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tenthgrove · 3 years

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hi tenthgrove :D when you have the time can I get some lore on melone pretty please 💖 I hope you’re having a lovely day~!!

Melone's backstory- in as much depth as I have for it:

Melone was a Florence boy, born in July 1976, or 1996 for the modern AU. His parents were middle-class eccentric types, and lived comfortably on the outskirts of the city with their many pets and three children.

Melone had two sisters, one elder and one younger. His elder sister Martina was a genius, an impeccably organised young woman who went to study medicine at a prestigious university. The younger sister Giorgia was more the artistic sort, beloved in the family for her many talents and endless sweetness. Melone was close to them both, but had a particular bond with Giorgia.

As for Melone himself, he was as equally precocious as his sisters but did not quite click with the school system the way Martina did, so his grades tended to linger around Bs in most subjects. His parents were unbothered by this, encouraging their children to follow their own interests even if it was less rewarded, so they continued to be proud of him nonetheless. As a result, Melone funnelled his efforts into what fascinated him, namely biology and the growing field of computer science.

When Melone was 6 years old, he was diagnosed with a moderate visual impairment in his right eye, purely genetic, and prescribed special glasses to correct the vision. However, Melone was very resistant to wearing them, and noticing that he did not seem at all hindered by having to rely on one eye, his father made the decision to let him stop wearing them.

After Martina went to university Melone began to greatly admire her studies, and told his parents he wanted to be a doctor as well. They immediately provided him with resources to look into this further, but the more Melone read the more he found his interest was limited to a few areas of medicine, namely genetics and obstetrics. Simply put, he was fascinated by the creation of humans. With his parents approval, he set his sights on these fields. Unfortunately, he was not able to secure a place on a competitive medicine course due to his grades, but did manage to get on a medical technology course with an opportunity to transfer later on. Even better, through his parents connections' in the university they were able to get him put in a separate module for obstetrics, so he could get a head start on this passion too.

Melone very much enjoyed university, and excelled at his studies. His interests continued to involve to include the social factors that affect a child's outcomes, such as maternal deprivation and health in pregnancy. This was particularly fed by one particular encounter, in which Melone shadowed a doctor in visiting a patient in his clinic. This patient was very unique in one major sense- she was a prisoner, escorted to and from the consultation by prison guards. The fear and sadness on her face was clear.

The encounter stuck in his mind prominently until one day, he saw the woman again. She had been released now- her sentence was never very long to begin with, but was still yet to have her baby. She explained that after leaving prison she had been swept up in Passione, and it wasn't safe to seek antenatal care. She was aware that he was only a student but she recalled his eagerness to help her and was sure he must be better than nothing. She pleaded with him to provide her care through the rest of the pregnancy. Melone agreed.

All went well and the baby was born healthy, but a few months later the woman was back, this time with a friend. They explained that this second woman had become pregnant and was also looking to circumvent public care. She pleaded for the same treatment, and offered him a good sum of money if he would give it. Again, Melone accepted, as he did for the woman after her, and the woman after her. He enjoyed this, enjoyed the unconventional and having a patient all to himself. But of course, there was no way he was going to get away with this forever. Eventually, one of the women would be imprisoned again and the source of her care traced.

Melone was promptly expelled from the university, and with nowhere else to go, decided to continue down the path he had already started on and join Passione. He did not tell his family he was no longer at uni. He started out in Passione much as he was before, providing medical services with a speciality for obstetrics. But once he developed his stand Baby Face, he was funnelled into more... nefarious tasks. The act of killing came easier to him than he expected- he supposed it was the consequence of his scientific mind.

Even though he wasn't a student any more, Melone continued to live like one, spending most of his spare times in clubs. Soon, he had made friends with a group of assassins from La Squadra Esecuzione- Formaggio, Illuso and Ghiaccio. They got on well, finding Melone's weirdness charming and his skills admirable. Word of the friendship got round to Risotto, who was in need of a squadmate with some proper medical training. He also had ideas for how Baby Face could be operated more efficiently, so this new friend was very promising to him.

Melone agreed quickly to join La Squadra. He had never clicked with his old team and was off-put by the limitations to using his stand. He was the penultimate addition to the team and the last to technically be introduced, since Pesci was acquainted with them for some years before officially joining.

As for his parents, Melone told them he had moved abroad for charity work.

#small asks #melone

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marginalgloss · 3 years

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It occurred to me recently that I haven’t posted here for about nine months, and that if you knew nothing about me except for this blog, you might think that it something of a cliffhanger that I ended it on a post about expecting the arrival of my first child. (Or perhaps that would have been an entirely fitting way to end it.) Either way: I am fine, and we are fine, and last November brought the arrival of my son Robin into my life. I have been very busy almost every day since.

There are a couple of cliches about parenting that remain indisputably true. The first is that they grow up so fast. And the second is that nothing prepares you for it. We thought we were entirely ready and pretty well informed but from his delivery onwards nothing went as planned. We thought we’d feed him when he was hungry, and we’d put him to sleep when he was tired; and change his nappies, and play with him, and love him; and what else was there to it, really?

It turns out there is a lot more to it than that. Before Robin I never realised how polarised, how strained and how political people’s feelings are about matters of childcare. We’ve ended up raising him in ways we had never previously considered, partly out of necessity, and partly out of the kind of habits that grow into paths of desire across the days. Consciously or not I judge people who do things differently, and no doubt they judge me too. In spite of the reams of available literature it turns out that for many things — perhaps even most things — there isn’t necessarily a right or a wrong way to proceed.

Here is a third cliche that turns out to be extremely valuable: every baby is different.

The question of literature is a tricky one. In search of assistance I read a few parenting manuals; some of these turned out to be better than others, but I’ve yet to find a good book about what it means to be a father. Most books aimed at new dads are of the ‘pull your socks up’ variety — the kind of thing where the author imagined it thrust upon some feckless deadbeat by a weary spouse. But, being reasonably conscientious, and looking for something with a bit more depth than a guide to how to change nappies, I’ve found most books about parenting have little of interest to say to new fathers.

Being a dad is an odd thing to write about. I’ve read and heard people talk about how new mothers ought to be proud to be joining a kind of grand universal maternal tradition, one which predates even humanity itself. (Animals surely know about babies; witness my cat Louie’s endless patience with Robin’s various attempts to pull his ears off.)

People do not generally talk about the grand traditions of fatherhood in this way. And for good reason: a lot of men today wouldn’t be happy to follow the example of their own fathers, let alone imitate the conditions of detachment and distance that defined fatherhood for centuries. I want to say that expectations of fathers today have never been higher; but this is only because for most of recorded history, we had no expectations of fathers at all. In the space of perhaps two or three generations we have gone from the idea that a father should only have to provide for a child’s upkeep (and not slap them around too much) to a very immediate understanding of dadhood as a central plank of parenthood.

Perhaps a lot of this speaks more to my own insecurities than it does to anyone else’s. Still, I feel like there’s an easy camaraderie between mothers that isn’t apparent between fathers. My wife has developed a little circle of local mums with whom she’s in constant communication, whereas the WhatsApp group we created for the fathers in our NCT group has languished in silence. I don’t really have anyone with whom to compare notes. And what would we say if I did?

The pandemic has put us in an unusual situation. Ordinarily I would have had two weeks’ paid paternity leave, plus any holiday time taken alongside that. So I took three weeks off work — but I’m still working from home every day, as I have been since March 2020. This means that instead of watching me disappear to work five days a week, my son has spent every day of his life together so far with both his parents. I don’t even know where to begin with writing about the way this has changed us; perhaps I won’t know how to talk about it until it comes to an end.

It does mean that parenting feels like it has consumed my life in ways that might not have otherwise been the case. Being at home for so long with a new baby was a remarkable opportunity, and in the early days — through winter and the Christmas lockdown — it didn’t feel like I was missing out on much. Things are a little different now. Every absence independent from my family feels like it requires a negotiation as much with myself as with anyone else. And I don’t only mean literal absences. Someone new has come into my life and they have no tolerance for anything else that might be meaningful to me. So many of the things against which I used to define myself have necessarily had to be neglected.

It goes without saying that I haven’t written much. Whatever free time I have at the moment is normally spent collapsed in an exhausted heap on the sofa, watching TV. I can count the number of books I’ve actually finished in the last eight months on one hand; I have started and set aside perhaps two dozen. I feel very remote from the person who spent several years documenting here every book he finished.

Games have fared a little better. In the early days, when I found myself with some late night hours to myself, I picked up the remastered Bioshock collection. It took me months, but I eventually finished all three: the first game is a masterpiece, the second is a very decent sequel, and the third is probably the greatest missed opportunity in all of gaming. (I ended up writing several thousands of words about the games, over the course of weeks — the only thing of substance I’ve written since Robin was born, in fact — which I since abandoned, in a fit of self-doubt and impatience with my own tortuous style.)

But I mean it when I say that the first game is a masterpiece. I had forgotten just how immensely absorbing it is — a journey into another world that’s less realistic than it is gloriously theatrical. Every time I think about it I feel like I want to replay it again. And it never really occurred to me before that Bioshock is about parenting as much as it is a picture of Objectivism in decay. It hits different now, as the kids say.

While driving over the weekend I passed the word ‘DADDY’ outlined in rich pink flowers, laid in memorial at the centre of a roundabout. It made me flinch. Every time I see that word in whatever context it seems to come with an intimation of departure. And in the same way every time I think about this game it seems laden with the feeling of a dying fall that nobody ever really seems to talk about. You play as a kind of genetically modified clone, returning home to his unwelcoming father and near-absent mother in a demented inversion of the Odysseus tale; and the only good you can do in this world is to rescue the handful of innocents left within it. You have to become a father yourself, in a sense. But your days are numbered.

The ending of the original Bioshock is often written off as a bit of a joke. You fight a deliriously incongruous final boss, and then depending on your actions through the rest of the game, you get to see one of two final sequences. In the bad ending, the denizens of Rapture somehow steal a nuclear submarine, and it’s implied that something very bad follows. But the good ending has more to it than that. You return to the surface, and it’s implied that you adopt some of the Little Sisters you rescued down there as though they were your daughters. There’s a brief montage of scenes from an assortment of lives. A graduation. A marriage. A child reaching for a parent’s hand. And then a death bed. The hands of your daughters reach out for you one last time.

After perhaps twenty hours of gameplay this sequence is perhaps less than a minute long. It feels rushed, awkward, sentimental. But as a coda, it also has the outstanding benefit of being perfectly real.

#robin #personal #fatherhood #video games #bioshock

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vale-studies-ir · 3 years

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Hello lovely people!

It seems that life made me take a leave of absence from tumblr. Thanks to all of you who have continued to interact with my page! I'm sorry if I've missed any messages or questions in the time that I've been away. I'm back now and I'll continue to share my journey with you all...

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In order to be able to keep moving forward, I think it's important to accept the past and move on. Accept any of the difficulties that happened, and see them as moments you've gone through that have made you stronger. My way of accepting and turning over a new page will be through this post.

I haven't shared too much information about my studies and how they've been going. My studyblr was very new, and I was using it more as a means for motivation by seeing all the wonderful things people in the community were doing. Little by little, I started to make posts of my own.

So let me formally introduce myself and share my ongoing journey...

My name is Valentina, I go by Vale for short. I jumped from graduating from my BA in International Relations and Political Science in the Spring of 2018 to starting my PhD studies in International Relations the Fall semester of that same year. No break, very smart... I know. That's only just the beginning. I'm not sure how it works abroad, but here doctoral students usually go through most of their studies being funded by a graduate assistantship. This pays tuition and provides a stipend through working as a TA (graduate teaching assistant). Of course they vary across universities and departments. When I was applying to the PhD program, one of my professors advised me not to accept if I was not given funding. There are only a limited number of spots that are given to incoming students each year that will be accepted as a TA.

In March of 2018 I received notification that I was accepted into the PhD program in International Relations at my university, however, the department could not guarantee funding for me. This put me at a loss, and I spend months wondering where this was going and what I would do. Because I'm an immigrant in the US, though I've been living here practically my whole life, I didn't have too many options. My mobility is constrained.. my access to scholarships is constrained (even though I may qualify for them in terms of academics and merit, migration status trumps over all of it). I was lost, to say the least. My family can't afford to have paid for this program or a Master's program out of pocket, and I am not able to take out student loans even if I wanted to.

Regardless of this all, I still attended the incoming graduate student orientation; which surprised the outgoing graduate program director. She did not think I would show up, considering the whole funding predicament. She and the new GPD told me that they would try to find something for me. On the first day of class, I showed up, still not knowing what would become of this situation. Not knowing if I would actually get to start the semester or not. We are usually given a week to pay tuition - because of status, I am considered an international student so my tuition came out to nearly $10,000 for three courses. That day, out of nowhere, I was told that the dean of our school (School of International and Public Affairs) was looking for a graduate assistant for new projects that he wanted to work on. In the span of a few hours, I ended up interviewing with him, being told that they would let me know because there was another student they were considering, and later being called and told that I got the position. I was ecstatic. I called my parents in tears. This was actually happening; I was actually going to be able to start my PhD.

It all happened so fast. It all seemed so exciting. The dean seemed very enthusiastic and pleased that I would be working with him. Things eventually took a turn for the worst...

Transitioning into graduate school itself is extremely difficult. Many graduate students find themselves experiencing heightened stress and strain on their mental health. I did not give myself the space to transition into graduate school without the added stress of being a doctoral student, without the added expectations. On top of that, the dean had not had a graduate assistant before. This was new for him too. The expectations of me were blurred and my contract would only last for a year to be considered for possible renewal (the typical TA contract in my original department lasts 4 years), this led to disaster. I needed this position to continue to fund my studies, so I needed to make sure that I was on top of my work expectations. Because these expectations were unclear, the dean's secretary took advantage. It seems they were short staffed, and I was given administrative tasks that did not belong to me. I was made to come in to the office for strictly 20 hours a week. (Our contract states that we work up to 20 hours a week). If I was ever sick and missed a day, that would be added onto the hours for the next week. So if I missed a day where I was supposed to be in the office for 5 hours, I'd have to be there for 25 hours the following week. A breach in the contract, I know - but who was I, a lowly student, against the dean? This office (a shared space) was not a place where a person could focus on studying. There were students coming in and out, loud conversations occurring, and having to see if the actual student employee in charge of taking phone calls was at their desk - if not, I would have to man the phone. While I was doing administrative tasks for the dean's secretary, the dean was having me create themed presentations and CO-LECTURE with him. Me, a person who had been an undergraduate student only months earlier. I had to create these presentations from scratch and know all of the material. All of my focus had to be on this. My performance in my own classes and mental health declined quickly. I could not focus, I could not get my reading assignments done, I felt unprepared. I felt like a failure.

After a year, I realized that it was not worth to have my tuition paid for if I could not focus on my classes and was set up for failure. It took a lot, but ultimately I turned down the contract renewal. Here comes the fun part. My GPA dropped tremendously. I graduated Magna Cume Laude just a year before. I developed depression and didn't realize it; to the point where a friend practically made me go to counseling. The office manager at my actual department knew what I was going through. I had shared a lot of my experience with her. She advocated for me. Because of this, I was told that there was a student who had been awarded an assistantship for the incoming Fall 2019 semester, but had decided not to take it. The contract was going to be made for me instead, for not 4 but for 5 years since I had only come in with a BA degree. When they ran it through the associate dean's office... it was denied. My GPA was lower than the threshold. A LOT lower. I was told by the GPD - the same woman who had just started her position that said she would help me, the woman that had gone on maternity leave during that whole year after she started meaning she was not aware of the situation - that I should really take my studies more seriously. She received a very long email from me and apologized afterwards, to say the least. Nothing could be done.

I had no funding, only savings and ended up working Full Time in Fall of 2019 in order to try to pay for 1 course, that costed me a little over $3,000. Somehow, even though I strongly considered it, I managed not to drop out. By this time, the majority of the courses I had taken before had INs - incomplete grades. Two of them had automatically turned into Fs. Things were not okay.

I got a bit of a mental break during that Fall semester. I worked in a friendly environment. The office manager pulled some strings and let me work as an office assistant there... so I was still at my department, but working as staff. It was a little awkward. I'm eternally grateful to her, she became a close friend. And because of her, someone at another department got word that there was a graduate student who needed funding.

