#which is so sad because this would sell like hot apple pie in the US | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

morepeachyogurt · 4 years ago

Text

i’m locking up everyone (who ever laid a finger on me)

Elle Greenaway Gen fic, brief romance with ofc

Word Count- 8,100

Summary- Elle’s been angry since she was young, a look into that anger until she finally gives in.

Tw- blood, knives, murder, brief mentions of rape and pedophilia (nothing graphic), minor substance mentioned, and language I guess

read here on ao3

You think it all started when Randall Garner decided you weren’t worth living. When he took a bullet from his shiny gun, broke into your home, your safe place, and shot you in the chest. As your blood spilled onto your floors you couldn’t help but blame the man who sent you home. Hotch may not have pulled the trigger but he loaded the gun which almost took your life. You were helpless, had to sit there, and watch it pour onto your floor like a pond being drained to make room for yet another building. Its life is sucked out of it like yours was. You closed your eyes because you did not want to see the blood. You’re no stranger to blood, you’re a woman after all, plus you work a job surrounded by murder and misery. There's nothing quite like watching corpse after corpse of other women laying on the floor, their eyes panicked and their blood staining the floor. It was never supposed to be you but now it was. This is how it ends, you suppose. You didn’t even save a life going down like you always thought you would. You were targeted. A victim. You were not an accident caught in the crosshairs. No, this was intentional and now you’re bleeding out your soul and you almost don’t want to be brought back to life.

When you were seven your mother baked pie after pie. Your father was dead, died heroically everyone said. Like that made it better. Who cares that you’ll never see him again, he’ll never teach you to ride a bike now like you guilt-tripped him for not doing before. Now he's dead and you’re surrounded by baked goods to fuel the appetite you don’t have. You feel hollow and you wish you didn’t. Sadness like your mother would be better, anger like his fellow officers would be better. You ask her why she’s baking pies, she doesn’t even like them. Fueron la cosa favorita de tu papá, cariño. Lo echo de menos cada dia. She acts like you don’t know your father’s favorite dessert, like you don’t miss him too. Ah, there’s the anger. Much better, you’ll revel in. That was not your question, you wanted to know why she felt like she could replace him with apple pie. You don’t tell her this, your father didn’t call you peanut to be vicious, he called you it because you were kind and soft. Were. Instead, you give your mother a soft smile like that fixes anything.

The days go on like they always do, a tv show where you cannot cancel your subscription. The anger subsides a bit, there will always be a gaping hole where your father’s kind eyes and gentle smile took root. For now, your heart is creating a shelter for it. It’s not perfect yet but you hope someday it will be.

You learn to laugh again, you speak Spanish with your mother. Sea bilingual mija, los estudios dicen que es buena para tu cerebro. ¿No quises saber la lengua materna de sus ancestros? You let her teach you the words of the women who can before you. It’s a beautiful thing to speak two languages. Perhaps connections make us who we are, now your ability to connect is twofold.

Your first day at the bau was almost as you imagined it. You did not imagine the genius barely old enough to drink, looking at crime scenes like he was made for it. Sculpted by the gods to examine the bodies of women like you and say why they were executed and by whom. Perhaps he was, Gideon did seem to think of himself as a god figure. You did not expect when returning to the office to see a woman who looked as though she stepped inside a rainbow and absorbed all its warmth. She looked like she would give you great hugs, she looked like home. That was a dangerous thought to be had in a place like this. They say it's a family. No family should be hoisted upon the foundation of murder. Blood should not be the glue that holds people together. Oh, and blood there was, almost every crime scene had its stench. The rust in the air reminds you of the junkyard by your house where you used to get high at with your friend that was never quite a friend. You would talk about the secrets of the universe and whether or not you felt as though you could exist in this world without paying a price. You argued that the world seems to take reservations, some were born with them already made, others bought them. The rest of you were forced to sell your soul to the devil to earn enough money to survive, to have a place in the world. She never quite saw your point. She will.

Even in your youth, you’ve never truly felt safe, perks of having a cop as a father means you’ve learned the cruelty of man far sooner than you should have, than you would have. He gave you rules to keep you safe.

Rule 1: you cannot walk alone or late at night. You yearn for the freedom of the boys on your block. The night and its darkness is so pure to you, the stars always in sight. Your mother tells you your father is in the sky and you look for him, to see if he twinkles at you. You do not want your mother to know this, it’s a secret shared by the two of you and you think that's sacred. Since you can’t walk alone at night you never get to look for him. Your father and freedom robbed from you by the men on the news and in your father’s case files.

Rule 2: never leave your drink unattended, you do not drink you are much too young but sometimes your eyes wander to your liquor cabinet and you wonder if there is a better state of being. If you can float above the longing for a different reality where you have a father and you are happy.

Rule 3: Do not dress provocatively, you are fourteen years old and you do not see why what you wear should impact your safety. You are not a gift wrapped up in a pretty package waiting for it to be ripped away to reveal something desirable. That does not stop the men from leering at you when you walk home from school, you still have your backpack on so you know it’s part of the appeal. It does not stop the boy in your science class from trying to grab your ass after class. You punch him in the nose and you get suspended. They do not listen to you. They do not care about the words of a girl, you are not here to have opinions on the world apparently you’re here to be a toy for those meant to have opinions. One day you’ll show them they’re wrong.

The list goes on and on, society loves to tell you that you will never be safe in this world. You wonder why no one is trying to make the world safe for you. Maybe that's your purpose. You were too late to be saved from the cruelty of this universe but perhaps there's another young girl who can be.

College, the supposed best years of your life. You decided to fulfill fourteen-year-old you’s wish to save the girls of the world so you major in criminology with a minor in psychology. What better way to stop them than to get inside their heads. You won’t let them into yours. They do not deserve the honor and the horror. You watch crime shows for fun, maybe for education. You see how these girls get taken and you know how to not make their mistakes. You also see what the killers did wrong. Part of you wonders if your future job, and the education for said job, are all an elaborate plan for you to win at the world. Life’s a game and you plan to be its victor. Learn their mistakes. Be better. You won’t fall for their tricks, you’re smarter than that.

Your studies do not stop you from enjoying your time here while you can. Once you see your first real corpse you know there's no going back. Any bit of being insouciant will be stolen from you just like the lives of the bodies you will hover over.

The party you are at is loud, not as loud as the inside your head, but enough to help you get out of it. You lock eyes with a woman who is quite possibly a work of art. She's in one of your classes, the buzz of alcohol in your head pleasantly blocking all memories of your studies. She smiles at you, shyly, and you wonder for the first time if perhaps angels are real. Her hair is blonde, just like an angel, it is her halo. Her eyes are blue like the water of the lakes you have stared at looking for an answer and perhaps you can find it in her eyes. She makes her way to you, she too has been loosened by alcohol for she stands far too close to be mistaken with platonic intentions towards you. Lily, your brain provides, is even more beautiful up close. She has freckles that dance along the bridge of her nose and you briefly wish to kiss them. Kiss her. The two of you dance, swaying to the beat of whatever trashy music is playing. You ask her if she’d like to go outside and take a walk with you. She says yes.

