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blogger360ncislarules · 4 months

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The season 2 finale of The Gilded Age brought many of the show's central conflicts to a head, including whether or not The Academy or the Met would win the opera war, who the Duke of Buckingham (Ben Lamb) would choose, whether Armstrong (Debra Monk) would ever stop being a pill — and most importantly, if Larry Russell (Harry Richardson) and Marian Brook (Louisa Jacobson) would ever get together.

The moment finally arrived in the season's final scenes, and it wasn't a mere chaste brush of a gloved hand either. Standing on the doorstep of the Van Rhijn household, Larry walked Marian home from a night at the opera in the early light of dawn. She promised that even with a move on the horizon, she would keep in touch with Larry. Larry's response was to kiss her, drawing a shy, pleased smile from Marian.

Executive producer and writer Sonja Warfield tells EW that the romantic moment came after she directly solicited creator Julian Fellowes. "Julian had long game plans to get them together," she says. "Back then everything was very chaste. You didn't really kiss somebody; you shook hands or something like that. So, I really did want Marian and Larry to kiss and asked Julian if they could please kiss at the end of the season. He granted me my wish."

Though Warfield warns that if they do secure a season 3 (HBO has yet to order more of The Gilded Age), it won't just be smooth sailing through the tunnel of love. Even if Marian will now have a newly empowered Ada (Cynthia Nixon) on her side against what will no doubt be objections from Agnes (Christine Baranski). "Relationships had their challenges in 1884, and they do today," she says. "The modern challenges aren't that different from those challenges. Yes, we're rooting for them. But everything will be complicated."

EW got Warfield to break down more of the finale, including Peggy's (Denée Benton) decision to leave the paper, Ada's sudden new wealth and its implications, and the possibility that Bertha Russell (Carrie Coon) has sold her daughter, Gladys (Taissa Farmiga), to a duke solely to win a society war with Mrs. Astor (Donna Murphy).

ENTERTAINMENT WEEKLY: You all brought Ada some romance this year, only to immediately kill off poor Luke (Robert Sean Leonard). So, I have to ask, why are you so mean?

SONJA WARFIELD: Because that's drama. And back then, most of the time when people had an ache or a pain, it did mean death. I wanted to disrupt the status quo with Ada. I just adore Cynthia Nixon, and her performance was mesmerizing to me, so I wanted her to be empowered to have a love. Agnes is oppressive, and so, I wanted for her to have love and to feel loved and to understand how that helped her in the world. The heart of the show, it's about the warring classes and Ada and Agnes represent that old money, and so, they need to remain intact. That's why he couldn't stay.

Peggy decides to leave the Fortune (Sullivan Jones) paper. What will that mean for her future? She talks about a novel, but being a journalist seems like such a core part of her identity right now.

In that time period, a lot of women were writing serialized stories for newspapers, so Peggy's done some of that too. There's versatility in her writing and in her work. Listen, Fortune is great, but he's a bad influence. He drinks a little bit; he's married. Peggy has a whole future ahead of her anywhere she wants to be. So I'm excited for her.

Will she be able to stay away though?

We shall see. He is pretty cute.

Watson (Michael Cerveris) gets this happy ending where he's going to actually go and have a life with his daughter. Will we continue to follow him and how that develops in the future? Or once he leaves the Russell household, will we not really check in with him?

Now, he's going to be living as a gentleman. We've already seen Turner (Kelley Curran) cross over. Anything's possible in America at that time.

Speaking of Turner, we learn in the climax of the finale that both Bertha and George did her dirty behind the scenes, both with the opera box and learning that Bertha wrote Mrs. Astor to get the new Mrs. Winterton kicked out of the Academy. If there is a season 3, how might that come back to bite them?

Listen, she'll be conniving to take Bertha down. Turner, or Mrs. Winterton, will be in her orbit. There are crimes of opportunity that Turner will be looking out for wherever she can catch Bertha out. And remember, she was the maid and the maids know everything.

One has to assume she already is blaming the Russells for everything.

Oh, absolutely. She's a smart cookie. She knows what's going on.