This office manager was good friends with a recently graduated phd student from our department who is now working for a different center in the university. Because she was part of my department, many of my current colleagues know her, and are good friends with her. We spoke, I rushed to get my GPA up to the 3.0 threshold and with the help of my professor's I was able to be awarded an assistantship with that center. I started in December of 2019.

Again, I was ecstatic. Things were looking up. When I went in for the first time, I immediately felt a huge difference. It was a smaller, more homey place; and a lovely environment to be in. The people there were sweet and caring. I've gotten along with the few professors I've had the chance of meeting and working with.

Where did it start going downhill? The professor that recommended me (graduate from my home department) continuously requested that I work with her. Her reason being that I got along better with her (something that I was not aware of). Because she considered herself as my friend, professional lines were horribly blurred. I found myself doing additional work for her as a "favor for a friend." She then started having us meet multiple times a week for hours - distracting from the time I needed to actually get work done. This center does not cap classes - I've had to grade for up to 400 students in one semester. The meetings she scheduled were incredibly unproductive, and I found myself having to take extra time to get the grading done. Again, my own studies were effected. The past academic year went on like this. I ended up assisting in creating a new course and new assignments from scratch.

Later I noticed that something was wrong. I was doing way more work than stipulated by my contract. She was giving me access to her courses that I was not assigned to grade for. Instead of assisting for one course in the semester (the one with the highest enrollment), I was assisting for three. This was constantly under the guise of 'friendship'. How was I supposed to reject my 'friend'? When I tried to draw professional boundaries, I was met with resistance.

My mental health declined again in the fall and I missed a few of her scheduled meetings (meetings which she said were NOT mandatory). Because of this, she decided to throw me under the bus with the director and making it seem as if I was not actually working - when I was addressing students' needs and getting grades in. This worsened in the Spring. With the help of my counselor I finally got the courage to communicate with her. Albeit through text, because she's the type of person that does not allow you to get a word in during conversation.

"On that note, there’s something I’ve wanted to talk about. I’ve been struggling with concentration and fatigue. This is something that I’ve been working on with my doctor to try to find solutions. I’ve noticed that being in Zoom meetings in general where there’s casual conversation makes it exceptionally difficult for me to focus on what I’m trying to get done. This has been problematic in the work zoom meetings. You probably have noticed I seem really quiet, that is because I’m trying my hardest to focus.

I need to be able to focus during the time I’m assigned to work as a GA. Otherwise, I must take more time to complete tasks that normally wouldn’t take up that long or just wait until the weekends to finish them. That is conflicting as I have set that time to work on class assignments and my own projects. So in the end I end up falling behind and not working well because my productivity levels are being affected."

She seemed to understand me and be supportive. Then I noticed coldness, and condescending passive aggressive texts from her part.

I realized that I could not do this any longer. I could not allow myself to continuously be taken advantage of. Both of the people I've worked for were aware of my vulnerable situation due to migration status. They both knew that it was not easy for me to pay for my studies through any other means. My studies depended on these people, and if they 'liked' me. They abused and absorbed my time to the extent that my studies suffered tremendously.

But I finally stood up for myself. I spoke with the director and she affirmed that my concerns were valid. Time and time again she assured me that my studies should always come first. She supported me. I will no longer be assigned to work with this person.

I finally feel heard.

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It's been 3 years since I started my program. A lot has happened in this time. I have a lot of catching up to do this summer if I want to stay on track and take my comprehensive exams by the end of the year. But someone finally heard me, acknowledged the wrongdoings and helped me.

Don't let people walk over you and take advantage of you. I'm learning this the hard way.

Speak your truth.

#my story #my phd story #experiences #struggles #growth #don't give up #don't silence yourself #share your story #speak your truth #long post #studyblr #phdblr #phd studyblr #phd student #gradblr #grad student #stand up for yourself #keep moving forward

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jamlavender · 3 years

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Babies & bathwater: Marisa, Asriel and Lyra’s impending existence

After writing this post about adult Lyra’s relationships with her parents if they’d survived the trilogy – a piece of character analysis paired with my fic Unholy Ghosts – and really enjoying doing so, I’ve decided to write another one, to match with my latest fic Force of Nature, which tells the story of Lyra’s actual birth (this also relates to much of Silver Bullet too). So much care and analysis go into writing fics and it seems a shame not to share that! Here’s my take on Marisa and Asriel’s feelings about Lyra while Marisa was pregnant and in the immediate aftermath of her birth.

Asriel

Aside from the logistics of having a baby with his secret lover, I think Asriel would have been very relaxed about the prospect of fatherhood – perhaps even, dare I say it, excited – because he wouldn’t have seen having a child, even under stressful circumstances like these, as any threat to his aims whatsoever. He’s a lord, richer than the king, with an almost supernatural ability to have his needs met with a simple call into the void. For the few months that Lyra is in ‘his’ care, she lives with a nurse in a different house to him (maybe even a different city most of the time, as Ma Costa and Lyra’s cottage was part of Asriel’s estate in Oxfordshire and he likely spent a lot of time in London). For Asriel – like all men of his social class – the daily drudgery and tangible, explicit love that parenthood requires would have been foreign concepts. He could have a child – as, I presume, he’d considered he might one day, should the circumstance arise – and continue his antitheist crusades. Those two things are not in conflict at all. Nor, do I think, he’d have seen Marisa as having to make a choice between her ambitions and motherhood either (if she’d left Edward and joined him) because there’d have been a seemingly endless pot of money and reams of staff to meet Lyra’s needs if her mother would rather have been doing something else.

I also think that he’d have been pleased to be having a child with a woman that he loved, particularly when there’d no doubt been months or years of push-pull between them, about their relationship, about secrecy, about choosing to be together (or not), about ownership and love and jealousy. He’d have felt that them having a child together was yet another compelling reason she should leave her husband for him, and perhaps even have been hopeful as a result. I also think he’d have been childishly pleased that, after her keeping him and their love in the shadows for so long, there now existed some glaring proof of their relationship. He’s not a man who likes to be overlooked or ignored, after all. And, while I’m probably projecting here, I wonder if the scientist in him might have found something about pregnancy and birth interesting, because while reproduction and childbirth are common, they are also physiological marvels (my reproductive physiology course was my favourite module at university, can you tell?).

I do wonder, though, if the plan for him to take the baby was agreed in advance of her birth, regardless of what the newborn looked like, only because it’s so rare (if it ever happens?) for it to be clear within minutes of birth which of two men might have fathered the new child – unless the two men are of different races, a possibility explored beautifully in the fics The Image of the Father and this be the verse. In fact, the much greater risk would have been that, after being an indistinguishable pink potato at birth, Lyra grew up to be Asriel’s spitting image, when it would have been impossible to spirit her away or fake her death. I could believe that Marisa had decided long before the birth to give the child away regardless, both from her (lack of) personal feelings and the reasonable fear that their secret might instead be discovered years down the line, when the consequences could have been much more severe.

I don’t think Marisa’s suspicion of the child and lack of maternal inclination would have bothered Asriel, particularly relating to her work (I mean, as soon as he loses all the money that enables Lyra’s existence to have no impact on his day-to-day life, he dumps her in favour of his work without a second thought). Rather, he’d have been upset about Marisa’s rejection of Lyra because he’d see it as extension of her rejecting him over and over again. He’d never understood why she wouldn’t leave her husband to be with him – he could provide money, freedom, fascinating work, intellectual partnership, raw love and attraction – and now they’ve had a child together, and still she chooses to walk away. That’s what would have gutted him, I think, especially when it seems obvious to him that they can have their cake and eat it too: they can pursue their ambitions and raise their child, largely because someone else will do the bulk of the latter. Marisa, of course, had always felt differently about the real feasibility of that. His rage at Marisa rejecting him through Lyra would only have been intensified when Marisa surrendered the baby to the Church, which was surely the deepest and worst knife she could twist, leading “all the anger in him to turn against her.” (I forget the exact quote, but I think that’s pretty close).

Marisa

Marisa would have resented the baby’s existence from the start (I choose to assume that she always knew the baby was Asriel’s, though if she didn’t – which is not out of the realm of possibility at all – that would have been stressful in a different way). Here was proof of her infidelity, proof of her inability to resist the cardinal sin of lust, and a person that might well grow up to have Asriel’s face, who was going to emerge from her body and either be a nightmare to spirit away and keep hidden or a burden (and a secret!) she was forced to bear for the rest of her life. Asriel’s generally blasé attitude about the whole thing would no doubt have infuriated her, as would Edward’s attempts to involve himself in a pregnancy in which he’d played no part. I think she’d have been stressed and miserable and resentful.

Pregnancy and birth must also have been a nightmare for her. The loss of control over her body as another grew inside it, the weight gain and hormones, and, surely most of all, the loss of her ability to use her sexuality to control those around her. The Church might revere motherhood, but they don’t desire it, which would have been a disaster for her, someone for whom manipulating the desire of others was her most beloved political strategy. It’s also very base, a reminder of our animal functions, and as someone who has a complicated relationship with her more instinctive feelings and seems keen to obliterate them as much as possible in favour of repression and manufactured poise, that must have been very uncomfortable. I think she’d have hated it.

Given, though, that she develops an expansive love for Lyra in the end, I did want to sow the seeds for that when her daughter was born (though twelve years is a long time, and I don’t think it’s impossible that she’d have discarded her daughter at birth and simply changed her mind all those years later, but I find it more interesting to make it a little more emotionally complex than that). I think she’d have been in shock, particularly from the pain and vulnerability of birth, but also confronted with an actual person she’d made, with a person she loved deeply, no less. She’d then do an excellent job of repressing those feelings, but I could believe that there was a short time where the fact she’d actually had a child, Asriel’s child, was impossible for her to ignore, despite the chaos, emotional or otherwise, that recognition would cause. That’s how I conceive of both Asriel and Marisa’s immediate reactions to Lyra after her birth, actually: that they’d have spent the pregnancy ignoring their impending arrival, either from glibness about its potential significance (Asriel) or repressing her fears about being discovered or saddled with a baby (Marisa), and only when they were confronted with their actual child did they realise they might have created something here that they couldn’t control as easily as they’d expected. That sums up Lyra’s role in both their lives in the trilogy, I think: she pushes them both because they can’t control her, not what she does nor the emotions she evokes in them, and they both find that unbearable.

#marisa coulter #lord asriel #lyra belacqua #chaos family #my analysis #hdm meta

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artificialqueens · 3 years

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Modern Love, 1/12 (Branjie/Scyvie/Ninex) - Ortega

fic summary: Brooke Lynn is a 23 year old graduate writing boring, uninspired pieces for the fashion department of a newspaper and living in a city all her friends have moved away from. Silky is living at her parents’ house and spends her days applying for jobs she’s promptly rejected for. Nina and Monet are struggling through their first year as teachers whilst being sickeningly adorable girlfriends. Akeria is pursuing her dream of being a badass lawyer, even if her master’s degree is slowly crushing her soul. Plastique is acting like the second coming of Paris Hilton, so nothing there has changed. Scarlet is overworked and Yvie is underpaid and their relationship isn’t all it appears from the outside.

And Vanessa? Vanessa is nowhere to be seen.

(A story about a holiday, a breakup, friendships and relationships in a post-graduate world, careers, navigating life after university, figuring out what it means to be an adult, and coming to terms with the fact that we really are not nineteen forever.)

a/n: welcome to the sequel to Not Nineteen Forever!!! i should say it’s not *~ mandatory ~* to have read the original before this but it’s encouraged huehue xo hope u enjoy and please feel free to reblog, like and send love!!

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Brooke felt the all-encompassing sense of dread wash over her as her alarm went off, the sounds of the radio that were gradually fading in doing nothing to make the experience of waking up for another day of work any more palatable. She groaned loudly as she stretched, her arms flying out to the side and hitting the edge of the double bed. Brooke starfished a little, stretching her legs out as long as they would go and trying to put off getting up and showered for as long as she could.

Rolling over in bed she reached for her phone and stopped when she saw the rose-gold rectangular frame beside her on the bedside table. It caught her by surprise every day, almost a sort of routine in itself. A picture of her and Vanessa from when they first moved in, standing at the doorway having just popped a bottle of champagne. Brooke’s face was in a funny contorted sort of smile as she yanked the cork out of the bottle and Vanessa was clapping her hands in excitement, a brilliant white moonbeam painted across her face. Brooke remembered the day well. Monet had taken the photo with Nina beside her, both of them still in their work clothes after they’d visited straight from a hard day full of teaching. Akeria, Silky, Plastique, Scarlet and Yvie had all been inside, shuffling through the huge variety of Domino’s pizza boxes that had just arrived at their door like a deck of cards. That night had been so special. Whatever had happened since then, Brooke would probably treasure that memory forever.

In spite of herself she smiled as she looked at the photograph, then turned her attention to her phone screen.

No notifications. She didn’t know why she expected anything more.

With a cloud over her head that matched the ones in the uncharacteristically grey June sky, Brooke brushed her teeth and peeled her pyjamas off before stepping into the shower and adjusting the dial to somewhere between tepid and warm. Vanessa’s shower gel sat in the corner, the tropical fruit and mint one with little tiny sloths all over the front. Brooke found herself hurting as she looked at it, still loath to use it as she took her own from the opposite side and splatted a huge dollop into her shower puff. Sometimes she used it indulgently, like a secret she shared with herself. She didn’t know whether she’d buy more when it ran out. That was something she still needed to think about.

Once she was clean Brooke briskly dried herself with a towel, sitting on the edge of the bed wrapped in it as she carefully blow-dried out her hair. She picked out her outfit: smart black work trousers with a fabric belt that pulled her in at the waist, a black and white patterned shirt, black stiletto heels. As she painted some minimal makeup on her face in the hope it would make her look less like a sleep-deprived zombie and more like she had her life together in some way, Brooke checked the clock and cursed as she realised she was running behind.

Leaving lipstick for the moment, she grabbed her bag, shoved her feet in a pair of black pumps, and left hurriedly for the train. Breakfast wasn’t a priority; she knew she could grab an iced coffee and a croissant from the cafe in the station in between changing trains, as it took her two to get into work. It was times such as these that she wished she knew how to drive like Monet, Plastique and Akeria, or had learned since uni like Nina or Scarlet. But then again, cafe food for breakfast was one of the very few perks of public transport.

Brooke eventually arrived at the huge concrete block with windows that held her offices, taking the elevator up to the fifth floor, clocking in, shooting a lacklustre “hi” to the girls she sometimes chatted to and settling herself in at her desk. As office positions went, Brooke supposed it wasn’t awful- it was beside the window looking out onto the streets of the city below and it provided some much-needed light to her day. Logging on to her work laptop, she checked her emails (one from her boss about the article due for Friday, and one from Cheryl about money for flowers for somebody going on maternity leave that she’d never met or heard of and might not even have worked there).

Her working day had started.

University hadn’t prepared Brooke for graduate life. It hadn’t prepared her for the fact that friends moved away for jobs and houses and flats, internships and apprenticeships and postgrads and masters. It hadn’t prepared her for the fact that her group chat, once flooded with about a hundred messages if she so much as left it for five minutes, gathered dust as everyone’s lives took over. It hadn’t prepared Brooke for the feeling of missing out on something…Christ knows what. Perhaps living, making memories instead of simply swiping through ones already made on a Saturday night spent alone in bed with a bottle of wine to herself. It hadn’t prepared her for the yearning, the regret at having taken those days for granted when they were the happiest of her life and she hadn’t even realised it. If Brooke had known how soul-crushingly boring her life would be once she got that rolled-up piece of paper in a little tube she would’ve been dragging the girls out every single night. The all-encompassing sadness and longing for something better hit her harder on days like these, sepia ones with big clouds that hung ominously in the sky but never gave her the satisfaction of raining. She supposed that feeling had only been exacerbated by…

She didn’t need to remind herself of that.

It was ten o’clock in the morning and Brooke was staring out of the small office window stupefied with boredom when her phone vibrated. She jumped, pouncing on it as she always did whenever a notification went off. Her phone hadn’t been on silent for a full month. It hadn’t been the person she’d wanted or expected, but it was a pleasant surprise nonetheless.