She is curious why but she follows you outside. You hesitantly grasp her hand as you pull her along a secret path you found on your first week here. She looks at the constellations above you and names the one you are staring at. As she looks at the sky you decide she is more beautiful than they are and you gaze at her while she gazes at the stars. She catches you eventually and you place a hand on her cheek. Her eyes shimmer in the moonlight and you ask if you can kiss her. She accepts and you accept that it might be your new favorite hobby. Perhaps you could spend hours kissing her. You do.

Lily and you have your perfect YA book experience. She takes you to coffee shops and you look at the stars together. You are not breaking your father’s rules for now you are not alone, it will end though, you know it. You are not the type of girl who gets her happy ending. You tell her a bad pun about the stars and she laughs and tells you the names of constellations she knows, god her laugh. You wish you could bottle it up and save it for a rainy day. Granted, you spend your rainy days with her cuddling up with bad movies and good hot chocolate. You gift her a pair of constellation earrings, you tell her, think of me when you look at the night sky, you want to say, please don’t forget me when you leave me, she gives you a blanket which is almost as soft as her. You are so in love with her your words can not describe it, so you use other people's words. You write poetry on the soft skin of her forearm. She doodles little flowers on your wrist. Perhaps they are like matching tattoos, unlike matching tattoos, these do not last forever. Just like the two of you. The problem comes not with her, she was never anything but perfect to you. The problem of course is you.

As you drown in your textbooks filled with bodies and bodies and bodies you can feel your soul filling with misery and a passion for justice. Slowly it consumes you and there is little time for the joy that is brought to you by her. She feels you slipping away like a boat that is not properly tied. It’s hard to be in a relationship where the other person is half focused on you while the other half of her mind wanders in dark alleyways with killers, wanting, no needing, to know why they commit their sins. Study dates turn into texts turn into nothing. There is no formal break up. You do not deserve the courtesy of a clean break and she is too sweet to break your heart. The two of you drift apart like you always knew you would, and soon you only see her in your one shared class. Her mind is not consumed with darkness, Lily does not wish to catch the monsters of the world, she wishes to paint them. Sometimes you look into her studio while she paints and you watch her hands and marvel. You never know if she’s aware you do this, but if she is, she spares you the shame of being so pathetic you need to watch someone you love paint from the shadows because you were too much of a coward to commit yourself to her and you allowed yourself to slip away into the darkness of your mind.

You think everyone got it wrong, it is so easy to be fueled by hate and spite. Look around you, the world is a cruel place. To not be affected by it is a power that you almost envy. To see the bad in the world and choose to be good is something you never had and will never have. It is not in your cards so you decided to make the best of it. You miss her kind eyes and gentle laugh every day of your life, but you know it is better to live in the darkness than let your black ink slowly turn her away from the light where she belongs.

The day you turn 18 you buy a handgun. You used to carry it around your ankle, liking the weight of your footsteps hitting the ground. One day the ground will break under your heel. Now, as an agent, your handgun sits on your left hip. You want people to fear you, you want them to know you are dangerous. And yet, you still don’t feel safe in this cruel world. So you buy a knife. It glimmers in the light, its handle is intricately carved out of wood. You have a holder for it on your thigh for the days where you wear dresses, on days where you aim to please. On days you don’t give a fuck about anyone else, when you wear what you wish, your knife sits either in your pocket, if you are blessed with pockets, your shoe, if it fits, or the holder you bought which holds your knife nice and close to you, flesh with your back. You like the power you hold with your weapons. You learn your craft better than most. You learn accuracy, precision, strength. Throwing knives feels even better than it looks, you know you hold in both your hands the ability to take life from someone who is not worthy of it.

When you were in fifth grade, boys decided to see how fun it would be to push your buttons. You were smarter than them, faster than them. They didn't like losing to a girl, why is being a girl shameful, you asked your teacher this once. She did not answer you, you suspect she does not know. If you were the first to answer a question, and you often were, they would tease you. Try hard, was their favorite. Well maybe, if they wanted to beat you they should try harder. You told a boy this once and he grabbed your arm and called you a bitch. Your mom did not let you start taking martial arts classes.

If they did not like your words, perhaps they would respond to physical intimidation. You preferred kicking shins, it did not result in blood and there was lots of sweet, sweet, plausible deniability. Not that they ever tried to get you in trouble, the biggest thing in the world is a man’s ego. You became meaner, colder. Your mother asks you where her sweet girl went, she does not want to hear that perhaps she never existed. No one can hurt you if you never let them in. If you carry yourself with a scowl and your words bite those who try you and you hurt those who try to hurt you. They can't, you won't let them. You are not weak like they are, you are strong. It never quite works though, the boys in your class see a challenge. Something they can beat. They challenge you loudly, in front of everything and everyone. You can no longer afford to make a mistake. If you do, they yell we beat Elle, haha we did it. The teachers watch as they attack you. Most do not care. The kind girls in your class do not experience this and maybe, just maybe, you should go back to being like them. It makes you feel vulnerable though, to be kind without question. No, they have to earn your kindness, earn your respect. Giving it out for free did not win you anything. You take the name bitch and wear it like a badge of honor.

Eventually, you fall for the propaganda of your team being a family. As an only child, you’ve sometimes wished for siblings, maybe you’ve found them. Reid is like your little brother, annoying at times, but sweet and endearing. You would cause destruction if anything happened to him. He deserves it. JJ is hard to describe as a part of your family, she reminds you of Lily with her bright eyes and kind smile. She is not Lily but you wonder if she would ever consider being with you. She is a part of this world of darkness, you might not soil her. Oh, but you would, it is selfish of you to think that you could be loved and not ruin them. Your touch is like a virus, it kills if given the chance. You will not give it another shot.

Garcia is your sister, she is concerned about you when you risk your life in the field time, and time again, you can’t help but think she chose the wrong job. You love her, almost, and not quite. She is always sweet to you, her personality is a breath of fresh air in this world. It needs more of her and that's why you want to be close to her but can’t. Morgan is your older brother, he roughhouses with you, he won't admit it but you are just as good as him. You knew you would be, the world underestimates you, and as annoying as it is, it is your advantage. He understands you, you think he is not the only one who is afraid of loving others, of course, neither of you says anything but you never needed to. Gideon and Hotch would be your fathers but they are nothing like your father. Your father was kind and he taught you things, he gave you praise. Hotch and Gideon are cold to you, Gideon more than Hotch. They are both fathers but you feel sorrow for their children. It must hurt to know they will always be second in importance to killers, that they are not enough to be home every night for. You resent them both for hurting their children.

Fresh out of college means it’s time for a career. You decide to join the FBI, the police were not enough to save your father, they are almost useless, you need to be powerful. You join the highest law enforcement in the country and you excel. Sex crimes is not a fun job, but you take pleasure in taking down men who decided to pray on women and children. They do not deserve the nice jail cells they get, but you hope they do get what's coming for them in prison. Of course, that banks on them getting jail time at all. Rape is the only crime where people can suggest that the victim enjoyed it. It is the only subjective crime. There is no enjoyable murder or robbery, victims do not ask to have their identity stolen. It fills you with more rage than you knew was available. You are close with your colleges but you are not their friends. They think you are though. You drink with them, you play games with them, you joke with them. You do not care very much about them. It is a weakness to rely on others for joy, it is foolish to attach yourself to people who are here to hold up a broken system. You also hold up that system, for now at least. You promise yourself you will never be close to your teammates. Justice has no room for friendship.

Gideon keeps a book of people who he has saved. You keep a book of vile men who’ve charmed the justice system, not you though, you are justice but you are not a system. Perhaps you are vengeance.