Season 1 ended with this very short-lived triumph for Bertha with her party coming off. But it wasn't enough. If there is a season 3, would that be similar? She won this battle. Are there more battles for her to win?

The thing about power is that it's unquenchable. You get a taste of it, and you thirst for more. Bertha has her sights set on conquering American society.

There is a heavy implication that Bertha won the Duke of Buckingham by selling out her own daughter. Is that a fair reading of that scenario?

I think you're a smart woman and that's an astute reading. Sadly.

George also looks quite concerned with whatever might be happening with the Duke. And we did see him early in the season pledge that he was supportive of Gladys marrying someone she actually loves. So is he also suspicious? Is he still determined to stand firm to that promise?

That's something that will be tested, and we'll have to see where George and Bertha land. This season was great because we saw them, probably for the first time with their marriage, in some real jeopardy that they had not experienced before. What I loved about that is that they still emerged as this power couple, and so we'll see if they can sustain that and how much their marriage can take. Parents often want different things for their children and that can be challenging.

We've really seen the servants branch out a lot more this season, whether that be going to the opera or this overarching plot line with the alarm clock. Are we trending toward a situation conceivably where servants are leaving their profession or their power dynamic is in flux?

That's the difference between America and the U.K. You're born into a position there, but in America it's supposedly the land of opportunity. Turner married up; we'll have to see what happens with Jack and how he fits into this new world, or if he gravitates back to his old world and what really happens with it. Businesses go bust, anything's possible.

We've pretty much exclusively seen Larry interested in architecture to this point. So what would going into the alarm clock business potentially look like for him?

Money. He's young and he gets to explore a lot of things because his father's a mogul.

In the final moment, Ada warns Agnes that things might be a little different. Historically, Ada is pretty good natured. So her being in charge, what do you conceive that looking like? I feel like we're gearing up for the battle of the century between these two sisters.

Here's the thing, fighting with a sibling is so different than fighting with somebody else. You can go in and you can go deep and you can go back. It's so charged and it's so conflict ridden. At the same time, you can be at each other's throats and then the next minute, you can hug it out. What I love is that Ada didn't just get a lot of money. She was really empowered to be independent with Luke in that relationship. So the power dynamics, it'll be fun to watch what happens.

Does she hold any resentment toward Agnes for how domineering she was that we could see come out?

Listen, Agnes pushes people. Even if you were forgiving and didn't have resentment, she might stir it up again.

This cast is known for its stellar lineup of Broadway talent. Who would be your dream to join the cast next season?

Sutton Foster. That would be big fun.

#the gilded age #hbo

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aggressiveviking · 5 months

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Artist asks!

Favourite works of all time excluding your own?

Biggest artist pet peeve?

Weirdest thing you’ve ever drawn?

😭🙏💖thankks for asking some questions, been dying to answer some 1. Favourite works of all time excluding your own? I think my most favorite would always be Van Gogh's 'Sunflowers'. he has a few of them but this is the one i mean:

My grandma had a print of this painting in a big fancy frame and as a kid i loved to look at it. There wasn't much art around in general in my parents house or anywhere else, only my grandma had art around. I had no idea it was a print and not a real painting since my grandma had a lot of other real paintings around, most of them presents from artist friends. So i just assumed this one was painted by someone she knew. Had no idea who Van Gogh was or his famous paintings, i remember i used to wonder who Vincent was since it was written on the vase 😂 This was the painting that made me want to get more into drawing. I've always liked drawing but i only realized i wanted to do it better when i would sit and try to copy this painting and it just didn't look right. I've never loved another artwork like i love those sunflowers.

2. Biggest artist pet peeve? Artists insulting their own work (and aggressively fishing for compliments). I have been guilty of looking down on my work and still fight with the urge to be upset at my own skill and abilities. Things could always have been done better and you could have always spend more time on something. You can't expect and demand people to praise you just to be able to find self-worth in your own work. you have to find that yourself. even if its hard. Its not anyone's job or responsibility to make you feel better about your own art and if you get upset because u don't get that, then you need to take a step back.