Silk: HEY GIRL LONG TIME NO SPEAK! I’M GONNA BE IN TOWN THIS AFTERNOON FOR AN INTERVIEW BUT I’LL BE FREE AFTER AND I’VE GOT A COUPLE HOURS TO KICK ABOUT UNTIL MY TRAIN. YOU WANNA GRAB DINNER? XXXXXXXXX

Brooke frantically made plans as if she was under a time limit, as if the moment would slip through her fingers like sand in an hourglass. She suggested some restaurants that she knew wouldn’t eat into either of their fragile graduate salaries and they settled on an Italian in the city centre, where the portions were big and the meals were tasty.

Brooke spent the rest of the day looking forward to meeting her friend. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen Silky. Maybe it had been as long ago as New Year. Brooke smiled as she remembered the occasion; all of them cramming into Scarlet and Yvie’s flat to see in the year. Silky and Akeria had got too drunk off prosecco and screamed along to JLS, Scarlet and Yvie had both made a buffet to rival a hotel’s, and Nina, Monet, Vanessa and Brooke had all been tangled up in an almost relationship-ruining game of Articulate. Plastique had brought her new girlfriend Naomi to introduce to everyone and the girl had looked ever so slightly alarmed by the sheer chaos of everyone put together, but she’d laughed and joined in all the same.

That had been another happy memory. Those seemed to be hard to come by these days.

Work dragged. It always did. Brooke managed to write three sub-par articles that she sent to her editor at the end of the day anyway because hell, it was their job to turn carbon into diamonds. So when she hopped on the train back into the city, Brooke felt a little buzz in her veins that she hadn’t felt in a while.

It took her until she saw Silky standing outside the restaurant- hair in a bun full of flyaways, eyebrows still Sharpied on, in a pair of smart trousers and a floaty top- that Brooke realised that part of the reason she was so excited was because she’d been so lonely for such a long time. Well, only really a month, but it felt like a year. It had taken her living on her own to realise just how boring her life was without all her friends so constantly part of it, and now they all had their own lives and schedules it only served to show Brooke how empty her own was without…

Well. Without her.

As soon as Silky looked up from her phone and spotted Brooke her face lit up, and she fixed her with a smile and a screech that Brooke never thought she would have missed hearing but by God, she had.

“BROOKE LYNN!” she screamed, followed by lots of squealing and babbling as she wrapped the taller girl in a tight hug and refused to let go for at least twenty seconds. Brooke didn’t mind and she found herself clinging back, Silky suddenly the loudest anchor she’d never known she needed. When Silky finally pulled away she grabbed Brooke by both wrists, shaking her back and forth a little. “Oh my God, BITCH! Oh my God. FUCK! It’s so good to see you. How the fuck are you?”

Brooke appreciated that- Silky asking how she was. Yvie tiptoed around Brooke’s feelings when they texted and Brooke tiptoed around her and Scarlet’s perfect domestic bliss, both of the subjects too touchy for Brooke and the pair of them instead choosing to communicate via meme. Nina barely had time to breathe these days let alone text back, and Plastique…well, Plastique wouldn’t get it.

None of them would, she supposed.

“I’m…I’m surviving! I’m being an adult, I guess, and this is what life is now. How’re you?” Brooke swiftly moved the conversation on, and Silky took the hint and dropped both her wrists, pushing open the door.

“I’m on cloud fuckin’ nine girl. C’mon, let’s get some vino an’ I’ll catch you up on the world of Ms. Ganache! Think of it as a free episode of the reality TV show that is my life.”

“Let’s be real, Silk. If anyone’s life’s like a reality TV show right now, it’s mine,” Brooke raised her eyebrows, not quite committing to her own attempt at being lighthearted and instead couldn’t have sounded more bitter if she’d eaten an entire lemon with its rind on.

Silky, for her part, shrugged and let out a small sigh. “You ain’t wrong, girl, you ain’t wrong. But the offer of wine still stands, so let’s get sat. Where the damn hell is a waiter?”

They eventually got shown to their table and the conversation flowed frantically and excitedly, mirroring the wine. Silky filled Brooke in on every last detail of her life- most importantly, Brooke thought, was that Silky’s parents who she was back living with had adopted a cocker spaniel puppy called Pooch. Graduate life had been tough on Silky; she still hadn’t managed to get a job and so therefore couldn’t afford to rent a flat, so she’d moved back to her sleepy and uninspiring hometown. Living with her parents, she’d groaned, was beginning to chip away at her; the constant pressure they put on Silky to find a job, move out, get a boyfriend, and lose weight was beginning to grow wearing in the extreme, and Brooke didn’t blame her for being fed up.

“You know you’re always welcome to come chill at mine, you know. If it’s getting particularly rough,” Brooke suggested not-quite-casually, glad of the fact that loneliness didn’t have a scent because if it did she’d be reeking of it.

Silky gave a bashful smile, looking down at her half-eaten plate of spaghetti bolognaise in front of her. “You’re a doll, B, but you know I can’t do an hour on the train any time my Mama tuts at me buying a size XL of anything. In fact therapy’s probably cheaper than a train ticket here but realistically I don’t got the money for either, so…thanks, but in the words of Simon Cowell, issa no from me.”

“That’s okay. I get it, Mums are simultaneously the worst and the best people,” Brooke pulled a face. Thinking about her Mum made her wonder when the last time she texted her was. She felt a little ashamed for not knowing off the top of her head. “But hey, at least you got that interview, right? How did it go?”

“Alright,” Silky muttered in a non-committal way. It was the most un-Silky response Brooke thought she’d ever seen her friend give. It was weird and unpleasant; the Silky from uni would’ve yelled the place down about how she’d aced it, how they’d make her the chief editor right there and then, how she could write an article for them entirely in Wingdings and it’d still be the best thing they’d read all day.

Seemingly picking up on Brooke’s discomfort, Silky gave a small laugh. “I don’ know, boo…I used to be so sure of myself, I used to be so set in the fact that writing was somethin’ I was good at. When I was a kid I used to write these fuckin’ huge stories…pages an’ pages long that my teachers would pull big overexaggerated smiley faces at an’ squeal over an’ put big glittery star stickers on. I thought I was somethin’ special. An’ then uni, y’know…I was a small fish in a big pond- hell, a big fish in a big pond- but I still thought I was the shit even when I got bad grades. I thought my markers just didn’t get it, that they were the ones that were wrong. But now it’s like…”

Silky heaved a sigh and put her fork and spoon together neatly on top of her half-full plate. “…I can’t even get a job at a fuckin’ local rag, so why the hell am I even tryin’ with the big city offices?”

There was something about it all that made Brooke’s heart break all over again, the way that life after uni had worn Silky down to the extent where she didn’t even know if she was good at anything any more, didn’t have much visible self-worth left. Silky had always been the heart and soul of their group; she, Akeria and Vanessa, and in the time it had taken between now and graduation Akeria had become the polar opposite of Silky- so completely embroiled in her quest to become a barrister that she barely had time to reply to any of them any more.

And Vanessa…well. She knew where Vanessa was. Or rather, she didn’t.

Greece was a big country.

“You’re trying because you’re Big Silky Nutmeg Motherfucking Ganache,” Brooke said with a determination she’d not felt in a while. “Come on Silk, you’re you. If grad life has broken you then what the fuck hope is there for any of us?”

( Any of us sounded better than me , Brooke thought.)

“Kiki’s doin’ okay for herself,” Silky shrugged, her downtrodden tone counteracted by the way she picked up her fork again and twirled a single strand of spaghetti around it, eating it once she was finished speaking.

“Kiki’s vagina-deep in a hellish and all-consuming masters degree that’s probably eating her up from the inside out just as much as everybody else’s jobs are. I mean, are any of us doing anything we actually like?”

“Nina an’ Monet? They’da quit by now if they hated teaching so much.”

“Nina West would join the fucking scientologists and stick it out just so she could say she didn’t give up. She’s the final boss of the term mama didn’t raise a quitter . They’re having a hard time, Silk. We all are. It’s just tough because we’re all so busy and shit at keeping in touch that everybody thinks each others’ lives are perfect but…they’re really not.”

“Yvie and Scarlet seem pretty happy.”

Brooke’s face took on an involuntary look of distaste, so irritated and bitter was she at the image of them and their perfect flat and their perfect jobs and their perfect coupley life. “They’ll have something up, nobody’s life is that perfect. Maybe their relationship’s secretly falling apart or…something, fuck, I don’t know.”

There was a beat of silence in which Brooke finished the last little pocket of tortellini she’d ordered and Silky twirled another mouthful of spaghetti around her fork. She chewed, then shrugged thoughtfully, her head tilting a little. “Y’know we should go on holiday. Fuck all this shit off for a week, get away from it all.”

Brooke’s eyebrows raised in appreciation of the idea. She and the girls had never been away together before and the prospect of lying on a beach doing absolutely nothing under the blazing sun was an inviting one. “What, a girls’ trip? Like in Sex and The City?”

“Mhm. ‘Cept we go on an all-inclusive to the Med ‘stead of Mexico ‘cause ain’t none of us can afford that shit.”

“Except Plastique.”

“True. Fuck that bitch. She could prolly buy Mexico.”

Brooke laughed and for the first time in a good few months she felt a little flicker of excitement lick at her heart, so much so that she could see her pulse race at her wrist. She couldn’t stop the smile that spread across her face. “Oh my God. I’m so in. Let’s do it.”

“We have to get all the girls on board, though. Otherwise there ain’t no point.”

“Definitely. Where should we go? Spain’s always good.”

Silky had her phone out and was typing furiously. She paused as something presumably loaded, then her face lit up. “If we go the week after Nina an’ Monet finish up school for Summer we can get flights to Crete for £20 return.”

“Twenty, what the fuck? That can’t be right,” Brooke screwed up her face in disbelief, and Silky cocked an eyebrow at her as she showed her the proof on her screen. Conceding, Brooke shrugged. “That’s so good. I don’t want to know what that plane’s like though. They probably just stuff you all into a tin can and ping you into the air with a giant rubber band.”

Silky howled with laughter and thumped the table so hard that the wine sloshed about in their glasses, little tiny red tsunamis. As Brooke snorted in response purely to Silky’s own mirth, a small thought set off a little drip of dread that threatened to put out the excitement that had only just begun to burn in her chest.

“Where is Crete again?”

Silky let out an unimpressed breath from her nose. “Bitch, you got all the geography skills of a Love Island contestant. It’s just off the Greek coast. Kinda near Turkey too, but it’s Greece.”

Brooke felt her heart drop, Alton Towers Oblivion all over again. She blinked quickly, tried to hide her discomfort. “Well, we’re not going there.”

Silky gave a small sigh, a little hint of resignation or long-suffering to it that Brooke didn’t appreciate. But when she reached over the table and patted her hand on top of Brooke’s, she felt a little bit more understood, a little bit more validated.

“B, Greece is a big place.”

It was the exact same thing Brooke herself had thought earlier, except now it didn’t seem true. Now, with the prospect of going there, it seemed like the tiniest microcosm of society. The world was simultaneously too big and too small, and Brooke felt the cold drip in her heart get worse. “Silky…”

“Look. We ain’t exactly gonna pick the same place she’s at, are we?”

Brooke put her head in her hands and sighed. “She’s not there anymore.”

“What?”

“I phoned the hotel a week ago to try and speak to her. I was going to fly out, try and talk to her and fix things. They said she didn’t work there anymore. So I don’t even know where she is at all.”

Silky huffed, frowning and concerned. “I’m sorry, Brooke, this shit must’ve been hell.”

“You’ve got no idea.”

There was a pause as Silky pushed her food around her plate. “Crete’s small, but it ain’t that small. We still got a one in a million chance of bumpin’ into her if we go.”

“That’s still too small for my liking. Both the island and the chances.”

“Aight, one in a billion. Trillion. Point is, it ain’t gonna happen. An’ besides…” Silky waggled her eyebrows, flashing her phone screen at Brooke again. “Twenty pounds for the first week of the school holidays. This shit’s like gold dust.”

Brooke smiled slowly in spite of herself. Maybe Silky was right. And maybe it would be fun to swan around Greece, eat seafood and pretend to be in some knockoff version of Mamma Mia. Scratch that, it would be fun. She’d get to spend a week surrounded by her friends in the sun, which was what she badly needed at the moment.

Brooke was nodding before she knew it. “Okay, fine. Crete it is.”

“YES, bitch!” Silky cheered, loud enough to be heard by the entire restaurant and possibly the chefs in the kitchen too. “Now let’s get dessert. All this wine needs soaked up by a big slice of sticky toffee puddin’.”

It was easy to feel optimistic with Silky back being her loud and just-the-right-side-of-obnoxious self, and with a plate of tiramisu in front of her. But after they’d finished up, paid their bill and she’d hugged Silky goodbye at the train station, Brooke found the endorphins wearing off as she got back to her dark flat and into her cold bed. Maybe it was because she was finally coming down from the high of meeting up with a beloved friend, maybe it was because she knew she had another monotonous, greyscale day of work to get through tomorrow.

Or perhaps, Brooke thought as she turned over in bed, caught sight of the familiar rose-gold frame and blew it a kiss, she was simply missing her girlfriend.

If she could even call Vanessa that any more.

#rpdr fanfiction #s11 #modern love #ortega #n19f #branjie #background scyvie #background ninex #lesbian au #angst #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #silky nutmeg ganache

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lovinglokilaufeyson · 4 years

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188 - S.R

Pairings: Spencer Reid x Reader, Derek Morgan x Penelope Garcia

Warnings: Gore, crime, kidnapping, mentions of sexual assault, little bit of a sexual scene at the end

Wordcount: 3727

Summary: Hotch calls you in for a mission. However, your intelligence may prove as a downfall, as Dr. Reid becomes insecure, comparing himself to you. This leads to a break in the case, but is it too late?

A/N: So, once again, it looks like I’m switching things up just a bit. Let me know what you guys think! I love doing multiple different types of fanfiction, with many different characters. I will of course, still work on my Loki and Draco stuff. I also noticed that “Naughty” has reached over a thousand notes! Absolutely insane, guys. Thank you for all the love. I’ve now entered college and things are a lot different than when they were in high school. I’m a lot more invested in doing well in my classes, and it’s definitely been a large adjustment for me. Thank you all so much for your patience with everything. I also recently checked my inbox and found so much love as well as some requests that I will be working on. I’ve had quite a bit of extra time as I was exposed to COVID and I am currently in quarantine housing at my university. I’ll try to get them all done soon! Hope you enjoy this change of pace.

“For this case,” Aaron Hotchner explained “we’re going to need all hands on deck. We’re leaving in the morning.” Hotch knew exactly who to bring in. The newest graduate of the academy - he had worked with her before, and she was extremely in tune with criminology, profiling, and she had several doctorates. However, he was nervous about how one Spencer Reid would feel about one piece of information. She had an IQ of 188. If Spencer were to find out this information, he would feel - inadequate. But Hotch knew that Y/N L/N was vital to this case. They were looking for a replacement for JJ’s maternity leave. She could be the perfect fit - at least for a while. He had made his decision. Picking up the phone, he dialed her number.

You walked nervously into the BAU for what seemed like the millionth time. It was only 32, in all actuality. You’d only been asked to assist in a handful of cases, you had just graduated the academy and were therefore deemed “ready” only a few months ago. You were born ready, you thought. You took snapshots in your mind as you entered the building. You could easily tell you the exact differences between the surroundings on this day in comparison to the first 31 times. There was a cup of utensils on the very front desk starting on October 26th of last year to today. You could tell anyone exactly how many pencils and pens were there each time - including what color. October 26th - 5 black pens, 6 blue pens, and 3 pencils.

You shook your head. There were more practical uses for your “genius” brain. “Stop it, Y/N” you told yourself. You entered the elevator, when you were stopped by a tall, lanky boy about a few years older than you. He was quite attractive, but you were awkward in these situations. When you were simply playing a part, it was a lot easier to “play” guys. However, when you were actually attracted to one? You couldn’t handle yourself.

You let him in, immediately asking “what floor?” “7th” he answered, neglecting to make eye contact. However, upon glancing at the buttons, he realized that you too, were heading to the floor of the BAU. He couldn’t stop himself from making a slightly rude remark - accidentally, of course. “Do you have the wrong floor?” “Shit,” he thought to himself, facepalming internally. “There’s a cute girl, Reid. Don’t be an idiot.”