Your mother taught you to cook when you were little, Cuban food to keep your father alive in memory. As if he would smell the spices and resurrect from the dead. You continue to cook though, it's a hobby and a good one. It provides for you. Unlike Reid, Chinese take out is not your main food source.

Never cut peppers while thinking about murder. A rule no one taught you but they most definitely should have. Your mind is full of your latest case. A pedophile who would cut the hair off his victims to make a doll of them. He wanted to keep them forever, forever young too. You cut your finger instead of the pepper. The pain does not bother you, you are far too used to it for it to impact you, in fact, if anything it makes you feel alive. There is blood dripping down your finger and you are memorized. It’s different from the blood when you were shot, this is carefully controlled. The contrast of it against your skin is divine. You’ve always thought blood was messy, the villain that comes once a month, and an inconvenience when you cut yourself shaving. You never thought it was elegant until now. You don’t want to continue to cut yourself, that was never your brand. But now, maybe after being inside the minds of men who hurt others, you wish to see their blood run down your hands.

You clean and wash your finger, you’ll catalog and examine those thoughts for another day. You are not evil, not like that. At least you hope not. Although, what would it matter if there was one more person committing sins out there. God has lost control already, he will not control you, society will not control you. You are in control, more than you’ve ever been.

At night you lie awake and think about what you could do to cement your newfound control. You think about the men who’ve gotten away with their heinous acts. You think that perhaps, it would feel good to kill them. For them to suffer like they made others suffer. Prison was not for them, the judges made sure of that. They say liberty and justice for all. These men have liberty but they have not found justice. You will help them find it.

Not only did Randall Garner break into your house and shoot you. He had the audacity to stick his filthy finger in your bullet wound and write on the walls of your home. He wrote ‘rules’, how ironic. You’ve lived by the rules your father gave you even before he was buried in the earth. Now, you’re being punished for not following the rules of a killer. Your father’s rules were not enough to save you. It’s time you break them and make your own.

Rule 1: Do not take shit from anyone, especially a man. If they are cruel to you, be crueler to them. This, however, does not mean to be rude to everyone. Simply, just like in middle school, people must earn your respect. Children, however, are exempt. They have not been tainted by the universe yet, they are unmarked and kind. If they are not kind, something made them that way and they deserve your kindness more than anyone else.

Rule 2: Be smarter and be faster than everyone else. They will not catch you, they may know it's you, it's inevitable, but you will be as free as the men you will hunt.

Rule 3: Friends are for fools, you do not need them. They will slow you down and they will try to convince you that you are wrong, that you need fixing. You can almost hear Reid telling you that you need help, that you're sick. You are not a coward, and you do not need fixing.

High school was not the best time of your life, but it certainly wasn't the worst. You had a tight circle of friends, you didn't quite share with each other, at least your secrets. But you cared enough about each other that it was not important that they didn't know about you. Your friends didn't need to know about your pining over the girl in your math class, that helped you out if you ever needed it and was as sharp as her jawline. You weren’t lonely and that was enough for you, you were, dare you say it, happy. You cooked for your friends on occasions, typically birthdays. You got invited to parties and learned to love the loud music and the smell of beer. You were top of your class, much to some people’s chagrin, but they couldn’t shake you. You joined debate so you could argue for a sport, and boy were you good at it. Teachers said they never met anyone as passionate as you, you didn't tell them that you carry resentment for the shallow topics they choose. There's airing on the side of apolitical and there's apathy towards others. They didn’t like you discussing your opinions, that did not stop you one bit.

Your friend that was always a bit more plays with your hair and you think that maybe the world is kind and gentle, maybe she's right. You feel safe in her lap, her hand carding through your hair before she starts to braid it. It’s intimate in a way that makes you want to sob, no one has touched you like they aren’t afraid of you or aren’t afraid of you breaking in a very long time. You look too much like your father for your mother, and you feel disconnected from her. The two of you do not embrace.

The ceiling above you is popcorn and if you stare long enough you imagine it’s the stars, a beautiful constellation. The world always feels so small with just the two of you. You don’t like being reminded that it is you that is small, not the world. The world is large and it is terrifying, a disheartening juxtaposition.

After someone decides that maybe you shouldn't die you are rushed to the hospital. Granted, you're the one the dialed 911, you always did have to save yourself. You don’t remember much, you are so tired and you’ve lost so much blood. The medics say that they are losing you, perhaps you were never here to begin with. They administer cpr to you and you feel like your body is being crushed. It feels like they are going to kill you as they try to save your life. The next time you open your eyes you're back on the jet. You feel like you're dreaming, and then you know it can’t be real because your father is here. Your father is dead so you think that you must be too. What a cruel trick it must be to have your afterlife still consumed by your job, you are on a jet but you can not fly it. Dad calls you peanut and you almost lose it right there. The shelter you built for your heart after his loss feels like it's been shattered. You feel raw, exposed. Somehow, in his presence, you do not mind it quite so much. You’ve missed him more than you remember and you almost hope that this is real. What this is, you aren’t sure. He tells you it’s a midway point, that you have to choose whether or not you want to live. And that you must make it now.

On the one hand, living always has been a chore. It’s peaceful here with your father. The two of you can talk about everything you’ve always wanted to talk about. You’d like to hear his thoughts on philosophy. He always was your hero.

On the other hand, who will water your plants? You haven’t gotten to say goodbye to the bau and you haven't gotten your justice yet.

You choose to live.

When you moved into your apartment, the first thing you did after unboxing everything was to buy a plant. Your apartment looked dead, just because you were here to make your living in death and you’ve never quite felt alive, did not mean your apartment was doomed to suffer the same fate. You started small with a succulent, they were supposed to be easy to take care of. Slowly your collection grew, you were growing flowers and herbs as well. Your house has never felt more like a home than when all your plants are blooming. It gives you a purpose, something to come home for. You’d also like a cat but you know you are never home enough to sustain all its needs. Hotch has a son at home that he never sees but you suppose that he’s not as important to him as your cat would be to you. You try your hand at painting on your wall, like maybe you learned something from all the time you stared at Lily. You wonder if she still thinks of you, if she looks at the stars and remembers you. You still have the blanket she gave you. It adorns your couch and you think it might be your most prized possession.

You consider getting a tattoo of poetry or a quote in her honor, you feel somedays like you might be obsessed with her but you also might just be in love with her still. You’ve found that there's a fine line between love, obsession, and insanity. Where you fall on the scale you aren’t sure yet and you know you don’t want to find out. You think the two of you were like the quote; ‘A sky full of stars and he was staring at her’. That first night where you walked together was exactly that. She was more beautiful than the night sky and you love the night sky. Maybe someday you’ll get that tattoo but for now, you have crimes to solve and your heart to bury.

You’ve always known that other Latina women were of the more likely to be victims of sexual crimes. That didn't stop you from being shocked and having your heart break every time you saw another woman like you report a heinous crime done to her. You’ve never appreciated your mother deciding you needed to speak Spanish more than when you’ve been able to communicate in these women’s native language. Something about language makes people feel safe, at home. You think perhaps, communication is the world's greatest tool.