3. Weirdest thing you’ve ever drawn? God, i wonder. I won't include nsfw themed stuff cause anything could be weird depending on who you're talking to. I've always just drawn people or silly little things i found fun or cute so there isn't anything that i could pinpoint as weird. but in terms of being the strangest method of drawing that i've only had the opportunity to try out once - it was linocut art.

i absolutely loved it and it was so fun and turned out so much prettier than i expected. don't really have the time or space to do that. i used to know someone who studied art and she would share her leftover materials from projects with me and thats how i got to even know about this or try it.

#artist ask #ask game #art

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channieandhisgoonsquad · 1 year

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Wait, what...?

Bang Chan x female reader

Synopsis: There was supposedly a once-in-a-lifetime contest you had applied for with no expectation of it being real or you actually winning.

Word Count: ~1700

A/N: Sooooo I want to keep doing this and I'm trying my best. Honestly, I don't really know what I'm doing lol. Just some more words put on the internet Ryan awkward introvert. (o_o')

Warning: Just probably some casual flirting, a lot of dirty thoughts by reader, and mentions of self doubt.

Part Two!!

(Part One)

This is still a lot to take in. You still have an unfinished Starbucks coffee over by your computer, yet everyone is just staring at you waiting for you to lose your cool again. No pressure or anything! You've just hugged one of the most attractive men you've ever set eyes on. And now all of your coworkers and bosses are trying to talk to you while you gather your purse and hope you didn't forget anything else.

When you first let reality sink in, during your hug with Christopher, you felt that the idea of just up and leaving your life is absolutely terrifying. But, the prospect of having that very sweet, very huggable, very strong, very firm... oh snap. Your ADHD is kicking in. It's Stray Kids! You're going to be doing things with them, at least that's what the sweepstakes had promised.

Honestly, they could just shove you into a hotel room and leave you there for a few weeks. You're gonna need to talk to Chan about that.

After grabbing your coffee, purse, and jacket, you went back to the main door of your office and were met with the warmest welcome you had gotten from anyone since you left to visit your aunt in Arizona for a summer in middle school.

And this time, the warmth is emanating from a beautiful man that's dimples are growing as soon as you locked eyes with him. Standing awkwardly outside your office space, you looked around the different hallways. Your whole body moving to look behind the gorgeous man and your supers.

Chan turned himself expectantly hoping to catch sight of whatever you're looking at or for. "What are we looking at?" HE questioned as he looked down the very boring beige hallway.

"I feel like you've got the other guys hiding somewhere and I can't handle more surprises right now."

His laugh echoed through the corridor as he turned around to look back at you. He set one hand down on your shoulder to draw your attention back to him, "I promise, no more surprises. They're all still back in Seoul waiting for you."

"Ohh great.... no pressure there." You rolled your eyes back at his statement. His giggling continued as you still searched lightly for the surprises he promised against. "Your constant snickers are not very convincing."

"Well, how about we get out of here and catch our flight?" He reached in his oversized hoodie and pulled out your passport with a ticket peeking out. He held it out and you cocked your eyebrow.

"Oh is that why Jenn was asking about all my passport? That sneaky bitch- Oh sorry. Am I allowed to swear??"

Chan reached his other hand behind him neck and scratched the baby hairs popping out of his beanie while looking at the man to his left, "Yeah, you can swear, just be careful who's around when you do it. If JYP catches you he will definitely have something to say to us."

"Ohmygod. Don't tell me I'm going to meet him too! Ughhhh..." You are not ready to meet that man. He hasn't been anywhere close to your list of favorites after you had learned about Hyunjin's break or the eliminations of Lee Know and Felix way back when.

"Only maybe. I can tell you're excited at the idea." He giggled and turned around. "Show us the way out and we can talk about all our options in the car."

You led the way with Chan right by your side. You hopped into the classic black van and sat next to Chan in the way back. You put on our seatbelt and turned to him. He had thrown one arm over the back and looked around before turning his head over to you. His million watt smile was all it took for you to get really shy again.

"Sir, you cannot look at me like that."

"Like what, y/n?"

"Like I'm someone important; someone to impress."

He grimaced, "I do want to impress you, though. You are literally this gorgeous girl that I get to be stuck with for the next twenty four hours. I want to woo you."