“Oh, the BAU is on the 7th floor - right?” You responded quickly, to which he nodded. “My bad.” “No worries” you noted, kindly.

The boy was wearing a maroon colored cardigan, a light blue button up, a navy tie, and black slacks. He had a brown over-the-shoulder bag at his side, and he twittled his thumbs quickly. “Was he nervous?” You asked yourself. Or bored? You couldn’t get a proper read on him. He made you feel - odd. You couldn’t wrap your mind around it. You couldn’t wait to get out of that elevator.

After what seemed like days (26 seconds) you were out of the elevator. Thankfully, Agent Hotchner was there to greet you immediately. “Agent Reid, I see you’ve met Y/N L/N. She’s assisting on this case.” Hotch nodded at Reid, who had finally made the connection. “Not properly, but it’s lovely to meet you, Y/N.” Spencer made a point to smile at you, who came off as young and naïve. You had to have been a few years younger than he, Spencer thought.

Hotch lead you into the debriefing room, where you met one Penelope Garcia. You immediately smiled at her presence, Penelope seemed to light up a room with no effort. “Oh, she’s a cute one, isn’t she!” She remarked, smiling at you. From a few feet away, in the doorway, Derek Morgan stared in amazement at Garcia’s kindness towards the new member. Derek then approached, going to shake your hand with ease. Afterwards, he let his hand travel to squeeze Penelope’s waist, teasingly. He lightly kissed her cheek. “Alright, you two. I need to debrief Y/N on this case. Go ahead and - do what you need to - elsewhere, please.” Hotch shook his head. The pair headed towards the door, where Morgan placed a large slap on Penelope’s ass. You winced, slightly uncomfortable with the sexual gesture. “Don’t worry - they specialize in different things here. Derek’s out on the field, while Penelope works as a technical analyst.”

You sighed in relief. You never did take well to sexually affectionate partnerships. You always felt - awkward. You never knew how to handle it. You assumed, however, that other people felt the same way. Hotch began going over the case, and you seemingly remembered every single detail. 3 police officers have been kidnapped in Boise, Idaho. You remembered the locations, the appearances, the crime scenes, and the badge numbers of the officers. In your head, you made a map of the unsub’s comfort zone. You began thinking of what the officers were kidnapped for - no dead bodies had appeared yet. Each were physically fit, attractive, between 25-30 years of age. There’d be more time to think of theories, you thought to yourself. Hotch, now exiting the room, gave a quick “wheels up in 30.”

You took this as a signal to leave the room as well, leaving the file that Hotch gave to you on the desk. Soon, you’d both realize, that this was a mistake. Upon entering the plane, you snuggled soundly into a seat, hoping to get some rest before arriving in Boise. They had quite a while before arriving. You calculated, with turbulence and other factors, as well as averages, that they would be there in roughly 6 hours and 12 minutes. Your to-go bag was safely stashed in the backside of the plane for now.

However, you forgot one key detail. The team was heavily up for a discussion with regards to this unsub and their victims. In order to prove yourself, you thought, providing information to the conversation was incredibly important. Even in your sleep, however, you could probably retain key points from the conversation. Nonetheless, you sat at attention, ready to discuss this police kidnapper. Suddenly, the pilot’s voice came over the intercom. “Secured for takeoff, our approximate flight time is 6 hours 15 minutes.” You couldn’t help yourself. “Actually, with turbulence, average flight times, and wind speeds right now, it should be more like 6 hours and 12 minutes.” You cursed yourself immediately after the words came out of your mouth. Prentiss, who had not yet introduced herself, smiled and muttered a quick “Slow down there, Dr. Reid.” When she looked over at Reid, he looked relieved, as if you beat him to it.

Prentiss now went to greet the you, apologizing for not doing so sooner. “Emily Prentiss,” she reached out her hand. You smiled, shaking Emily’s hand. “Y/N L/N. Lovely to meet you.” Hotch came out with several files, all pertaining to this case. You had worked with kidnapping of law enforcement several times, which is why Hotch felt you would be such an asset to the team’s efforts.

“Alright, let’s begin.” Hotch sat down. Opening his file, he began to look over the scenes where officers were taken. “Each of the men were taken on duty. There’s no evidence of them being taken, besides the fact that they left their patrol cars out in the open. The keys were thrown out beside each one of the cars. No blood spatter at the scenes. They may still be alive.”

“Maybe the unsub is a rejected or former cop?” Prentiss suggested, and the team nodded in agreement. “These police men are some of the most successful and attractive in the field. It’s possible that this unsub feels “less than” them.” Morgan added. Turning to a screen showing Garcia, “Baby girl. I need you to search for fired, laid off, or rejected police officers from the Boise Police Department. Check for within the last month first - that could have been our unsub’s trigger.” “On it, sugar!” Garcia signed out, ready to search for whatever was out there.

“Reid, Derek, and Y/N, head to the abduction sites to analyze once we land. Prentiss and I will meet Rossi at the station to speak to the families, as well as any other officers that were on duty at that time.” You were excited, hearing Rossi’s name. You had met and worked with him several times before, and were a bit of a fan. Not that you’d ever admit it.

“The faster we build this profile, the higher our chances of saving these men.”

By the time you arrived in Boise, it was mid-afternoon. The first scene was relatively untouched, a parking lot in downtown Boise. Owen Thomas, 24, was on duty there, and was kidnapped around 10:30 pm. At this time, he stopped responding to any calls. You suddenly spoke: “It’s an obvious blitz attack. If our theory is correct, then the officers wouldn’t have responded positively to the unsub.” “Y/N’s right. These officers probably don’t have a good history with someone rejected from the force. It could’ve been someone they went to the academy with.” Prentiss agreed.

Prentiss met up with Hotch during break, which left you and Reid. You were nervous. He made you nervous - more so than usual. You both weren’t very hungry, and decided a small coffee shop would be the best place to go. “So, did you just do generals at the academy?” Reid asked, and you smiled, nodding politely. “I’ve always found it difficult to only be interested in one thing. That’s why I’ve found myself pursuing so many different paths.” You stated. Reid stood in awe for a moment. He honestly felt the exact same way as you. “You enjoy aerodynamics?” He asked, and you nodded once more. He was obviously referring to the estimations you made on the plane’s route. “Yes, but that’s not one of my main studies.” Reid looked at you, perplexed, almost. “I have Ph.Ds in criminology, medical science, medicine, and modern languages. Two bachelors, psychology and engineering. I’m looking into another one as well.”

Reid sat dumbfounded. He felt, for the first time in his life, less than someone else. Is this why Hotch called her in? As his replacement?

“That’s cool - I have three doctorates and B.As.” You looked at him in amazement, now. It wasn’t everyday that you met someone as young as you with roughly the same amount of knowledge. “What are they in, Reid?” You asked him. “Ph.Ds in chemistry, engineering, and mathematics. B.As in psychology, sociology, and philosophy.” “Wow, that’s amazing.” He felt like you were teasing him, in a way. You weren’t, in all actuality. Reid just couldn’t seem to rationalize his emotions. You had a nice time with Reid. You just weren’t entirely sure if the feelings were reciprocated. Reid excused himself to the bathroom, where he quickly called Garcia. “Garcia, I need everything you have on Y/N.”

Spencer, after being teased relentlessly by Garcia, would soon discover a lot about you. You were born in Y/H/T (your/home/town) and you studied, at a very young age, at Massachusetts Institute of Technology. You received perfect scores on both your ACT and SAT, and you had an IQ of 188.

You studied last crime scene along with Prentiss and Reid, though it was getting dark. The most fresh, you noticed that some dirt nearby looked as if a body had been drug through it. This unsub, despite going through months of relentless physical and mental training - could not fully lift up the body of any of the victims. Instead, they had to be dragged to where the unsub wanted. None of the victims were presumed dead, which means the unsub was using them for something. Reid had disappeared, supposedly off into the crime scene further.

“Prentiss, I think we’re missing something.” You announced, and she nodded, agreeing. “Do you think the unsub could be a woman?” Her eyes widened, but she nodded. You immediately called Garcia. “Garcia. I was wrong. I was convinced by the overwhelming statistics that this unsub was a male. I think this unsub’s a woman. Look for woman in the area that recently lost family members, possibly an officer and a child.” “On it, sista. I’ll hit you back.”

In the meantime, Prentiss reached out to Derek, Rossi, and Hotch to discuss the profile. They all agreed with you wholeheartedly. However, there was something on your mind. Reid. He had completely disappeared from the crime scene. You were worried. You tried calling his cell, which you quickly learned, was a failure. The call went straight to voicemail. God. No. God fuck. Not one of your own. Prentiss and yourself immediately called Hotch, who told you to get back to the station as soon as possible. You headed there, your mind filled with thoughts of Dr. Reid.

Hotch realized that delivering the profile was the most important in order to obtain Reid safely. “I believe the unsub is a younger woman, who’s looking for replacements from a lost husband and child.” You stated as soon as you approached. Hotch nodded, hoping you would slow down and become less anxious. You wouldn’t. You simply refused to. Reid was out there. He was in danger, on your watch.

“She’s probably around Reid and I’s age, so 20-25. She must’ve lost the child and her husband in some sort of freak accident.”

“What are you proposing, Y/N?” Derek asked quickly.

“I think the unsub is using the officers to become pregnant.” You shivered in horror at your own words, anxious at what would be happening to Reid. “Ask around, ask the officers here if something happened to one of their coworkers. It could be on the federal level as well.”

“We believe the unsub we’re looking for is a white female between the ages of 20-25. She recently lost a husband or partner, as well as a child. This loss has triggered a need for family once more. She has kidnapped several officers as well as an FBI agent. We believe she gains their trust by either impersonating an officer or by asking for help in some way. Then, she lures them towards her vehicle or a more convenient location, where she manages to blitz attack and kidnap them.” Hotch started.

“This woman is in a very fragile state due to this loss, and can become very hostile and aggressive if she has what she wants taken away from her. Though she may not be armed when we find her, it is very important to be cautious around her.” Prentiss stated.

While the rest of the team was giving the profile, you were hoping that Garcia would be able to ping Reid’s phone at some sort of location that could lead you to him. Unfortunately, the phone was dead and the process, therefore, was unable to receive any location from Spencer. You were scared out of your mind, and Penelope’s nervous energy didn’t help you much either.

A call back from Penelope distracted you from your nervous thoughts. “Sugar, I’ve found something really interesting to peg your brain with. I’ll let Hotch know about this soon. All of the kidnapped victims are from Nevada.” “Okay - I’ll think on that Garcia, and let you know. Maybe crosscheck the families from before and find out which of those moved to Idaho from Nevada in the last few years?” “I already checked, baby, and nada. I’ll check with Hotch and the others to see if they have any ideas.”

You soon met up with Derek, Rossi, Prentiss, and Hotch once more. They had gotten Garcia’s call, and they were brainstorming ideas on who the killer could be. Somewhere, somehow, the profile was incorrect. “Okay, if I was a kidnapper - I’m taking law enforcement personnel. To fill some kind of void. But why would I have to fill that void?” You asked.

“This person obviously underwent some kind of loss. Somehow. We just need to figure it out.” Hotch spoke.

“Do you think there was another victim, originally from Nevada?” Prentiss asked. The team nodded in agreement, and Derek dialed Garcia’s number. “Hey babygirl, we might have a lead. Do you have any victims from Nevada or Nevada cases that involved a male victim who was kidnapped?” He started.

“Quite a few. You’re gonna have to give me a bit more than that, sugar.” Derek nodded, before Hotch stepped in. “Garcia, were any of the males law enforcement? Possibly unsolved?” “Yes, yes.” She started, “one Ryan Walker, a police officer, was victim - in Carson City Nevada. They did find the perpetrator, 16 year old Ashley Davey. She was visiting on a school trip. He was able to I.D. her, as she kidnapped and raped him using chloroform and - viagra to get him up. This was after he rejected her advances - looks like she lured him by asking for directions and then using a taser to knock him out. Apparently he tricked her into believing that they could be together, and she let him out of his restraints, he made a run for it and escaped.”

“How was she able to keep him, Garcia?” Rossi asked, curious. “Looks like her Grandma and Grandpa owned some isolated property in Carson City, she stayed a few days after the trip had ended. She had a ticket back but didn’t use it. And - oh my god.”

“What is it, Garcia?” Hotch questioned her. “Apparently the sex with Mr. Walker was also unprotected, she gave birth to a baby boy 9 months later.” “Where is the child now?” “Joseph Davey is currently in foster care, after the mother was deemed unstable by the state. Walker filed a restraining order, and Ashley is not allowed to contact him in the slightest. She spent several years in a correctional facility for troubled teens and young adults - and she is currently residing in her parents’ home here in Boise.”

“Address please” you begged. “Sending it to you now.”

You immediately rushed towards the door, waiting for the team to follow. Yes, it was late, but you were deeply worried about Spencer. Who knows what could be happening to him right now. You took off towards the address, and once you arrived, you immediately noticed a shed near the back. That had to be it. You and Derek headed towards the shed, while Rossi, Prentiss, and Hotch headed into the house. It took one simple kick from Morgan for the door to slam open. Inside, you found several men. The three police officers, all tied up but - relatively sound. Spencer was laying on a small cot in the corner of the room, tied to the bed. You immediately went to him. He was drowsy, in an almost relaxed state. Each of the men were stripped down to mere boxers, they looked very cold. Derek undid knots for the three officers, helping them outside.

Meanwhile, you struggled. Spencer must’ve fought more - that’s why the knots were so tightly bound around his limbs. You also struggled with the strange state Spencer was in. As soon as you released one arm, his hand was around your waist. “I want to fuck you.” Spencer stated, and you continued to work at the second knot. “Reid, you’re in a hypnotic state. Don’t trust yourself.” The next thing you knew, Spencer’s hands were settling on your ass as you worked at the last two knots around his ankles. These two were a bit easier. You decided to let his hands be, what harm could they do? He was just in a delirious state, you told yourself. However, once you released the last of his limbs, he launched himself upon you, grinding a bit on your heat. “Reid, Reid, don’t do this-” It felt good, and yes, you liked him and were attracted to him. But not like this. Not with his fragile mental state and aphrodisiac coursing through his veins.

You somehow got Reid up off of you, and you slugged his top half over your shoulder, his legs walking next to you with ease. As you walked out of the shed, Morgan and a paramedic were waiting. They took Spencer off of your shoulders, and a huge weight was lifted. He’d be okay after being stabilized at the hospital. Morgan went to assist the others, and you got the okay from Hotch to ride with Reid to the nearest hospital.

You were the one that Spencer woke up to. He saw your face immediately, smiling almost instantly. “You okay, Spence?” He nodded. “What happened?” “Well, um- Ashley Davey kidnapped you, along with the other officers. You were given a pretty hefty aphrodisiac, so you were really out of it when we got to you. But good news - they ran a rape kit on you and there was no evidence of rape or sexual assault. We think we got there just before it was about to happen.” You sighed. Spencer looked at you gratefully. “Thank you, Y/N. I’m sorry I ran off at the crime scene. I was feeling insecure.” He stated.

“It’s okay, Reid. But why?” You questioned, and he sighed. “My IQ is only 187.” You had to hold in a fit of laughter. “Spencer. Oh my god.” He looked at you, puzzled. “Only 187. I know, it’s a number. And it’s wonderful it’s a measure of your intelligence and ability. However, you don’t have to let that number define you. We’re both, technically geniuses. But we have different interests, different specialties. Our IQs do not define who we are. Us geniuses have to stick together, not tear each other apart.” Spencer smiled at your remark. He felt drawn to you, to put it simply. He reached out towards you for a hug. Afterwards, he lingered just a bit, and you looked at him. He had to have something to say. “What is it?” You asked.

“Y/N, could I take you out on a date when we get back to Quantico?” He looked at you hesitantly. You could tell he was nervous. “Spencer Reid, I would absolutely love that.”

