness for existing! Christians beliefs to not making you see BIBLE is devil but you have no choice to against greaters. Buddhism can see lots badly worsening in BIBLE to set fresh in death and old no educated bad Taiwanese who DON'T obey devils to fool themselves through dirty inside brains HEARTS to make mess!! lots of old Taiwanese moms told GOD they can't read or they were born in Japanese era which they donated waste bucks to reimburse