You cut your hair like you think it will solve your problems. Like you don’t feel like murder is an option now, like you don’t resent your team for getting you shot. Like you don’t feel like every man is out to get you. At least more than they were before. For a team of gifted profilers, no one seems to notice that you are breaking. Or maybe they do and they simply don’t care that you lie awake at night wondering if your choice to live was a good one or how your blood looked on your knife that day where you accidentally cut yourself. Or maybe, you’ve gotten so used to hiding yourself that they simply think you are still the same person you were before a bullet pierced your skin. Before a man targeted you for not following his rules. Because he needed to be in control. Now he’s dead and it's your turn to be in control. They won’t notice it at first. But you will start controlling them ever so slightly. And then, then you will strike. First, you will make them think you have PTSD, after all, you’d be a prime victim to it. They will be lenient because they think you dream about your attack and not how nice it would feel to slice through the skin of a monster. They don’t know you, you've made sure of that. You’ll open up to Reid if by open you mean fake everything. You’ll tell him about the dreams you aren’t having, and that you definitely see his face everywhere you go. How your walls still feel like they are covered in your blood. Of course, that would be suspicious so first, you will be short. You will be passive-aggressive, more than normal, you will make him see that you are wrong. He will be compelled to help you, ask you what is wrong. He’s too kind to you and this world, he hasn’t quite been burned yet. He will. Maybe by you, maybe by some other man who decides he broke a rule. Someone might think he is too, a sinner. He falls right into your trap. You decide to really play up the trauma and you raid your minibar. Fourteen-year-old you was right about alcohol, it does let you float above everything, you aren’t happy but you are above everything. He knocks on your door and you pretend to be drunker than you are. After lying straight to his face while you put on yet another facade, you kick him out. Tell him that he can’t fix you. Oops, maybe that was more of the truth than you wanted him to know.

There's a slight flaw in this new plan of yours. You were always a bit too sensitive about rapists, perhaps it's a combination of your youth, your womanhood, and the fact that you have sympathy. And rage. You are told by Hotch, who if he wasn't your boss you are sure you’d have told him to go to hell by now, to set yourself up to be an almost rape victim. They tell you that of course, it won’t happen. They’ll be watching you. Problem is you don’t trust him with your life. Shouldn’t trust him with your life, he is of course the one who loaded the gun for the man you shot you. You agree, because you have to, you can’t say no without fielding questions and avoiding pointed stares. It’s too much for you though, it's like you’re in your own personal horror movie. You turn up the music and you block out their calls. You do not want to hear from them right now. It all goes south when you accost the man who wants to take you for himself. You are reprimanded for your actions but you don’t give a single fuck.

It's time for the next step in your plan. Justice. Or as some would call it, murder.

You go back to your hotel with the rest of the team so they don't suspect anything of you. They never do. Later, you’ll go for a walk to clear your head, you’ll make sure someone hears you leave. You’ll track down this son of a bitch and you’ll make sure that he doesn’t live to see another day where he can create evil. You’ve always thought the law did its job, but Hotch says that he’ll have to be let go because there isn’t enough evidence now that you’ve ruined everything. He doesn't say that in as many words. His stoic nature allows him to be ruthless without saying anything, which works for him because no one can ever call him out on subtext. If the law doesn’t care about women, you will. You corner William Lee and you point your gun at him. He smirks at you and you’re glad he does, it makes your job that much more satisfying. You fire at him. You’ve been shot at now, you know how it feels, you watch as the life in him slowly leaves his eyes and it’s more addicting than anything you’ve ever felt. His blood pours onto the pavement much like yours dripped onto your floor. You think it would be more enjoyable if you had his blood on your hands. If you could feel the life leaving him. Next time.

The team finds you, gunshots are very loud, one more point to a knife. You tell them it was self-defense. They mistake the slight shake in your voice as fear, not adrenaline, the good kind. That's on them though. Elle Greenaway does not get scared, she creates fear. You can tell that they don’t 100% believe you, and they shouldn't, but they accept it anyway. You know someone is going to corner you after this, ask you what really happened. You decide that you’ve had enough of chasing killers. Now you’ll be the killer, being chased by them while you’re hunting rapists.

Back when you were new at the BAU and JJ’s smile still gave you butterflies you wondered how they all fell so easily together. Reid and Gideon had chess, Morgan and Garcia had, whatever they had, JJ, Reid, and Morgan were like siblings, Hotch and Gideon the heads of the family. And then there was you. You didn't quite fit in, not yet at least. You wondered how they could make bonds with people that could very well be shot and killed in the coming case. How they could make themselves vulnerable to that kind of destruction. It was better to be cold, it was better to not let them in.

Too bad you always were bad at keeping your promises. You let them worm their way into your heart. It makes saying goodbye oh so much harder. Somehow, you don’t quite regret it though, it made your time amongst the blood enjoyable. Well, as enjoyable as it can be here. You still stand by your opinion that no family built on murder can be steady. It will crumble, and you will not be here to see it fall.

You open your booklet filled with men who make you seethe. When you were very young you assumed that monsters had a certain look to them. That they had red eyes filled with darkness, claws, to scratch you with. You thought if you saw a monster on the street you’d know it. Sadly, the monsters of the world live not in the shadows, but in the light. They are your baseball coaches and math teachers. Every time you arrested one, you heard echoes of the same flawed speech. I never suspected anything, he seemed so normal. There is no normal, it’s an illusion we hold to make ourselves feel safe in our own skin. We shouldn’t feel safe in our skin, that's what kills you.

Eeny, meeny, miny, moe, catch a rapist by his toes, if he hollers, let him scream, so much fun for you and me.

Your hand picks Caden Mechein. Kansas, victim count three, blondes. You take the train, pay in cash, your hair is dyed red and you cut it to a pixie cut so you won't be quite as recognizable to Garcia. Your baseball hat and sunglasses should help with that. You’ve changed your fashion, it fulfills a fantasy you didn't know you had. You dress like a punk now, good thing your mother can’t see you she’d have a fit. You sit alone as the train fills up, no one asks to sit with you, like they know you’re dangerous. Good. You want them to be afraid of you. You stare out the window the entire trip, images flash in your head of what you're about to do. You watch the fields and fields of corn come into visions and you know it's almost time.

After a day and a half of planning and anticipation, you’ve arrived in Topeka. It’s a nice place, different from the east coast. People are friendlier here, you’ve heard about the midwestern nice but it’s different to actually experience a stranger smiling at you while you walk down the street. The darkness conceals you like you conceal the knife on your hip, hidden behind your leather jacket. You have latex gloves in your pocket because as much as you would love to feel his blood on your hands you aren’t going to risk leave fingerprints

You reach Caden’s house, his lights are off, he’s asleep. Perfect. You will kill him in his own home just like you were almost killed in yours. You jimmy the lock, breaking a window is too loud, too suspicious you do not want him to know you’re coming. Suspense is key for murder, it builds up in their heart and makes it just that much better when they see the knife in your hand. Or you’d think, it is your first kill after all.

You make your way into this sicko’s home, you find his bedroom. And you knock on the door. He curses like Jesus Christ will save him from you, he is no match for you. He is out of bed now, he’s asking you what you want. Your blood, you answer him. He pales, just like he’ll look when his blood is drained from his neck. You corner him in the corner of his room and you bring your knife out from your holster. It glimmers in the moonlight, because he feels so safe and secure in his room that he sleeps with a curtain open. Well, felt safe, you doubt he’s very secure with you spinning the knife in front of his face. Why are you doing this, he pleads with you like that will make you walk out of the room right here and abandon your plans. Men always were stupid and arrogant. You tell him that he knows exactly why, that this is his comeuppance for what he did to those girls.