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vintagecoldcases · 3 years

Text

Story of Ted Bundy

TW: execution photos, details of deaths

**a more detailed victim list will be posted later, beware of this post if you are sensitive to blood/gore/other oddities of true crime as it will have crime scene photos**

Theodore Robert Cowell, was born on November 24th, 1946 to Eleanor Louise Cowell at the Elizabeth Lund Home for Unwed Mothers. Eleanor was known by Louise and Ted’s father’s identity is unconfirmed. His birth certificate states Lloyd Marshall, a salesman and Air Force veteran, as his father. Louise claims his father to be an old war veteran known as Jack Worthington, this is who the King’s County Sheriff’s Office has listed as such. A few family members believe that Louise’s father, Samuel Cowell, could’ve been Ted’s father but no evidence has been found to support this claim.

Ted was raised in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania by his maternal grandparents for the first three years of his life. He, family, and friends, were told that his grandparents were actually his parents and that his mother was his older sister in order to protect them all from the stigma of birthing a child out of wedlock. There are variations of how Bundy found out his true parentage. A past girlfriend was told that Bundy was shown his birth certificate by a cousin, Stephen Michaud and Hugh Aynesworth (both biographers) were told by Bundy that he found the certificate himself. Anne Rule (biographer and crime writer, who knew Bundy personally) believes he did not find this information until 1969. In 1950, Louise changed her surname from Cowell to Nelson and left Philadelphia to live with cousins Alan and Jane Scott in Tacoma, Washington. In 1951, Louise met Johnny Culpepper Bundy at an adult singles night at Tacoma’s First Methodist Church. Johnny and Louise later married that year and Johnny formally adopted Ted. Johnny and Louise went on to have four children together, and whilst Johnny tried including Ted on family trips and outings, he remained distant.

Teenage Ted Bundy

In 1965, Ted graduated from Woodrow Wilson High School and enrolled in the University of Puget Sound where he spent a year before transferring to the University of Washington to study Chinese. In 1967, he became involved romantically with a UW classmate, most commonly known as Stephanie Brooks in biographies. In 1968, he dropped out of college and worked at a series of minimum wage jobs; even working as Arthur Fletcher’s bodyguard and driver during his Lieutenant Governor campaign. Brooks then ended their relationship due to Bundy’s lack of ambition. He also took one semester at Temple University after returning back to Arkansas and Philadelphia to visit family. In 1969, Ted moved back to Washington where he met Elizabeth Kloepfer (also known in Bundy literature as Liz Kendall, Beth Archer, or Meg Anders).

Ted Bundy & Elizabeth Kloepfer

In 1970, Ted re-enrolled at the University of Washington as a psychology major. During this time he became an honor student and was well regarded by his professors. In 1971, he took a job at Seattle’s Suicide Hotline Crisis Center, where he met Anne Rule who noted nothing disturbing or abnormal about Bundy. In early 1973, despite his average law school admission scores, he was granted admittance to UPS and the University of Utah. In 1973, he rekindled his relationship with Stephanie Brooks. He also continued to date Elizabeth Kloepfer. Neither woman knew of the other at this time. During this time period, Brooks had flown in several times to stay with him in Seattle. He had discussed marriage with Stephanie and had also introduced her as his fiancee at a point. In 1974, he abruptly broke off all contact. He did not return phone calls or letters. After a month of trying, Brooks was finally able to contact Bundy by phone, asking why he had so abruptly ended the relationship without an explanation. He responded with, “Stephanie, I have no idea what you mean.” and hung up the phone. She never heard from him again after that. He had just wanted to prove to himself that he could marry her in retaliation of her ending their former relationship before.

Ted Bundy and Stephanie Brooks

Ted had been skipping classes in law school by this point and had stopped attending all together by april when the first series of murders were reported. Circumstantial evidence points Ann Marie Burr, an 8-year-old girl, as one of Bundy’s first victims in 1962.

Ann Marie Burr, age 8

Washington/Oregon Murders

College aged young women started to disappear at a rate of about one a month in Washington and Oregon. On January 4th, 1974, shortly after midnight, Bundy snuck into the basement apartment of 18-year-old Karen Sparks (also known as Joni Lenz, Mary Adams, or Terri Caldwell in Bundy literature). He bludgeoned her with a metal rod from her bed frame and then sexually assaulted her with the same rod. She was unconscious for 10 days but survived. She sustained major permanent physical and mental disabilities. In the early morning of February 1st, 1974, Bundy broke into the basement bedroom of Lynda Anne Healy. He beat her until she was unconscious, dressed her in a white blouse, blue jeans, and boots and carried her away from the scene. On March 12th, 1974, Donna Gail Manson, a 19-year-old student at the Evergreen State College in Olympia went missing as she left her dorm to attend a jazz concert that she would never attend. April 17th, 1974, Susan Elaine Rancourt disappeared from Central Washington State College, on her way back to her dorm after an advisors meeting. Two female students later came forward with encounters with the same man. One was on the night of Susan’s disappearance and the other was three days before that. The man had his arm in a sling and had asked the girls for help loading his books into a brown or tan Volkswagen beetle. In Corvallis at Oregon State University, on May 6th, 1974, Roberta Kathleen Parks, left her dormitory to meet friends for coffee and she never arrived.

Police precincts were growing more and more concerned with each abduction. As they had no evidence or connection between each of the girls besides they were all young, attractive, college-aged, white women with their brown hair parted down the middle. On June 1st, 1974, Brenda Carol Ball, disappeared from the Flame Tavern in Burien, near the Seattle-Tacoma International Airport. She had last been seen in the parking lot with a brown-haired man with his arm in a sling. Not too long after that, on June 11th, 1974 Georgann Hawkins disappeared walking down a brightly lit alleyway between her boyfriend’s dormitory and her own sorority house. After Georgann’s disappearance was made public in the media, witnesses came forward reporting that they saw a man that night in an alley behind a nearby dormitory. He was on crutches with a leg cast and was struggling to carry a briefcase. Another witness had said that the man actually asked for her help. At this time Ted was working in Olympia as the Assistant Director of the Seattle Crime Prevention Advisory Commission. He wrote pamphlets for women on rape prevention here. He also later worked at the Department of Emergency Services (DES), which helped look for the missing women. This is where he met Carol Anne Boone, and began dating her (as well as Elizabeth Kloepfer).

Carol Anne Boone

Pressure was immense on law enforcement at this time. This was very frustrating as panic spread through young women of the area, with six disappearances and one brutal beating. Rates of hitchhiking in young women dropped drastically. Police could not provide reporters with what little information they had because they did not want to compromise the investigation. Similarities between the victims were noted by the police in their investigations: The disappearances all took place at night, each disappearance was usually near ongoing construction work, also within a week of midterm or final exams. Every single victim was wearing slacks or blue jeans; and at most crime scenes, there were sightings of a man wearing a cast or a sling, and driving a brown or tan Volkswagen Beetle. On July 14th, 1974, five female witnesses on a beach at Lake Sammamish State Park in Issaquah, Washington, described an attractive man in a white tennis outfit with his arm in a sling. They also described him speaking in a light accent, possibly Canadian or British, and was introducing himself as Ted. He asked for their help in unloading a sailboat from his Volkswagen beetle. Four of the girls refused but one accompanied him to the point of the car in view. When she did not see a sailboat, she fled the area. Three other witnesses saw the man, now known as Ted, saw him approach Janice Ann Ott. He fed her the sailboat story and she was seen leaving the beach with him. Four hours after Janice’s disappearance, Denise Marie Naslund, vanished after leaving a picnic to use the restroom.

Idaho/Utah Murders and Kidnappings

In August 1974, Ted moved to Salt Lake City, Utah, after receiving a second letter of acceptance from the University of Utah Law School. He continued to call Elizabeth Kloepfer as he lived in Salt Lake, but dated at least a dozen other women at the time. On September 2nd, 1974, Ted abducted, raped, and murdered a still unknown hitchhiker in Idaho. On October 2nd, 1974, Ted kidnapped 16-year-old Nancy Wilcox from Holladay, a suburb of Salt Lake City. On October 18th, 1974, The daughter of the police chief of Midvale, Melissa Anne Smith, vanished after leaving a pizza parlor. Her body was found nine days later, nude, in a mountainous area. Postmortem reports say she may have remained alive for up to seven days after her disappearance. On October 17th, 1974, Laura Ann Aime disappeared after leaving a cafe around midnight. Her body was found by hikers, nine miles northeast of American Fork Canyon on Thanksgiving Day. Both, Melissa and Laura had been beaten, raped, sodomized, and were strangled with nylon stockings. November 8th, 1974, Ted approached Carol DaRonch, introduced himself as Officer Roseland and used the story of someone attempting to break into her car and to accompany him to the police station to make a report. When Carol pointed out that he was not going to the police station, he immediately pulled over to the shoulder of the road and tried to handcuff her. In their struggle, he accidentally handcuffed both cuffs to the same wrist. Carol was able to throw the door open and escape because of this. On the same evening, Debra Jean Kent disappeared after leaving a theater production to pick up her brother. The school's drama teacher and a student told police that "a stranger" had asked each of them to come out to the parking lot to identify a car. Another student later saw the same man pacing in the rear of the auditorium, and the drama teacher spotted him again shortly before the end of the play. Outside of the auditorium, investigators were able to recover a key that unlocked the handcuffs on Carol DaRonch’s wrists.

In November, Elizabeth Kloepfer called King County police for the second time, after reading about the string of disappearances and murders in the towns surrounding Salt Lake. Bundy had risen considerably as a suspect among the King County Police, but the most reliable witness from Lake Sammamish could not identify in a photo lineup. In December, Elizabeth called the Salt Lake City police with her suspicions. Ted was then added to their list of suspects, but there were no credible forensic links to put him at any of the Utah crimes. In January of 1975, Ted returned to Seattle and stayed a week with Elizabeth. She did not tell him she had reported him to the police on three occasions. She also made plans to visit him in August of 1975 in Salt Lake. Unfortunately, Ted’s crimes moved to Colorado at this point.

Colorado/Utah/Idaho Murders

January 12th, 1975, Caryn Eileen Campbell disappeared walking down a well lit hallway between the elevator and her room at the Wildwood Inn in Snowmass Village, Colorado. Her body was found a month later on a dirt road next to the resort, nude. On March 15th, 1975, Julie Cunningham disappeared while walking to a dinner date with a friend from her apartment. April 6th, 1975, Denise Lynn Oliverson vanished while riding her bicycle to her parents house. Her bike and sandals were found near a railroad bridge in a viaduct. May 6th, 1975, Ted was able to lure 12-year-old Idaho native from Alameda Junior High School, Lynette Dawn Culver, to his hotel room in Salt Lake City, where he drowned and raped her. He disposed of her body in possibly the Snake river north of Pocatello. In Mid-May, three of Ted’s coworkers from DES came to stay with him for a week. This included Carol Anne Boone. They stayed for about a week. Subsequently, Ted visited Elizabeth Kloepfer in early June. They discussed getting married the following Christmas. She again made no comments about her talking to police on several occasions. Ted also did not disclose his ongoing relationship with Carol Anne Boone or his relationship with a Utah law student known as both; Kim Andrews or Sharon Auer. June 28th, 1975, Susan Curtis disappeared from the campus of Brigham Young University, forty-five miles south of Salt Lake City. In August of 1975, Ted was also baptized into The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints although he did not follow any of the religious practices and was not an active participant in services.

On August 16th, 1975, Officer Bob Hayward of the Utah Highway Patrol, arrested Ted in Granger. This was another suburb of Salt Lake City. Hayward had observed him cruising the residential area in the pre-dawn hours. Ted then fled the area at high speeds after seeing Hayward’s patrol car. After noticing the front passengers seat was removed and placed on the back seat, the car was searched. Hayward found a ski mask, another mask fashioned from pantyhose, a crowbar, handcuffs, trash bags, rope, an ice pick, and other burglary tools. Ted had said that the mask was for skiing, he found the handcuffs in the dumpster, and the rest were household items. Detective Jerry Thompson remembered a similar looking suspect and car description from Carol DaRonch’s attempted kidnapping. Police then searched Bundy’s apartment and were able to turn up a guide to Colorado’s ski resorts with a checkmark next to the Wildwood Inn. They were also able to find a brochure for Viewmont High School play in Bountiful where Debra Kent disappeared. They although did not find enough evidence to detain Ted and he was released on his own recognizance. Ted claimed later that investigators missed his collection of polaroid photos of his victims and he destroyed them after his release. Salt Lake police placed Ted under a 24 hour surveillance.

Detective Thompson flew to Seattle with two other detectives to interview Elizabeth Kloepfer. Elizabeth told them that in the year prior to Ted’s move to Salt Lake, she had discovered things that she "couldn't understand" in her house and also in Ted's apartment. The items she found included crutches, a bag of plaster of Paris that he had admitted stealing from a medical supply house, and a meat cleaver that was never used for cooking. Additional things she found included surgical gloves, an Oriental knife in a wooden case that he just kept in the glove compartment of his car, and a sack full of women's clothing. Ted was so far into debt, that Elizabeth suspected that he had stolen almost everything of significance that he owned. When she confronted him over a new TV and stereo, he warned her, "If you tell anyone, I'll break your fucking neck.” Elizabeth then mentioned that she would find Ted looking at her body with a flashlight under the covers on more than one occasion, and that he would get very upset if she mentioned cutting her hair. Which was long, brown, and parted in the middle. Detectives interviewing Elizabeth were able to confirm that Ted was not with her on any of the nights where the Pacific Northwest disappearances occurred. This is where Elizabeth learned about Stephanie Brooks and their brief engagement in 1973. In September, Ted sold his beetle to a Midvale teenager, but Utah police impounded it and dismantled it. They were able to find matching hair samples from Caryn Campbell. They also found “microscopically indistinguishable” hair strands from Melissa Smith and Carol DaRonch. On October 2nd, 1975, Police put Ted into a lineup and Carol DaRonch was able to identify him as Officer Roseland. Other witnesses were able to identify him as the stranger from the auditorium at Viewmont High School. He was able to be charged with aggravated kidnapping and attempted criminal assault in Carol DaRonch’s case. He was released on $15,000 bail, which was paid by his parents. He continued to live with Elizabeth Kloepfer during this time.

In February 1976, Ted stood trial for Carol DaRonch’s kidnapping. He waived his right to trial by jury because of the negative views surrounding the case and opted for a bench trial. After a four day trial, and a weekend of deliberation, Ted was found guilty of kidnapping and assault. In June he was sentenced to one to fifteen years in the Utah State Prison. In October, he was found hiding in bushes in the prison yard carrying an "escape kit". This included road maps, airline schedules, and a social security card. He spent several weeks in solitary confinement for this. Later in October, Colorado authorities charged him with Caryn Campbell's murder. He waived his right to extradition and was transferred to Aspen in January 1977.

June 7, 1977, Ted was transported from the Garfield County jail in Glenwood Springs to Pitkin County Courthouse in Aspen for a preliminary hearing. He waived his right to a court appointed attorney and opted to serve as his own, and as such, was excused by the judge from wearing handcuffs or leg shackles. During a recess of the trial, he asked to visit the courthouse's law library to research his case. While out of view from his guards, behind a bookcase, he opened a window and jumped to the ground from the second story. He managed to injure his right ankle in the process as he landed. He shed the outer layer of his clothing. He walked through Aspen as roadblocks were being set up on its outskirts after noticing his disappearance, then hiked southward onto Aspen Mountain. Near the summit of the mountain, he broke into a hunting cabin. He was able to steal food, clothing, and a rifle. The following day he left the cabin and continued south toward the town of Crested Butte. Although, during this time he had managed to get lost in the forest. For two days he wandered aimlessly in the mountain forest, missing the two trails that led downward to his intended destination. On June 10th, 1977, he broke into a camping trailer on Maroon Lake, taking food and a ski parka; instead of continuing southward, he walked back north toward Aspen, eluding the roadblocks and search parties along the way. Three days later, he stole a car at the edge of an Aspen Golf Course. He drove back into Aspen, where two police officers noticed his car weaving in and out of its lane and pulled him over. He had been a fugitive for six days.