Enough is enough, time to get what you want. You grasp the knife, marveling in its weight, in one bold stroke you slice his neck open. The blood gushes, it does not touch you, you made sure to step back before the flooding began. You watch mesmerized as the floor begins to stain crimson. Caden gasps for air, his feet give out and he falls on the floor. His head hits the wall with a satisfying thud. Eventually, the bleeding stops and you walk away, leaving his corpse to cool before it burns in hell.

Once upon a time, you would have added a signature, perhaps a Birdsfoot Trefoil, signifying revenge. That would be too clean and sweet for the police so you don’t give them it. You wonder how long it will take them to realize that this is the work of a vengeful woman. You hope it doesn't take long, you want the world to see your wrath.

Just like you suspected when you returned home from William Lee’s case, Hotch pulls you into his office. You can see the anger in his eyes and you know then and there that he could kill you with his bare hands and not think twice about it. He is angry because he knows what you’ve done, he’s a firm believer that the law does no wrong and he is a coward.

“Elle, I need to know if you murdered William Lee.”

You scoff at him, “of course not, who do you think I am?” He does not reply and you think that says more than if he had written a thesis about you.

“No Hotch, I didn’t commit cold-blooded murder while on the clock for the FBI”,

You both know that that isn’t true, only one of you is sure.

“Why do you care about him anyway? Relate to him, maybe?”

“Do not throw those kinds of accusations at me, Agent Greenaway.”

He throws your official title as a way of saying that you are no longer his friend, lucky for you never once thought he was, you are not in the habit of befriending men who would see your death as inevitable. You know that this is the end of your stay at the federal bureau of investigation. Might as well go out with a bang.

“Right, of course, my bad. Forgot you think you’re better than everyone else. I have news for you Hotch, you’re a shit father and a terrible husband. You never see your family, you’re so caught up in the high of catching killers your son barely knows who you are. I don’t think you’re any better than the men we catch”

“Elle, I understand you are still recovering from what happened to you but you can not speak to me this way. You’re suspended two weeks without pay, and are pending investigation”

He uses your name now because he knows you are right, he wants you to see him as the good man he sees in the mirror. You want his mirror to crack under what it sees.

“What happened to me? Oh yeah, when you let me get shot because you don’t give a fuck about me or any of the women on this team. I'm not suspended, I’m never coming back to this hell hole. I quit,”

You leave your badge and your gun on his desk. You won’t be needing them.

You ride the high of your first kill like you the first time you got high in highschool. You feel powerful, and like you��ve done the right thing. Out of curiosity, you check the news on your train to Nevada, they don’t mention Caden’s sins. They make him a saint that died as a tragedy not out of righteousness. You’ll make sure they know the sins of your next body.

After you slice this one's throat, you’ll dip your finger in his throat much like Randall Garner did to you, and write ‘scum’ on his forehead. He does not deserve honor in his death, he deserves shame.

Your body count racks up and you’ve never felt both powerful and powerless. You are making a difference, these men who think themselves above the law are finding that they are not above your law. The look on their faces when they understand what’s coming for them is a thing of elegance. When they see all 5’8 of you and realize that they will lose to a woman. Their crimes have not been forgotten, will never be forgiven, and now they will die because of them. They hurt women so now they will be hurt by a woman.

Every day you read the news about another man who you must add to your list and you are disheartened. You are sick of this tango for one. You long for the days of your past when you were happy. Those days are over though, this is your job now and you do it well. You do this for all the past versions of you, some more innocent, some more jaded, all you, all beautiful. For every girl who has ever felt victimized by a man who considers himself mighty. For every girl who still lives in bliss about what the men around her are capable of. You will try to make sure she never learns. You do this for every beautiful, broken girl and so that there needs not to be more of you, this club needs no more members. It’s time they make a new club for girls who are happy, you wish you could have been one of them.

Spanish translation (I am not a native spanish speaker forgive me for any errors):

'Fueron la cosa favorita de tu papá, cariño. Lo echo de menos cada dia.' It was your father's favorite thing sweetheart. I miss him every day

'Sea bilingual mija, los estudios dicen que es buena para tu cerebro. ¿No quises saber la lengua materna de sus ancestros?' You should be bilingual my daughter, the studies say it's good for your brain. Don't you want to know the mother tongue of your ancestors?

Tag List!: @royalpenelope @scandinavian-punk @theatreandfeminism @babey-jj @hellskitchensmurdock

#elle greenaway #Elle greenaway fic #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfiction #lucy's fics!#mine!#criminal minds #let me know what you think! 🥺

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mrcleanheichou · 5 years ago

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Forever and ever chapter 2

When two young people fall in love others often call it puppy love. A love so intense that ultimately fizzles out very quickly. No one believes someone so young could fall for someone so fast and have it be genuine until they see it with their own eyes.

Pairing Cowboy!Jungkook x reader

Genre fluff, angst, eventual smut

Word count 2K

Warnings Mention of a boner

Author’s note soooo long time no see lol I am such a bad fic writer, I literally start a WIP and don’t touch it for months. I have 4 WIPs that I bounce between when i get writer’s block. Slowly but surely I want to start writing consistently so I can get better. So I offer to you my Bangtan cowboy yeehaw fic. I really want to read cowboy fics but there’s barely anything so I decided to be the change I wanted to see in the world and wrote my own.

Here’s chapter 1

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1 week later Jungkook had just finished working on sections of the barbed wire fence with Jimin when he saw his hyung Jin getting the wagon ready. As soon as he put the roll of extra wire and his gloves back in the shed he jogged over to Jin. “Hyung! Are you going to town?”, He asked a little too loud making the horse Jin was hooking up to panic a little. “Hey, hey, hey, you’re ok.”, Jin says trying to get the horse back under control. Once he gets the nervous animal to calm down he looks toward the sweaty young man. “Yeah, I have to go to the market. Do you want to go?”Jungkook said yes a little to excitedly. “Ok, but go wash up. You stink.”

Jungkook hurried to the room he shares with Taehyung in the large ranch house where all seven of the men who work on Bangtan cattle ranch live.

**~~~~~~~~~** The whole operation is split four ways between the four older men. Namjoon and Yoongi run the majority of everything between Yoongi finding buyers for their livestock and Namjoon negotiating deals. They are both very knowledgeable cattlemen despite being in their mid twenties. They do not let other cattlemen try to dupe them because they think they’re young and gullible. Multiple times meetings have almost come to blows since the older men don’t like being shown up by the quick witted duo. The other partners are Jin and Hoseok. Jin takes care of feeding six very hungry mouths. He is a very good cook and he is also very skilled at fixing leather. He makes money on the side by fixing bridles and saddles for other people. Then there’s Hoseok who used to be a bronco rider on the rodeo circuit and now he uses his skills to break in young horses. Jimin and Taehyung were a couple of trouble makers that would do little odd jobs and play cards to get money to drink and entertain the women at multiple saloons almost every night. They ended up at the same poker table as Yoongi one night 6 years ago. They got to talking and he told them about needing workers on his ranch. Jimin automatically said no. He was very against that idea since he didn’t want to do actual hard labor in the sun. Taehyung was more open to the idea of a consistent pay check. Yoongi made them a bet. They’d play three rounds of ‘7-card-stud’ and if Yoongi beat them at least two times then he’d stop asking. But if he did beat them then they both had to come work for him. They took the bet and obviously Yoongi won. Although Jimin still to this day swears Yoongi cheated. Jungkook’s story is a little different. He made the 50 mile journey to Coyote Creek from his family’s farm after one of many fights he had with his father. When his mother died his father turned to alcohol to drown the pain. He became a monster of a man and resented the fact that Jungkook looked like his mother. The only time an argument turned physical was right before Jungkook ran away. He accidentally burnt the dinner he was making. His father immediately got up and grabbed Jungkook by the shirt and yelled in his face about how useless he was. He told him he regreted ever having him and that he has never loved him. When Jungkook started crying his father slapped him across the face. That was the final straw for Jungkook. As soon as his father was too drunk to even know where he was, he started packing some of his things and stole some money his father’s stash in his closet. He raided the storehouse for as much essential foods that he could reasonably transport and packed it all up onto one of their horses. Taking one final look back at his childhood home, Jungkook finally stopped fighting his tears. He sobbed, allowing himself to mourn the loss of both his mother and father. Once he calmed down he got on his horse and left his old life behind. At the age of 14 Jungkook set off for a better life. It took him two days to reach the town where he promptly started asking around for a job. Unfortunately no one was interested in hiring him, even for simple jobs. After six days he was out of cash, hungry and desperate. He went to the horse auctions and was going to sell his horse to survive when a man who was wearing an expensive looking black cowboy hat asked him why he looked so sad. Jungkook told him he couldn’t get money any other way and he had no home to return to. The man gave him a sympathetic look and told him to stay where he was. That he’d be right back. A few minutes later he came back with a shorter man in tow. “My name is Namjoon and this is Yoongi.”, the other man tips his hat at Jungkook “I’d like to make you an offer.” Jungkook was about to say thank you when Namjoon cut him off, “But, I don’t want the horse. We’re looking for a new ranch hand and you look like a hard worker. Would you like to come work for us?” Jungkook immediately says yes. “What’s your name kid?” “Jungkook.” “Where are your parents?” Yoongi asked looking concerned. When Jungkook looked down at the ground trying to come up with an answer Yoongi put his hand on his shoulder. “It’s ok, you don’t have to tell us if you don’t want to.” The two men take Jungkook with them to purchase the two horses they came to the auction for. They then head out for the ten mile ride it takes to get back to their ranch. Namjoon notices that Jungkook’s face looks sunburnt so he asks him if he needs a hat. “No, no it’s ok you don’t have to give me anything, I’m fine.” Namjoon pays him no mind as he takes the obviously expensive hat off his head and places it on Jungkook’s. “Every man needs a good hat.” Six years later Jungkook still wears it. **~~~~~~~** Jungkook took his time looking through his clothes. He finally chose a white button up, the pair of jeans he never wears when he does work and his nice town boots. After he washed up and changed he walked back to where Jin was waiting for him. ”You know we’re just going to town for supplies right?” Jin commented looking him up and down while Jungkook climbed onto the wagon next to him. Jin himself was wearing his work overalls that had leather oil on them. “Yeah, I just felt like dressing up that’s all.” Jin just shrugged and snapped the reigns to get the horse to start moving. When they got into town Jungkook immediately looked toward the school and was disappointed when it seemed like no one was there. Dejectedly, Jungkook got off the wagon and followed Jin to the first shop. “Ok, I made a you a list so we can split up and get it done faster”, Jin said handing Jungkook a piece of paper leaving him in front of the farmer’s market. Jungkook sighed and went into the shop that housed fruits and vegetables and opened the door. He grabbed a woven hand basket from the counter and went for the first item on his list. Apples. Not just any apples either, Jin wrote ‘***GOOD APPLES***’ Which caused Jungkook to stand confused in front of all the different types of apples for a few minutes. “What the hell does ‘good apples’ even mean? I thought all apples were good.” “Would you like some help?”, A sweet sounding voice asked. Jungkook looks to the side and almost gasped when he saw who was talking to him. It was the school teacher, she was stunning up close and her eyes were exceptionally beautiful. She smiles at him and he swears he felt his heart skip a beat. “You seem a little out of your element here.” “Y-yeah.”, Jungkook manages to say while trying to not stare at the woman. He doesn’t know why he’s so infatuated with her. He doesn’t even know her. “Do you know what kind of apples you want?” Jungkook feels his face getting hot because, no. Jin just wrote apples and there’s a bunch of different kinds in front of him. “No, my hyung didn’t write down what kind he wanted.” Jungkook rubbed the back of his neck nervously, “I’m completely lost.” “That’s ok, can I see your list? Maybe I can try to guess what he’s making and get you the right apples for it.” Jungkook handed her the shopping list and their hands briefly touched causing Jungkook to completely stop breathing. The woman started reading the list and mumbling to herself with a look of concentration. Jungkook thought it was was the cutest thing ever. “Ok! I think he’s gonna be making apple pie because he wrote down; flour, sugar, cinnamon, salt, and butter. But you can’t get that here today. Mr. Lee only comes to town with his milk and butter 3 times a week so you’ll have to come back for that tomorrow. But we can definitely get your ‘Good Apples’ today.”, she giggled and he looked at her in awe. How could someone so lovely actually talk to him. He almost felt unworthy of being in her presence. “Ok so I’m going to be biased and get you the apples I personally think are the best for pie. If your Hyung doesn’t like them then tell me and I’ll give you money for different ones.” she said looking over her shoulder at a nodding Jungkook. “I love these ones. They’re ‘Pink Lady’ apples.”, she says grabbing a small light red apple “They’re Sweet but not too sweet. They make the pie come out much better than green apples and their name sounds classy.” She handed it to Jungkook and started picking out the best apples from the pile. After finding 6 perfect apples she put them in the basket he was carrying. Once again accidentally touching him In the process. Jungkook completely froze, he felt as if he was shocked by electricity. “I can help you with rest of your things” the woman said looking up at the poor awestruck man. “I mean only if you want me to...” she added when Jungkook just stared at her without answering worrying that she might have been intruding. Jungkook just nodded, he couldn’t trust himself to speak without fumbling over his words. The woman smiled and spent the next 30 minutes helping him with the rest of Jin’s list. After Jungkook payed the two made their way to the wagon. “Thank you for helping me. I would have been lost for a long time.” “You’re welcome” the teacher smiled at him brightly. “It was my pleasure. By the way what’s your name Mr apple pie?” “Jungkook” the woman pondered that for a second before extending her hand. “I’m y/n” Jungkook silently hoped she wouldn’t notice how sweaty his hand was. If y/n did she didn’t say anything about it while grasping his calloused hand with her smaller and much softer hand. Jungkook felt ashamed when his thoughts immediately when to a dirty place when he imagined her soft hands touching him somewhere else. Mentally slapping himself he snapped out of it before he, as Jimin liked to call it, popped a boner. “Well, Mr. Jungkook, I’ll see you at the school house bright and early tomorrow” she said while turning to walk away. When y/n was gone Jungkook raised his hand to his face to make sure this was all real. With his luck this would end up being a dream. At least it would has been a really good dream. He must have zoned out for a while because he was startled back to reality by Jin clapping him on the shoulder, “Stop staring into la la land and help me tie everything down.” Jungkook took one last look at his hand, “You were right hyung” ...’love at first sight does exist.’ “I’m always right. I don’t know why you’re barely realizing that now”

#Jungkook reader #jungkook fanfic #jungkook reader smut #Jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook fanfic #Jungkook reader fluff #BTS reader fluff #BTS reader #BTS smut #BTS reader smut

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nomorelonelydays · 8 years ago

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HERE HAVE SOME MORE FOODPORN!AU: NO PORN HERE, BUT THERE IS SOME SID

The thing is, Zhenya loves hockey.