Back in jail at Glenwood Springs, Ted again ignored legal advice to stay put (not to try to escape again). It was said that the case against him, already weak at best, was deteriorating steadily as pre-trial motions consistently resolved in his favor and significant bits of evidence were ruled inadmissible. A quote stating, "A more rational defendant might have realized that he stood a good chance of acquittal, and that beating the murder charge in Colorado would probably have dissuaded other prosecutors... with as little as a year and a half to serve on the DaRonch conviction, had Ted persevered, he could have been a free man.” had shown that. But instead, Ted assembled a new escape plan. He acquired a detailed floor plan of the jail and a hacksaw blade from other inmates, and collected $500 in cash. This was smuggled in over a six-month period, by visitors, Mostly Carol Boone. During the evenings, while other prisoners were showering, he sawed a hole about one square foot, between the steel reinforcing bars in his cell's ceiling and, having lost 35 pounds, he was able to wriggle through it into the crawl space above. In the weeks that followed, he made several “practice runs”, exploring the space. Multiple reports from an informant of movement within the ceiling during the night were not investigated. By late 1977, Bundy's impending trial had become very high flying in the media in the small town of Aspen. Ted then filed a motion for a change of venue to Denver. On December 23rd, 1977, the Aspen trial judge granted the request, but he was sent to Colorado Springs, where juries had historically been hostile to murder suspects. On the night of December 30, with most of the jail staff on Christmas break and nonviolent prisoners on furlough with their families. Bundy piled books and files in his bed, covered them with a blanket to simulate his sleeping body, and climbed into the crawl space. He broke through the ceiling into the apartment of the chief jailer, who had been out for the evening with his wife. He changed into street clothes from the jailer's closet, and literally walked out the front door to his freedom.

Florida Murders and Assaults

Ted arrived in Tallahassee, Florida on January 8th, 1978, and rented a room under the alias of Chris Hagen at the Holiday Inn. Here Bundy tried to find work and leave his criminal past behind, thinking he’d be able to remain free if he didn’t bring police suspicion onto himself. He then was forced to leave his only job application after being asked to provide identification. He reverted to shoplifting and stealing credit cards from women’s wallets out of shopping carts. On January 15th, 1978, he entered Florida State University’s sorority Chi Omega. Starting at 2:45am, he bludgeoned Margaret Bowman and then garoted her with a nylon stocking. He moved on to Lisa Levy’s bedroom, who was beaten unconscious, strangled her, tore one of her nipples, bit deeply into her left buttock, and sexuallly assaulted her with a hair mist bottle. In the bedroom adjoining Lisa's, he attacked Kathy Kliener. He had broken her jaw and had a deep laceration on her shoulder. Karen Chandler was also attacked in her bedroom, she suffered a concussion, loss of teeth, a broken jaw, and a crushed finger. Kathy and Karen both survived and attributed their survival to the attacker being scared off by headlights illuminating through the window. The whole attack happened within fifteen minutes with thirty witnesses in earshot who seemingly heard nothing. Shortly after leaving the sorority, Ted broke into the basement apartment of Cheryl Thomas, eight blocks away. He dislocated her shoulder and fractured her jaw and skull in five different places during this attack.

On February 8th, 1978, he approached the daughter of Jacksonville chief of Police, 12-year-old Leslie Parmenter, introducing himself as “Richard Burton, fire department”. He only backed off when challenged by Leslie’s older brother who had shown up to pick her up. That day, he backtracked to Lake City. February 9th, 1978, at Lake City Junior High, 12-year-old Kimberly Dianne Leach was summoned to retrieve a forgotten purse in her homeroom class and was never seen afterwards. Her mummified remains were found seven weeks afterwards in a pig farrowing shed near Suwannee River State Park. It appears she had been raped (her underwear was found near the body with semen in them) and her throat had been slit. On February 12th, 1978, Bundy could not pay his rent and had the growing suspicion that police were closing in on him, he decided to flee Tallahassee. Three days later he was apprehended by Pensacola officer, David Lee, near the Alabama border. In Miami, June of 1979, Ted stood trial for the Chi Omega killings and assaults. The jury deliberated for less than seven hours before convicting him on July 24, 1979, of the Bowman and Levy murders, three counts of attempted first degree murder and two counts of burglary. In January 1980, six months after his first Florida convictions, Ted stood trial in Orlando for the kidnapping of Kimberly Dianne Leach. After less than eight hours of deliberation, Ted was found guilty again. During the penalty phase of his trial, Bundy took advantage of an obscure Florida law; providing that a marriage declaration in court, in the presence of a judge, constituted a legal marriage. As he was questioning former Washington State DES coworker Carole Ann Boone, who had moved to Florida to be near Bundy, had testified on his behalf during both of his trials, and was again testifying on his behalf as a character witness, asked her to marry him. She accepted, and Bundy declared to the court that they were legally married. February 10th, 1980, Ted’s was sentenced to death by electrocution for the third time. In October of 1981, Carol Anne Boone, gave birth to a daughter and named Ted Bundy as the father.

Ted Bundy died by the Raiford electric chair at 7:16 a.m. EST on January 24, 1989. Hundreds of revelers sang, danced and set off fireworks in a pasture across from the prison as the execution was carried out, then cheered as the white hearse containing Bundy's corpse departed the prison. He was cremated in Gainesville, Florida and his ashes scattered at an undisclosed location in the Cascade Range of Washington State, in accordance with his will.

#ted bundy #bundy #true crime #crime #serial killer #killer

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alicenttully · 3 years

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my mother’s fury (makes mine seem nothing)

She had been in class for all of five minutes when Miss Unella pursued her lips and told Arianne to take herself to the principal’s office.

“Why?” Arianne was perplexed. She hadn’t been doing anything- well how could she anyway, when Miss Unella’s class had barely started? Arianne had come prepared with last weekend’s homework, as well. Having the Faith of the Seven for first period was hardly the most riveting way to begin Tuesday morning – which in Arianne’s mind, already held the dishonor of being the most unfortunate day of the week. Although others might have considered Mondays to have that spot, Arianne had always liked the feeling of promise that a new week could bring, and it was also the same day in which Aunt Elia and her cousins Rhaenys and Aegon came over for dinner. Wednesdays were “hump day” – the point in which the week was almost halfway over, and before you knew it was Thursday and Friday. In contrast, Tuesday was dull and drab.

But despite all of this, Arianne was a good student who always did her homework. But apparently, that was not sufficient enough for Miss Unella.

“It’s your jumper. Or lack thereof.”

“Oh.” Arianne felt relieved. Now she understood- one of the uniform rules at Naerys Academy was that students were expected to wear their school jumpers during the first term. It existed with other rules such as wearing their blazer to and from school if you were walking or taking public transport- because you were “the face of Naerys.” Arianne wasn’t wearing hers- her brother Trystane had smeared jam all over it this morning. As cleaning it in time was out of the question, Arianne’s mother had no choice but to write her a note explaining the situation which Arianne had given to her homeroom teacher. “No, it’s fine. I already gave a note to Mrs Lynora explaining things.”

“Be that as it may. I cannot allow you to stay in my class, my dear.”

Arianne always hated when people called you dear. They were always bound to say the most condensing drivel. And her teacher did not disappoint.

“I’m afraid that because of your body type, you need to be wearing the required uniform.”

“My body type?” Arianne gritted her teeth. So, this is what it was about.

“Yes, my dear. I’m afraid that without your jumper- well, it would be distracting to the boys.” Miss Unella paused, then continued. “Furthermore, drawing attention to yourself in such a way violates the values of modesty that we are trying to instill in you.”

How dare she! Arianne wanted to cry, but her classmates were all staring at her. Some in sympathy, others in amusement that was the inevitable result of teenage cruelty; but all would likely be telling their friends later on of this incident, and therefore she, Arianne would control how it was told.

“Well to be perfectly honest, you haven’t proven yourself to be a very good teacher in the time you’ve been with us.” Miss Unella was in fact new- covering for Mrs Fossoway, who had left to go on maternity leave. “So, I doubt the boys would learn anything of note, even if they weren’t supposedly distracted.”

At this, the entire class erupted into appreciative sniggers, and Miss Unella’s face reddened. Good, Arianne thought spitefully. Let her know what it was like to be shamed publicly, like that.

“Miss Martell, do I have to ask you again to leave?”

“No, you don’t.” Arianne had risen from her seat, scooping up her books into her arms. “Because I rather not be in the same room as you, if I can help it.”

She slammed the door on the way out.

II.

“Well Arianne, what seems to be the problem here?” Principal Waynwood’s voice was kind, but firm. Arianne knew she had to control herself here- but it was almost impossible; the injustice of it all consuming her.

“The only problem is that Miss Unella didn’t think my excuse for not wearing a jumper was sufficient.” Arianne explained the situation to Principal Waynwood, from her brother’s accident to the confrontation with Miss Unella. “Apparently, my body type means I cannot get away with wearing certain things- otherwise I’d be distracting the boys from learning.”

She hated that she was having to say these words, to this woman. She hated how degraded she felt. And most of all, she hated Miss Unella for being the cause of it all.

“I see.” Principal Waynwood sighed. “Miss Unella obviously did not handle things in the best manner that she could have. Because of that, I will be having a talk with her. However, Arianne, your rudeness was still unacceptable.”

“What about the way she was rude to me?” Arianne raged. Why did it feel like everyone was against her?

Principal Waynwood put her hand up. “That’s enough, Arianne. I understand, but rudeness is not the way we communicate our feelings.” Arianne wanted to scream. “As the bell for the second period is about to ring, you may remain here until it does. In the meantime, I will write a note that you can use in case this uh, situation pops up again.’

When the bell rang, Arianne left the office, clutching the note. The last place she wanted to be was school. A small part of her had hoped that going to Principal Waynwood’s office would make her feel better. How completely, incredibly, brutally wrong she was.

III.

What did make Arianne feel better was the outrage of her friends.

“I can’t believe she said that.” Slyva stabbed her chicken breast with a fork; almost as if she was imagining Miss Unella’s face.

Andrey shrugged. “I can. Apparently, she’s more er, dedicated than Mrs Leonette ever was.” He smirked.

“It doesn’t matter how dedicated she is.” Slyva said. “She shouldn’t have embarrassed Arianne like that!”

“No, she shouldn’t have.” Tyene, Arianne’s cousin, softly agreed. She twirled her ring, carved in the shape of a snake. “And we need to respond. What do you say, Arianne?”

Arianne remembered Miss Unella’s words, how she had used religion to shame her. A plan was formulating in Arianne’s mind.

So, Miss Unella was concerned that she was failing to live up to the religious values of their school?

Well, Arianne knew just how to fix that.

IV.

Although Naerys Academy was a Seven-based school, you did not necessarily have to be religious to attend. Arianne knew that applied to many of the students, whose parents simply wanted to take advantage of the resources that the school could provide for their children – for instance, seniors consistently performed well in the end of year exams; allowing students to get into some of the top-ranking universities- such as Trident Institute.

And well because of that, Arianne could hardly be doing anything wrong when she decided to do what she did.

By Friday, Arianne and her friends had put up posters all over the school – advertising a new religion.

It was called Martellism- in which Arianne was the prophet. The posters encouraged students to seek out Arianne, if they wished to find enlightenment.

Arianne attracted attention, just as she wanted. And attention came in the form of an irate Miss Unella.

“Miss Martell, can you explain what is the meaning of this?”

Arianne smiled brightly. “Of course. You see, I was thinking and you’re completely right. I wasn’t dressed in a way that was living up to the school’s religious values.” Had such sweet words ever sounded so poisonous? “And then it came to me. Why not just make a new religion, with values that I do want to live up to, such as not criticizing the way a girl dresses, or shaming her body?”

Miss Unella narrowed her eyes at Arianne. “You’ve just given yourself a detention, Miss Martell. Saturday next” Arianne could detect the faint triumph in the woman’s voice and knew she probably got some satisfaction from it. After all, nobody liked detentions- but one after school was infinitely preferable to one on the weekend.

Arianne crossed her arms as Miss Unella walked away. For the rest of the day, she brooded. She had tried playing the fool, and where had that gotten her?

Arianne thought of her cousin Rhaenys. Rhaenys was all of twelve, long-legged, whose braces knew Arianne made her feel insecure but who had a wicked sense of humor in which nobody was safe from. She could still remember pushing a six-year-old Rhaenys on the swings, who giggled happily.

Would somebody else one day speak to Rhaenys the way Miss Unella did to Arianne- making her feel small and worthless? Would they attack her body?

She needed to talk to her mother.

When she had told her mother everything, Mellario gripped the edge of the kitchen top very tightly. Not only was Arianne not to attend that detention she said, but she was going to organize a meeting with Principal Waynwood.

The meeting was organized for Monday, after school. Mellario was fierce in defending her daughter.

“My daughter will not be attending the detention given to her by Miss Unella.” She said the name as if it was a curse. “Instead, I want this woman gone and a formal apology from this school for the abhorrent way she treated Arianne. Sexualising a fifteen-year-old girl in front of her peers like that!”

Principal Waynwood looked so uncomfortable that Arianne couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for her. “Mrs Mellario, I understand you are upset,”

“You understand nothing.” Her mother interrupted.

“But as I told Arianne, I already had a talk with Miss Unella. I agree that her way of handling things that day was unfortunate. I am truly sorry for the way Arianne was made to feel. But I don’t think we need to escalate the situation by firing her.”

“Mrs Waynwood.” Mellario’s lifted her chin. “You’ll remember that Arianne’s father and I both come from prominent families. With that, I promise you, we will take full advantage of our positions to make life living hell for Naerys Academy.”

Principal Waynwood swallowed nervously. Arianne could have kissed her mother.

In the end, Miss Unella was fired- speedily replaced with a woman named Miss Nysterica. They got the apology as well, although truthfully it really should have come from Miss Unella herself.

Ultimately, though, Arianne knew she didn’t apologies from that awful woman anyway.

It was enough to know that her mother would always fight for her.

#asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #game of thrones #got #arianne martell #princess arianne martell #yes this can be better #arianne's school was based on my own #inspired by an old article i read

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sherlockfanficwriting · 4 years

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Sherlock BBC Mycroft “Her Love”

Summary - Mycroft and you have always competed with one another since as early as university; you hated each other, but only on the outside. Life moved on as everyone separated into their own lives and jobs, but one particular day you meet him again. After a certain set of events, you end up rescuing him, and what happens after that is untold.

Warnings - none, not sure

A/N - hola! second story from a break hope everyone is healthy and happy and chilling. Make sure to eat well, workout, and relax :) its literally summer! But anyways enjoy this story and send me some more requests as i am getting through them. (this one was a request and i loved it sm)

Years ago in University

You enter the Criminal Justice classroom and sit near the bottom of the high set of seats. You adjust yourself into a comfortable position and pull your books out. You hadn’t even opened one of them yet. You didn’t need to. After a handful of students walked in, the professor does too.

“Good morning. How is everybody today?” The professor asked. He swiftly pulled out his papers and began scribbling on the board. The students mumbled a polite answer. You turned your head to the side and met the devilish grazing eyes of Mycroft Holmes. He eyed you suspiciously and you returned it, but quickly darted his eyes back to the front after a second of contact. You smiled and shook your head. He thought he was better than you, but he wasn’t, and he knew it. Even if he didn’t, you would constantly make him know.

“Okay, a little different approach here today, class. You all recall that last case study we were working on, I assume? We touched up on it a few days ago. Refresh yourselves quickly on the complexity of the case. It continues today. I will be discussing and asking all of you questions. Remember, you’re the top of the top here.”

You narrowly turned your head to glance at Mycroft. His attention was focused on the professor. He didn’t blink.

“What was the intent of the murder?” The professor asked.

“Maternal revenge,” you spat out, barely after the question was out of his mouth. The professor nodded at you and continued on. The class was a breeze.

“What was the initial thought of the victim walking in the room?”

“To arm himself yet not be disguised. He wanted to hide but only wished to in his mind. He chose to ponder about slowly to his demise,” Mycroft rapidly spoke.

You rolled your eyes. After a dozen more questions that rotated between you and Mycroft, the class was over. You abruptly stood up and walked out of the classroom near the exit of the building. You heard Mycroft walking behind you. You didn’t speak or say anything to him. He walked outside with you and finally matched up to your speed.

“You think you’re better than me.” Mycroft said.

You laughed. “I am.”

“You see that’s the problem. I am superior and I will always be. Just simply stop trying.”

“You’re going to have to try harder than that.”