He can’t remember a time when being on the ice, chasing pucks around didn’t make him happy. From the time he realised that ‘professional hockey player’ was a job he could have, he knew this was what he was going to do with his life.

What he doesn’t love is the sports science side of it. He gets that it’s important to keep an eye on what he eats- making sure he has enough energy, enough weight, to get through the season without becoming a shell of bone and muscle- but he just really fucking misses being able to just eat a burger or three without worrying if it would fuck with his food plan. He misses not being watched by a hawk by nutritionists every time the team is at an event not catered specifically for hungry NHL players (empty calories, empty calories everywhere).

He supposed that was why watching Patrick enjoy himself so shamelessly indulge in contrabanded foods got Zhenya so hot and hard and horny. Almost six months of weekly personal videos, and he still couldn’t get enough of watching the beautiful man. He hadn’t invested in another video as… expensive and shameless as his cup winning one (which he watched almost every day the summer after. If he wasn’t so wary of his phone being hacked, he’d keep it saved there so he could use the image of Patrick’s well built body covered in His number as a pick me up on the road).

Instead he’d expanded his collection to include Patrick feeding himself oysters (throwing back his head, adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed), cherries (lips wrapping around the fruit, pulling it firmly from the stem, juices staining his lips as he bit through soft flesh), and- most shamelessly- one of Patrick eating a lollipop (sucking, slurping, and long slow shots of a clever tongue wrapping around the candy). Patrick clearly enjoyed food, and Zhenya loved to watch him enjoy it.

Not like the Penguins Nutrition Team. Sadistic assholes probably thought a treat was something including the words organic and flourless and sugarfree. They must get off on making Zhenya miserable.

The rest of the team got attention too, but the nutritionists really had it out for Zhenya; as if as soon as they took their eyes off him, he’d destroy their precious food plan and gorge himself on contraband goods (he would. Just to see their faces when he admitted that yes, he was the one who ate the rest of the cake/pie/pelmeni/muffins/mini pizza). It had culminated in management deciding that at events during the season, Zhenya was to have a chaperone always, to ensure he couldn’t spite eat.

The worst of them was Crosby. He’d been with the team for a couple of years- started interning with them as part of his degree a few years after Zhenya had fled from the KHL- and had eventually been named their head nutritionist after their last one had been offered a better job somewhere out west. He’d completely overhauled their Diet and Nutrition strategies in the years since, and just thinking about it made Zhenya want to drive to the nearest bakery and stuff himself with the most sugary-buttery-salty things he could buy.

Crosby seemed like a nice enough guy, if a bit solemn and serious about his job, but his campaign against all things tasty and enjoyable both during and outside of the season frustrated Zhenya to no end.

Sidney Crosby was the enemy and Zhenya lived to make him red in the face from frustration when he realised that Zhenya was cheating on his food plan again.

Crosby had cornered him in the hallway after the morning’s ice time. His arms were crossed over his chest and it just highlighted how badly fitted his suit was- baggy around his arms and shoulders and much too long. Zhenya wondered if Crosby had ever learned to dress himself properly, or if he just grabbed the first thing that fit off the rack. Even when he showed up in workout clothes, they looked three sizes too big.

“Malkin. I know you think this is a joke but-”

“No, not joke!” Zhenya is quick to interrupt Crosby before he can get the full lecture. He’s sat through way too many of them this season already. “I’m know; not allowed to eat at party tonight. There to talk to sponsors only. Have dinner before go.” Crosby raises an eyebrow and his lips thin into a severely disbelieving frown.

“You can eat, but nothing fried and none of the deserts.” a compromise they’ve been trying to sell Zhenya on all season. “And Cam stays with you all night.”

Zhenya’s head falls back with a moan that he’s been told makes him sound like a sad cow (fuck you too Tanger). Cam is the worst of Crosby’s disciples- a sports science intern who is too eager to please his boss now that the awe of working with NHL players has faded.

“Would rather do ten hours press. He worst. Not let me drink. ever.” Crosby snorts.

“You shouldn’t be drinking during the season,” Crosby lectures. “I can’t really stop you, but it is better for your performance to limit alcohol intake.”

“No drinking, no eating, no fun. How you have fun?” He whines. Crosby expression twists into something Zhenya doesn’t know how to interpret- if he didn’t know any better, he’d think Crosby was embarrassed.

“I have fun!” His eyes are wide, face indignant. A little part of Zhenya notices how attractive Crosby would be- if he could actually dress himself.

“Pffff. Everyone know you not know proper fun, Crosby.” Zhenya teases “Think Kale is fun. Get excited at farmers market.”

The flush that fills Crosby’s cheeks warms something inside of him. It’s different to the angry, blotchy red Zhenya is used to seeing, and paired with the way Crosby is actually talking to him- instead of telling him off and stomping back to his office- Zhenya finds himself caught off guard at the wave of attraction he feels for his nutritionist.

“It was new! There hadn’t been one in my area since I moved! And they have a stall that does really great homemade cheesecakes, okay?” Zhenya lets out a startled laugh.

“Since when you eat dessert? Here I’m thinking you only eat fancy protein salad and steam chicken!”

“Just because I care about my body, doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy food. It’s called moderation.” Crosby gives him a pointed look, eyes flicking down Zhenya’s body “Which is something you could really use.”

“Why use when is so fun to make you mad? Have you come tell me am in trouble.” he teases, and the flush deepens on Crosby’s cheeks. Zhenya realises that he may or may not be flirting with the enemy.

“Well maybe I’ll just have to supervise you myself” Crosby replies, not quite meeting Zhenya’s eyes. Oh.

Oh.

Crosby was-.

Flirting back.

“Yes?” he nonchalantly raises an eyebrow, mouth sliding into a lazy smile “You going to watch me eat, always?” which, he’s never actually thought of himself on that side of the scenario. He wonders if it would get him as hot and bothered as he does watching Patrick’s videos.

For some reason, Crosby looks mortified. Maybe he just isn’t as into watching people eat as Zhenya is- a thought that makes Zhenya kind of sad. Or maybe he just isn’t used to being flirted with? Crosby has always come across as quiet and serious in the past- Zhenya doesn’t think he has actually seen him laugh in the time they’ve worked together- and he doesn’t seem confident in himself. Always hiding behind his desk, his clothes, his employees. Maybe if Zhenya wants to take this further, he needs to be a bit less…. aggressive?

“So, will see you tonight? Sid?”

Crosby gives him a wide eyed stare, looking almost unsure at the way this conversation had turned. Zhenya couldn’t blame him- he had come to tell off one of his more reluctant players and ended up being flirted with about food.

“Uh, yeah, okay. Tonight” Crosby was definitely flustered as Zhenya watched him turn on the spot and rush from the room. A slow smirk spread across his lips. Maybe if he seduced the nutritionist, he could get away with convincing Crosby to let him have more cheat days.

Show Crosby how good food could be.

Maybe even get to show him how good Patrick could make food look.

#submission #food kink tw #food porn verse #sidgeno #anon fic

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texanpeanut · 7 years ago

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End of Training Thoughts

As you guessed, another email update. I wrote this one toward the very end of training when I was a little ball of anxiety. Meow.

December 6, 2017:

Hello hello hello, There are a few things I can't believe: first, that I haven't send an update in over a month, second, that because a month has passed means I'm incredibly close to swearing in and becoming a Peace Corps Volunteer, and third, that it's winter in the states. Today it was 100 degrees in Thies. The continually hot weather makes me think this is just an extension of summer vacation, and the Christmas decorations put up around the hotels and bars meant for Western travelers and the few Catholics in Senegal seem comical. Anyway, even though a lot of time has passed, not many activities have happened, except for during the past 10 days or so. After I returned from my FOT visit, I had a few days at the training center before going back to my CBT family for a three week long visit. To be completely honest, not much happened, except for a lot of running (I was proud of myself for going every single morning, and sometimes twice a day with one of my site mates), bread eating, walking around at the market, and learning a heck-ton of Pulla Fuuta. One exceptional day was when all of the trainees in my site got to go to a nearby touristy town of Mbour and visit the BEACH! "Beach" in PF is "takko mayo" which literally translates to "next to ocean". We did do some learning that day about the Muslim brotherhoods in Senegal. There are four main brotherhoods: the Khadre, the Mouride, the Tijane, and the Lamp Fall. From what I understand, the concept of brotherhoods originated in Morocco and made it's way to Senegal a couple hundred years ago. Each brotherhood has a different leader and members of the brotherhood choose to listen to their interpretations of the Quran, and the brotherhoods each have a certain amount of influence over Senegalese politics and some industries like public transportation. If you were to come to Senegal, you would not be able to ignore the brotherhoods. There are visual references to the brotherhood founders everywhere - on every boutique, on every house, and on every sept-plas. After about an hour or so of class, we got to swim in the Atlantic and wear semi-revealing clothing for a change. At that point in time I had been wearing only pants, long skirts/dresses, and full shoulder covering tops for six weeks or so, so to wear a pair of nike running shorts and sports bra in public felt almost like public nudity. We also went out for lunch that day, and it felt really good to eat a meal of just chicken and vegetables - no rice or bread to be seen. Thanksgiving also happened while I was at site! It ended up being a nice day, even in the absence of a TV to watch the Macy's Day Parade. I called my "real" family in America in the afternoon and had my mom and sister greet my host-mom and host-sister in Pullo Fuuta. It was pretty awkward to listen to as a third-party but I could tell it was appreciated on both sides. That evening we all also went out to a restaurant together. It was a typical Senegalese "fast food" restaurant with chicken sandwiches, burgers, shawarma, etc., but it felt special because their seating area was an open air spot on the second story. Even all the way in Senegal there were lots of family connections - with my American family, my Senegalese family, and my Peace CorpsTrainee family. I ended up really enjoying three weeks with my host family. It was the longest I've gone without internet access for a while, and it was incredibly refreshing. I felt like my language skills really improved, I became really close with my CBT site mates, got a lot of reading and crossword puzzles done, and just became more in touch with my thoughts and actions as cheesy as that sounds. I'm looking forward to being without regular internet access at my permanent site as well. Thanksgiving ALSO happened AGAIN when I got back to the training center after the end of the three weeks. We celebrated as a group on the Sunday after the holiday by each cooking a dish of our choice. We had fried chicken, stuffing, green bean casserole, homemade egg noodles, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, roasted vegetables, apple pie, and yours truly single-handedly whipped up a lentil loaf (not using any sort of recipe) for the vegetarians. It was all SO GOOD and I ate SO MUCH of it and it was overall an AMAZING evening. Yay. I apologize for the stream-of-consciousness style of writing in this email. As time passes here, I find it harder and harder to keep days and my memories about them organized. After Thanksgiving was sort of a blur. We had our final technical exam - I got a 105% and a sparkly turtle sticker on my test. We also gave our Readiness to Serve presentations. For the RTS, each language class had to put together a presentation about their understanding of the Peace Corps project frameworks and approach to development, their role as a volunteer, and how they're going to incorporate gender into their development work. Each person also had to give a 1-2 minute speech in their local language about what they want to achieve as a volunteer and how they want to spend the first few months at site. I think I said I want to teach farmers how to do a tree nursery, how to compost, and how to plant a live fence. And I'm going to greet all 54 people in my village every morning. We'll see what actually ends up panning out. We also got to go to Dakar last week. Mostly to sign paperwork. However, we did get a tour of the main Peace Corps office there, and got fed an amazing lunch of GUACAMOLE, FRUIT (I have been craving a single strawberry over the last two months and finally got it), and BACON CHEESEBURGERS which is a big deal in a country that hardly eats pork. We also got to visit the US Embassy to sign papers in front of a notary and it was such a nice building. I forgot how nice American buildings were. The bathroom had a Western toilet and it was great. On December 1st we all went to our CBT sites for a two-night "goodbye" stay. During this stay we had our FINAL language class, which is crazy to think about. I spent the very last day (Sunday) putting whole cloves in plastic bags for my dad to sell at a boutique, and the smell put me in the Christmas spirit a little bit and had me feeling slightly homesick. Afterward he went to the weekly market and bought me a set of gold earrings and necklace to wear with my complet at swear-in. I cried when I got back to the training center that day. My host family has been so sweet to me this whole time and I will definitely miss them when I go to my permanent site in Kedougou. On Monday we had our final LPI (Language Proficiency Interview) to determine if we were at the right level to swear in. We were supposed to get Intermediate-Mid to swear in and yesterday I found out I got... Intermediate-High! Woohoo! We've mostly had a lot of free time since then to relax and enjoy the last few days before swearing in on Friday. I'm in denial that this is actually happening because I am terrified. But I'm also excited. And sad. And... I don't know exactly what else but all these emotions are making my stomach churn, that's for sure. I'm terrified of getting to my village and not knowing how the heck to spend my time or not being able to understand anyone. I'm excited to see where my work takes me, to meet new people, and to live in a beautiful place. And I'm sad to be leaving all the amazing friends I've made during training! However, when I was leaving the US I had all the same feelings, went through an awkward beginning phase, and ended up loving training. So hopefully I will love my two years of service, too. Or "si allah jabbi" (if God accepts) as they say in good ol' Pullo Fuuta. For the future, tomorrow we have our last day of sessions, we swear in in Dakar on Friday, and I believe Saturday we leave for our sites. Once I get to Kedougou I'll have some time to shop and get all the things I need to move in. And then I'm going to be in my village for five weeks. In PC Senegal there's something called the Five Week Challenge (or Home for the Holidays as they're calling it this year), where trainees are encouraged to spend their first five weeks of service at their site only, not traveling to a regional house or going to another volunteer's site to spend the night or anything. I'm going to try to do it. My site is very isolated anyway and hard to get in and out of, so I'm not sure how tempted I'll be to do a lot of traveling. I think that's all I can expel from my brain at the moment. Thanks all for reading my updates so far and to everyone who's replied.

Peace only, Maggie/Binta

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