---Years Later-----

Your alarm not so peacefully woke you up from your tranquil slumber. You shifted your body closer to the side of your bed to read those bright red numbers you despised.

6:00

You groaned, practically tripping over nonexistent items as you walked to your bathroom. You quickly brushed your teeth and pulled together your hair. Soft strands of hair rested over your shoulder. Feeling more awake, you hopped to your closet and ran your hands along the minimalist cashmere and silk clothes that you owned. You pulled out a a pair of black trousers and a cream colored blouse. You paired it with a black blazer. As you stepped infront of the long mirror in the corner of your room, your eye caught the morning sun’s reflection off the glass of your diplomas and recognitions. A silver heart for bravery was pinned to the wall next to glass encovered cases as well as colored ribbons signifying your criminal investigation awards. You smiled to yourself in the mirror. This was who you were.

After applying a light wave of makeup over your features you slipped on a pair of dark heels and your purse. You skipped down the steps as if you were wearing sneakers and stepped near the curb to call for a cab. One came speeding by and you jumped in.

“Manchester Station.”

After a pleasant speedy drive halfway through the city of Manchester, the cab slowed down to a stop. You tipped the man and stepped out of the car, walking up to the long set of cream steps. You swiftly walked through the door, manuvering your body through the bustling people. You walked up the main steps to get to your office. As you walked down the hallway you glanced in one of the glass-walled offices. You saw one of your partners, James with a phone pressed up to his ear, lightly scribbling notes. He noticed you and offered a warm smile to which you returned. You passed a few other colleagues on your way to the office to whom you waved at. As soon as you opened your door you practically collapsed. As much as you loved being a detective, being in the office for a mere hour was enough to kill you. Being on the streets and in the action was what provided you with the vigor and stamina to which you live your life now. Picking yourself back up, you went over to your coffee machine and started a cup. A few seconds later, you heard a knock at your door accompanied with the sound of the door swinging open. You turned your head to see Paul and Lauren, another close colleague, standing there.

“Deduce me!” They both shouted, giggling. This wasn’t a new thing. Multiple times a day they would ask you this. It felt good. You were born like this. You could tell them a thousand things they would never think twice about. You picked up your coffee and locked eyes with Paul. Your eyes moved down and up and left and right, absorbing and understanding his movements and attire and his face. The face told a lot.

“You didn’t eat today. You were wearing a dark shirt but promptly changed it after a minute. You recently talked to your family; they are warm and welcome which is new and refreshing for you.”

Paul scoffed. “Amazes me everytime.”

“My turn!” Lauren exclaimed.

You proceeded to look at her, but Lewis, the “head man” of your department suddenly walked in the door. His face was tense and his actions followed along. Your body stiffened and you were alert.

“We’re going to London. Now.” He said, promptly rushing away. You swigged your coffee and walked out of the doorway. Paul and Lauren jogged to their offices. You caught Lewis running down the hallway. Something was wrong. Something was going on. You ran after him.

“Lewis, when are we leaving? Why are we going to London?” You asked.

He stopped momentarily and caught his breath. “Important case. The govenment. We’re leaving now. We’ll take my car. Paul will drive with Lauren. We need to go now. It’s at least a 4 hour drive.” He grabbed your arm lightly and you ran off with him.

“Why do they ask for us?”

Lewis chuckled. “For you mainly. Like I said, hard case, but not a challenging one. One that requires only the intelligent.”

You couldn’t believe it. You ran down the steps and hopped into the shotgun seat of Lewis’s car. He ran inside and ignited the key, promptly speeding away. Thoughts rushed through your head quickly. You’ve only been in England for a few years yet you have never been to London. Why, you ask? You didn’t have the slightest clue.

Lewis sped at least ten miles above the speed limit on the highway, causing your heart to race out of excitement. You could just taste it.

“Did you get any case background?” You asked.

Lewis shook his head. “It’s highly contained. From my time here, I’m only guessing its something technological.”

“Linked with something physical.” You said.

He nodded. “You’ll do it. You’re the best we have. The best anyone would have.”

You smiled at him. You weren’t nervous, you were ready. It was about time.

3 hours later from excessive speeding

Lewis’s car stopped in front of an immensely tall building covered with blue glass windows. You had no idea what this was. Secret Service? Most likely.

You walked with Lewis to the front door and met a plethora of guards. You both showed your badges and after a few phone calls made from the guards and nodds of respect, you walked inside. The inside was captivating. Everything was modernized and the surfaces reflective. Tall, powerful figures moved about. Lewis and you walked up the main steps.

“They’re meeting us on the second floor. I wouldn’t be so sure where.” He said, turning left and right.

You knew where from looking at the room. “In here. Should we wait?”

“No need to.” A stern voice said from behind you and Lewis. You turned your head and gazed up to a young tall man. His eyes were tired but his spirit was strong. He was a lower tier colleague of almost no status.

“It’s over here,” he said, leading you to the next hallway over. The flooring plan suddenly changed and led up to an even larger glass room full of guards on each corner of the premicise. The man walked up to the door and opened it for you and Lewis. You walked inside, eyeing every single thing you could. You saw four men and an older woman standing near the window, holding papers and chattering visciously.

The man who just led you in coughed and everyone turned around. A short man burst out from the group and said, “We’ve been expecting you. We apologize for the short notice. I’m sure you understand the gravity of the situation.”

“We understand. We know you couldn’t provide the information over phone. Everything is as planned.” Lewis said.

The man looked worried and nodded to him. He turned his attention to you. When he did so, his face untensed and his eyes relaxed. He held out his hand to you.

“You, Miss, we’ve heard nothing but good.”

You shook his hand and he quickly cut loose from the courtesy.

“We must get to the case. Please, sit down.” He motioned. The four other people sat around the table and you sat next to Lewis on one side. The head of the table was missing. The chair, idle. You wondered who sat there.

“There’s professional hacking done. Televisions abruptly stopping and transferring to messages. Murders....with......banks......robbing......aquiesced with no hesitation.........killers............terrorists...”

You zoned in and out of the words being spoken. You had the whole concept down in about two minutes. The rest wasn’t vital information for you.

The short man faced you. “We need you to crack codes and primarily investigate a mansion in the countryside. He worked for the govenrment, he was up here. Killed. I’m sure it will take you time to understand why and how he was murdered, but you have time.”

You tried not to scoff. You could get it done without even being there. They underestimate you.

“(Y/N), is good at this. She’s a star in computer programming. Give her any computer, she’ll have all the codes and passwords lied out for you in minutes.” Lewis said.

“I understand that. However actions are key here. There was a reason we called you. Lewis, you’ll stick with our management and analysis now. I see you have two other detectives, they can branch out to the banks and such with our other teams.”

Suddenly the large glass doors swung open. You didn’t turn around to look, but you knew it was the head of the table, whoever that was.”

“Sir, I ran through the prerequisites and plan with them. We start today with this team.” The man said. You looked down at your legs and across to the window, endlessly bored.

“Yes, you told me who you would bring. A girl? You insisted she was....good? I didn’t get a chance to read over the folder.”

That voice sounded familiar

“Why, yes, Mr. Holmes, she’s right here. (Y/N).”

Your heart dropped. You knew that name. You whipped your head to the head of the table and met the surprised eyes of Mycroft Holmes. You locked eyes, trying to understand.

“Mr. Holmes, (Y/N), is everything....?” The man asked.

“Everything is well, Thomas. I personally knew (Y/N) a handful of years ago. University.” He said.

You smiled and nodded your head.

“Right, now, we must all leave now. I have teams on numerous locations already.” He said, abruptly standing up. Everyone else rushed up and followed him out of the door. You couldn’t believe he was here. The head of this. The mastermind. You almost forgot about him, but you never forget intelligence.

You rushed out of the room to find him walking down the hall with two others. One was frantically talking into the phone. You walked up to Mycroft’s side.

“Where am I going?” You asked.

“With us. Helicopter pad is a floor up.”

You smirked, reading him and his actions. “You remember me?” You asked, looking up at him. He looked down at you and for a moment you knew he wanted to “intelligently insult” you, as both of you did in university before, but he smiled at you.

“Only the smartest I recall. You’re with us now. This will be a challenge for you.” He said. You skipped up the steps to the roof with him.

“I’ll be okay.” You said.

Mycroft stepped aside for you to enter the helicopter. He sat next to you and fixed his head gear. You placed your headsets on and Mycroft gave a signal for the pilots to go. You’ve only been inside a helicopter a few times and each time you enjoyed the rush and looking down upon the city and countryside from afar.

Mycroft tapped your arm and motioned to look at his window. You moved over to his side and looked down on the ground.

“This is the countryside. The man who we’re investigating lives...right there,” he said, pointing to a charming large cream colored mansion. Well manicured bushes and trees surrounded it. You quickly took in all the visible exits and windows and doors.

“How did someone get inside with all of that security?” You asked, raising your voice to shield against the loudness of the helicopter.

He looked at you, but didn’t speak. “That’s what we must figure out. The answers are there, but not in plainsight.”

The helicopter began lowering and then softly landed on the grass, causing ripples through the field. You took your headsets off and hopped out after Mycroft. He waited for you by his side and began walking to the back door.

He turned his body towards you and stopped, pulling something out of his pocket. A gun.

“You might need this. Preparation. You know the deal.” He handed it to you. You stuffed it in your waistline hook. Mycroft opened the door and walked inside with you. Naturally, you scanned the proximities and let your mind do the thinking. After walking a few feet you gained a handful of valuable information from this. He continued into a grand lobby area and there on the ground near the main steps lay a body. You quickly walked up to it and intricately studied it. Nothing hit your mind initially, but you felt something coming.

“Shot in the chest. Took him out after a few minutes of heavy bleeding.” Mycroft said.

“He was dying before that.”

“What?”

“Poison. Intentional.”

“Who did this?”

You thought hard and looked everywhere and anywhere. You knew this.

“He didn’t know them. A man. Young. He wore a biohazard suit and dealt with chemicals. He became terrified so he shot him.”

Mycroft folded his arms, still standing. “What was he going to do?”

“I can’t be certain, but probably something with acid.”

He raised his eyebrows and sighed. “I think you’re right. We’ll go through the house and examine more. When we’re done I’ll jot down all the evidence that you have about it.” He began walking up the steps. You ran up to him.

“What have you been up to?” You asked him.

He looked startled to hear the question, but accepted it. “Just being here and doing my job.” He was awkward like that.

“You like commanding people. I know that.”

He blushed and hung his head. “I know you do too.”

You laughed. “To an extent. This is my first time in London. I never knew about you. You seem important.”

He smiled. “I am.” Mycroft walked in a large bedroom, examining it. You walked to the other side of the house, going in and out of rooms, trying to make more sense of everything. You heard Mycroft mumbling on the phone. He changed a lot and certainly became more mature. Initially, you doubted it was even him. You bent down and looked under beds, carpets, inside drawers and desks and closets. Nothing was alarming too you.

Slam

You stopped in your tracks and kept silent. You heard a door hardly slam from the other side of the house where Mycroft was. Something was wrong. You quietly stepped into the hallway and walked slowly across to the door. As you grew nearer, you heard shuffling and a low voice.

Your heart dropped. Someone was nearby. You didn’t speak, but you placed your hands on the door knob, slowly turning it open. You swiftly moved your body through the narrow opening and bent down next to the wall to listen. You had your hand on your gun, prepared.

Then you heard someone else’s gun click.

You knew someone had Mycroft. Slowly, you crept your head near the corner to see. You pulled your gun out and slowly peeked your head out. There he was, a stranger, standing above Mycroft with a gun pointed at him and blood running from his head. He suddenly looked at you and shot in your direction. You ducked down and came out of hiding, effortlessly shooting at the man. You aimed for his head and squinted your eyes involuntarily. You rolled around on the floor, barely missing his shots. After your first miss, you shot a bullet directly in his head. He fell down.

You ran to Mycroft and took his hands.

“Are you alright?” You asked, squeezing his hands.

He nodded. “You saved my life.”

You smiled. “It wasn’t a big deal.”

He shook his head. “Thank you.” You locked eyes with him and shared a moment of pleasantness. It gave you time to think and look at how much he changed. Never would you ever think in many years to come that you would save your past rivalry. You shifted your focus over to the body lying on the floor, blood pooling around his head. Mycroft noticed your dismay and touched your shoulder, offering you comfort.

“We should leave.” He said. “I think this case is closed.”

He stood up and walked out with you. “I hear you’re good with computers.”

You stepped inside a bathroom and grabbed a small town on a hanger and threw it to Mycroft for his head. “More or less. I can teach you some things.” You walked down the steps with him and across the long lobby. He put his arm around your shoulders and you grabbed his hand, enjoying the moment.

“We should catch up.” He said.

“Dinner tonight?”

“Couldn’t be any better.”

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theasteriae-arc · 3 years

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ROSIE CARMICHAEL.

FULL NAME: Rose Evangeline Carmichael

FACE CLAIM: Blake Lively

BIRTHDAY: October 20, 1979

GENDER & PRONOUNS: Cis female & she / her

ORIENTATION: Bisexual

STATUS: Secondary; Available; Open for Shipping

BIO & VERSES UNDER THE CUT. Trigger warning for arrest and murder charges ( not Rosie’s! ).

Rose Evangeline Carmichael was born on October 20, 1979, in Chelsea, the daughter of Douglas Carmichael, owner of a chain of Scotch whisky distilleries and producer of Carmichael’s Single Malt, and Thea Carmichael ( née Spencer ), heiress to a fortune that came from her family’s trade in jewels. She has two older sisters, Ivy (b. 1971) and Briony (b. 1976).

When Rosie was eighteen, she left London to take up her place at St. Andrew’s University in Scotland, where she studied Law. She partied hard while she was there, joined all sorts of societies and committees, so she was out pretty much every night as well as every Wednesday afternoon and Saturday morning playing netball, but she worked even harder, even during the summers, when she interned at Salinger Ross in Kensington. Her main interests were in Family and Human Rights law. When she graduated in 2001, she was top of her class, and already had a job lined up ready.

Rosie is highly organised and very, very motivated. She wants to do, wants to experience, wants to have everything, but she wasn’t raised to wait for opportunities to come to her.

While working full-time as a paralegal, she completed her Bar course and was then offered a pupillage by partners at Salinger Ross. She was finally called in 2003. Three years later, she decided upon her speciality and left their chambers for Nilsson Twist, who are specialists in Human Rights law. As a lawyer, Rose Carmichael is particularly well known and well respected for her work with displaced children.

In addition to her salaried role with Nilsson Twist, she also provides legal aid and assistance for various Human Rights charities worldwide.

She met her partner, Dr. Gethin Thomas, in 2011. Together, they have one daughter, Darcy, who was born in 2014. When she was born, Rosie took six weeks’ maternity leave and then returned to work.

THE ROAD NOT TAKEN LOOKS REAL GOOD NOW. | WHAT IF

Rosie completed two years of her four year law degree. Mostly as a joke, she and some girlfriends from university signed themselves up for a television dating show, but Rosie’s application ended up being successful. Although she didn’t meet the love of her life in front of the cameras, appearing on this program opened up several other broadcasting opportunities for her, which she withdrew from her studies to pursue. These days, she is best known for a stint on a London-based reality TV show, and for her various radio and television presenter credits.

In 2007, she met Aidan Fitzgerald on a night out, and married him later that same year. In 2008, they welcomed their daughter, Niamh, and in 2009, Aidan was arrested for the murder of Detective Sergeant Charlie Fox. Rosie stuck by him all through his incarceration and trial, at which he was found not guilty, but he left her for his on-off ex-girlfriend, Alex Moran / Magpie ( @gunmetalgrey ) almost as soon as he got home.

Rose and Aidan have an amicable separation, though they are not currently divorced, and they share custody of Niamh as evenly as their work schedules allow. Most surprisingly of all, perhaps, is the fact that she and Alex are now very close friends.

HOW TO SAVE A LIFE. | MEDICAL AU

Instead of studying Law at St. Andrews, Rosie studied Medicine instead. She now works at Guys Hospital, London, as an attending neurosurgeon.

She and Gethin have been in a relationship since he started his fellowship, and together, they have one daughter, who is called Darcy.

#arrest / tw #rosie. | muse #( ii. rosie | hc )#( ix. darcy thomas )#( ix. niamh fitzgerald )#( ix. alex moran | magpie )#icon (c) shilon-avatars

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lovestory · 4 years

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hi gabbi! I was just kind of wondering how you decided that you wanted to be a graphic designer, was it kind of an idea you'd had from young or was it more recent, and how'd you kickstart your career? I'm kind of in a similar position except I'm interested in releasing music but I'm not sure how/where I'd get started or if it's even a good idea

hello anon! i was 10 years old when i started using photoshop, i was very much into the hunger games and wanted to make graphics/mock movie posters like people on deviantart did. it was always my ~thing~ and i was heavily encouraged to pursue it by my teachers. parents didn’t want me to. ran away from home for a multitude of reasons blah blah. my career started when a local business advertised that they were looking for a student, knowledgeable in graphic design, to take over from their designer for 3 days a week while she was on maternity leave (i had just started my 2nd year of uni). i got the job and was so heavily praised for my work that i ended up permanent and full time and she was laid off. i then got a lot of freelance opportunities from my university; they liked my assignment work and hired me for several things. i’ve been contacted a lot through just putting my work out there on behance, and the extra income has honestly changed my life (although initially i took an extreme amount of caution with it to make sure everything was in order for my taxes etc. that stuff scares the ever living fuck out of me). and my university lecturer provided the class with a lot of resources as to where and how we could find freelance work (sites like upwork etc.), i have my own portfolio website too. i think what i’ve learned is that it’s a matter of making people believe, with your passion, that you are an absolute professional at what you do. it’s a matter of finding a niche within the industry that feels natural and good, and building connections. it really only takes a tiny step to become a launchpad for so much more.

#Anonymous

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katypickles · 3 years

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Those who helped me with my disordered eating, and how they did it

!CW: disordered eating behaviours!

Subject A - A close friend

This particular friend was there for me from my diagnosis to the end of my treatment, and from the end of my treatment to the end of my recovery. Recovery is a rollercoaster. There were several points at which I thought I was fully recovered, when actually I was only part way through my journey. (Luckily, the last time I had such a thought was a long while ago now and I've not been thrown any disordered eating curve balls since then, so I would hope where I am now actually is recovered - but those who have suffered with disordered eating claim that you never fully recover, only learn how to cope with the illness...I digress). This close friend was there for me through each of those times, always reminding me that there was a light at the end of the recovery tunnel. They never judged me for planning what I would eat in their company a week in advance, checking labels and online menus obsessively before we cooked or ate out together, speaking my thoughts about food and body image aloud to them freely, calling them day or night just because I couldn't be alone, cancelling on them last minute because I was having a hard time, stealing their food when I went through a period of binge eating post-dismissal from my treatment, or any other scary behaviours that must have been very difficult to witness. The judgement free space they created allowed me to explore my disordered eating in a safe way, with their rationale at hand when I needed it. They would encourage me to keep on top of my recovery and challenge me without pushing me to do something I wasn't comfortable with. The key to this relationship was trust - at a time when I didn't even trust myself this was so invaluable.

Subject B - A superior

This person probably doesn't realise how much their support was appreciated, as they did so from a distance. This person was my senior at university, and I had always looked up to them since I was a fresher. When I told them I was struggling with disordered eating, which was my third year of university, their reaction was very calm and collected. They did not smother me, nor did they pity me. When I was at my worst, it was then that I received a gift from them, just before Christmas 2015. The gift included a candle and other comforting items, and a card that I still have to this day. In the card, they reassured me that they were there to support me though this difficult time, should I need them. They encouraged me to keep going, with only one term left of my time at university, and a portfolio of work to be proud of - regardless of my diagnosis of Anorexia they let me know that I should have been proud of what I had already achieved. The focus on what I was achieving academically rather than my eating disorder, which had been the focus for 6 months at that point, created a shift in my perspective. A month later, I returned to university, ready to take on my final term - and my eating disorder!

Subject C - Family

They couldn't have known, because I'd been living away from the family home for 3 years at the point of my diagnosis, but when I broke the news to my family that I'd been struggling, they remained positive. No tears, no dwelling - just pure fight and determination that we'd get me through this horrible illness. Whenever I needed it, my mother held me like I was a child again. She was by her phone 24/7. She was just there, like she always had been, even if she didn't understand what I was going through. She and my brother made me laugh like we always did together - that will never change! My brother came to visit me in London and listened to me whilst I spoke about my feelings towards food - which must have sounded so alien to him. My mother then visited me in London and spoke to my therapist about how best to support me at the time. At the core of this relationship, nothing changed between us, other than their willingness to understand.

Subject D - A professional

It can be really difficult to find the right therapist, and unbelievably difficult to secure one free of charge as the NHS have such a demand that only the severely ill seem to receive access. I was in an extremely bad way when I was first seen to by a professional. Luckily, I clicked with my CBT therapist immediately. It happened exactly when I needed it most. Since working with her, I have struggled to find the same connection with a therapist, but I'm thankful for the time I had with her. Part way though my treatment, she fell pregnant. She admitted to hiding her pregnancy from me for a long time in order to give me adequate time to push through my most vulnerable state. When she broke the news to me that she'd be taking maternity leave, she added that she knew I was in a place much stronger than when we first started my treatment, and that she had confidence in me that I would carry on thriving with or without her. At a time when I didn't have the confidence in myself, she had confidence in me.

Subject E - A co-worker

Admitting that you're struggling with disordered eating can be daunting - especially in a professional setting. At the time, I was managed by someone who would go on to be a close friend of mine for years to come, and who I still consider one of my nearest and dearest. I was anxiously waiting for her at a central London coffee shop, knowing that the time had come to tell her about my Anorexia, as it had begun to affect my work. With the giant smile she so frequently donned, she arrived with an air of positivity. As I explained what was happening with me, she listened so intently. Once I'd said my piece, she let me know that I was in control. She said that I could do as much or as little work I felt possible. In the following months, she didn't treat me any differently. The difference was that she had let me know that at any point I could take a break or slow down my output of work. I was given permission to take the time I needed to get better.

I understand I'm very lucky, and that I'm one of the privileged few. I had, and still have, access to a wonderful support network. For those of you who might be supporting a friend or family through disordered eating, I hope that this might provide some guidance when it comes to knowing exactly how to support them. Creating a judgement free space, encouragement, a willingness to understand, confidence in recovery, and permission to do what feels needed.

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evoedbd · 4 years

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Sleeping Dragons

Summery - After a very bad shift over University Break Runa is ready to kill someone... until she sees the most adorable sight the cafe has to offer.

Just a pure fluffy piece with some very minor cannon bending/alterations.

**************************************** She was done. Finished. Over it. Every other variation of “fed up” that could be imagined. If she had to deal with ONE more giant slug lecturing her on the finer points of cabbage preparation, she was going to be arrested again. For murder, this time, not a simple misdemeanour.

She announced this in the most nonverbal way possible whilst retaining her job. She attempted to drive her flats through the floor with every short, choppy stride she took. Every breath was punctuated with a loud huff, her best imitation of a dragon, one might conclude. A nymph blanched, raising the menu to hide her face as the Waitress passed. A centaur’s hooves clicked nervously against the floor. Emeril was intelligent enough to swerve the guests she was seating out of the Waitress’ way. Nobody was foolish enough to risk her wrath on the best of days, and this was far from a good day for one Runa Amberthorn.

The day had begun with accidentally waking an unusually moody Rong. That encounter started with outrage, ended with flame and singed pink hair. Then, there was the delay in pastries during the morning rush. Finally, it was that damned Slug. If his lecture wasn’t bad enough, he’d then tossed his soup AT her. Said soup was currently dripping from the tip of her nose. She was positive she’d be smelling the potent spices Roman had used for a week.

“Runa!” A female voice cut above the din of the cafe. Of course, there was always one person who didn’t get the hint. This time, that person was Nysa. An impossibly tall, lanky young woman who looked up (figuratively) to Runa as a big sister.

“Not now!” Runa barked, foot already resting on the first stair. All she needed to do was storm up them and she’d finally be away from the pesky customers. Away from talking Plants and walking Catfish. From prissy Lions with too much mane gel, and haughty Faeries.

“Its just that Amber didn’t want t-” Nysa’s voice faded off uncertainly. Runa’s glare had effectively silenced the other waitress. Without heed, the Charm Magician turned and continued up the stairs. Nysa’s hushed words and frantically waving hands were ignored. An irritation at the corner of Runa’s vision. Whatever it was could wait. Runa knew Amber, how the recently awoken Rong would take every opportunity to speak directly. The absence of a binding spell was staggering to them both. A rug pulled from beneath their feet. A missing sense. Despite the spell having been broken, their bodies refused to obey. They remained highly attuned to one another, enough that their hearts skipped a beat when entering one another’s presence. Consciously or not. Living side by side, it was a feeling Runa was familiar with. A skipped heartbeat stopped her dead in her tracks when she reached the top of the stairs. There was a thud. Nysa had bumped into Runa. She caught herself, letting her sentence trail off.

“-Be woken up...”

Strewn across the aged wooden coffee table were several books. The wings of a dragon spanned the sprawled open pages. Red stood out against the whites of paper clouds. Blue flames sparked between teeth. Two white mugs, rims covered with dried coco trails, sat beside the books, both emptied. These were only briefly noted by Runa. Her attention was stolen by the sight on the couch.

Amber was simply beautiful. All delicate curves and a notably feminine gentleness wherever Runa’s eyes wandered. A mass of golden brown spilled over the arm of the couch, golden brown waves cascading from above smooth, relaxed brows down to the middle of her back. A delicate nose perched on her face, with just enough hinting of a curve to give the finest touch of regality. It was a nose that was always active, with thin nostrils flaring at every new scent. Long lashes kissed the tops of Amber’s cherub cheeks, which invited the gentlest caress to trace along the curve to her refined jaw. Upon her petite lips lingered traces of a content smile; a smile so infectious it seemed to cause the air itself to pulse with a sense of peace with every breath.

One leg flopped off the couch, leaving her bare foot placed solidly on the ground. Amber’s lithe torso was sheltered by her uniform jacket, along with the slumbering form of a small Toddler. Amber had put her own arm through the wrong hole of the jacket, using it to form a net to protect the boy from falling off of her chest. Her other arm wrapped over the bundle, cradling the child close to her petite breasts. The Toddler, Cy, snored happily, burrowing his chubby face into the safety of Amber’s warm neck. Runa knew the appeal, after all, she had sought refuge there many times. Sought, and found. The scene almost reminded of a mother dragon, folding her wing over her egg in an effort to shield her babe from the harsh world.

“She really is amazing with him.” Nysa’s soft whisper wasn’t enough to tear Runa’s gaze away.

“Yeah. She is.” Runa agreed in a sweet whisper. It was enough to cause Nysa’s attention to snap to Charm Magician. A soft smile was birthed upon Runa’s lips as she watched the softly snoring woman and toddler. She couldn’t fight how her cheeks began to ache, nor the intense burning through her veins. Patches of heat lingered everywhere, warming her until she felt she may actually glow like an ember before it erupted into flame.

“She really is a fighter for the underdog.” Nysa noted with an awed tone. She stepped closer to Runa, watching the amusement flare across the Charm Magician’s face.

Runa remembered the scene when Cy had first arrived at Sweet Enchantments, and it was not a pretty one. An exhausted toddler had stumbled in wearing clothing several sizes too small, torn and cut to “fit”. His shirt not only restricted the movement of his arms but failed to cover his thin belly. Dirty wee toes poked out of holes in worn little shoes. His torn trousers dis nothing to conceal his bruised knees, which were crusty with dried blood. The poor boy dragged a bag used for disposal, which was entirely too large for him. In it were all his old belongings, no toys and clothes too small to be from even the same year. Nysa had broken. The young woman had sobbed violently, pleading for help from the adoption worker. The suited Lion had the decency to look apologetic, at least, but beyond that provided no help. No acceptable reason for Cy’s condition. All the Lion could state was that the family had chosen not to adopt him once his magic had shown. Dark magic. Exactly like his lowlife father. Amber had descended like a storm of holy wrath. In a few seconds, the child was in her reassuring arms, bag hanging from her hands and the darkest scowl anyone had ever seen plastered across her usually sweet face.

What followed was a tirade of outrage; words so cutting and criticising that the entire cafe had frozen in horror to listen. The Rong was utterly ruthless, decimating every procedure related to Cy with violent head bobs towards his condition when appropriate. She demanded explanations for why a blind eye was turned to the very evident neglect. She expressed how utterly inept the screening process of adopting families if such a discriminatory family could get their hands on a vulnerable child. How disgusting the utter lack of support was for the mother, who clearly had no better options for her baby. Next, she turned her focus on the Lion himself. How he could be so clueless as to the system that he couldn’t even offer her a direction to look. How he couldn’t even offer a moment of compassion to clean the dirty boy. It was believed that Lions rarely cowered, however Amber had the seven-foot creature shaking in his expensive shoes with the power of her rage. Amber had gone further, outright disapproving of the classist society that would punish an innocent boy for something beyond his control. Her conclusion: anybody who approved of this had better get the fuck out of the cafe before she lost it.

Nysa had stood there gaping. Emeril had actually taken shelter behind her hostess podium. Lucien and Roman had both watched from the entrance to the kitchens. Zane had walked into the room with the guests at the bar; his jaw dropped in utter awe. Liora herself had been halfway down the stairs, her calm demeanour concealing hesitation to intervene. Plates dropped from Runa’s hands, the smash the only sound in the cafe save the snarling breaths from Amber. Then, the break in tension everyone needed. Cy had begun to laugh.

There had never been a discussion over whether Cy was staying. Not with the Government, not with the Adoption Agency and certainly not with Liora. Silently, everyone involved had decided it best not to tempt fate when a maternal, hormonal human dragon was involved. Adapting to Cy had proven rather easy. He was Nysa’s son, but Amber was his protector, the dragon encircling the slumbering prince. He adored Emeril and her younger sisters, who came by frequently on the weekends. Liora and Lucien had earned the titles of Nana, much to Lucien’s abrasive disapproval. Apparently, his apron was a dress, and his objections entertained the toddler immensely. Roman was often called Braba, which the Chef took graciously. Zain, remarkably, had almost cried when Cy had timidly called him daddy for the first time. What perhaps had been the biggest shock, however, was how he addressed Runa. The Charm Magician was never given a family title, nor a role in the boy’s life that could be noted. Instead, she received something far more possessive than anyone had anticipated. Runa, to Cy, had become ine. It didn’t take a genius to figure out he intended the name to begin with an M. Runa had simply shrugged it off, assuming he had picked it up from Dante, or from Amber… honestly, the Charm Magican couldn’t quite tell.

“Trust me.” Runa began gently, her lips twitching into one of her rarest smiles as she watched the peaceful pair. Nysa had been privy to the later days. Days where Amber stepped up and helped the new staff learn whilst Runa was buried under legal documents. Nysa had watched Amber’s dedication to seeing Runa achieve college, to keep driving the Charm Magician forwards through everything. Yet, Nysa had never seen the early days. The days where, even timid as a mouse, Amber’s eyes blazed with determination. The girl who thrived off arguments with Runa, then burned the cafe with her redirected focus. That girl who would take no bullshit and give no excuse. The girl who had faced down giant wolves and driven herself to a magical blackout JUST for the slimmest of chances to save her friend. Nysa had seen that drive, but Runa would argue only she had experienced EVERY side of Amber’s stubbornness. Runa had started out as an obstacle, then a petulant child throwing a tantrum. She’d thrown her own will against Amber’s, locked horns, expected to win. When Amber flowed into another tactic, Runa had lost her footing. Even now, she continued to slip and slide deeper under the Rong’s spell. Runa wasn’t sure when she’d decided to enjoy the ride instead of fighting the force of nature, only that it had seemed like her idea. Thinking on it, that was probably Amber’s working. The gentle, disarming kindness getting under Runa’s plating. Rusting her defence from the inside out.

“You really have no idea.” She concluded. Well, she guessed she shouldn’t be so surprised. Afterall, she did have a knack for picking up dragons.

#voltage lovestruck #runa amberthorne #sweet enchantments #sweet enchantments runa #runa x mc

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