Your turn to frown at him, "What are you talking about?! You are literally Christopher Bang. Leader of Stray Kids. Fourth generation leaders and the best leader of any group I've gotten to know."

He grabbed his ear with his fingers as he felt the blush creeping up. "Okay okay that's enough of that."

You yanked his hand away from the poor ear he wouldn't stop rubbing and made him lock eyes with you, "No seriously. You are such a beautiful, kind soul and deserve every compliment. And if I have to spend the next twenty four hours reminding you I will."

"Ugh"

"Also, you've got washboard abs and are just so handsome. Your dimples are so adorable and the way your eyes close when you laugh is so endearing." He didn't look way but you could tell he really wanted to.

Everything said was true. You tell everyone you know about how amazing this man is. He is the epitome of everything you wish you could be, and he needs to know. The hand that you had pulled from his ear was still holding onto his wrist, but he flipped it around and held your hand while using his thumb to rub the back of your palm. You could feel heat rising to your face and a tingling down under at your current situation.

"Regardless of how I feel about myself, I am glad to have a sweet person around." He looked down at your hands, continue his soft ministrations on your hand. Through his lashes, his piercing gaze seemed to imitate a smirk.

The conversation ensued as casual banter and conversations about life and the weather. Just the usual things. It was so natural though. You made fun of Chan's accent and he made fun of yours. The best was when the two of you cackled at you trying to say certain phrases in Korean and you returned the horror when you tried to get him to say words in German.

As soon as you arrived at the local airport, you were immediately guided to check in and promptly brought back outside to a golf cart that brought you to a smaller plane. First things first, you looked in your carry-on to see what your best friend had packed for you to change into, you could not stay in scrubs any longer. Thin joggers, a loose black crop top, comfy sports bra, new socks, and some comfortable walking shoes. It's amazing how much effort she went to.

You had never ridden first class, so once you were brought to your spot, you realized the size of your seat was amazing. Your giddy attitude had returned as you settled into your space. A TV, side table, charging ports, and a coat rack to hang your belongings. Sliding into the spacious seat confirmed that you ACTUALLY had more room to spare.

The wall next to you slid down and you yelped, not realizing it could do that. "G'day, neighbor." Chan greeted you. You were so engrossed in getting acclimated to your surroundings that you didn't even see him settle in right there. Nor, had you caught the way he stood outside his seat area and just smiled at you. IF you had, you would've seen how smitten that man looked.

"Christopher Bang! Are you trying to give me a heart attack?"

He looked so offended, "Me?! I don't want anything bad to happen to your heart!" The pout made you almost feel bad for the accusation. Almost.

You threw your arms on the side table that was twice the size now as you looked into his space. His laptop was set on his side of the partitioned table, headphones around his neck, and back pack hung on the hanger by his side of the aisle. "Hm...You seem like you're ready to get to work over there."

"Yeah, it's just habit to set everything up like this. I forgot that I had an angel sitting across from me." His words were so sweet you couldn't help but roll your eyes. He pressed a button on the outside of his chair and it turned inward towards the table. You looked beside and followed suit, only to see he had put his laptop back into his bag.

"Just because I'm a Stay, doesn't mean you have to continually flatter me, Channie. I'm already committed to this adventure and will support you guys regardless."

The sparkle in his pretty eyes disappeared again, "Why do you think so little of yourself?" The question made you want to disappear into the seat, or just throw yourself out of the airplane.

"It's not that. I just know that I'm not that special." You shrugged and looked at your feet so you could avoid the greek god sitting in front of you.

Chan reached across the divider and pulled your had towards him. Then led the hand to his face and graced your knuckles with a tender kiss. Never taking his eyes off your face while you were following your hand, "I am going to make it my mission to make you realize how special you are. Me and the kids won't let you forget that you are worth every moment. I have only spent a few hours with you, and I can already sense that we are destined to make great memories we won't forget."

You squinted at him. Knowing damn well he isn't just saying that. He's always had a way with his words, whether it's in his interviews, with his bandmates, or in the lyrics he wrote. But his dramatic attitude is making you more nervous than anything.

"I know you don't believe me now, but I swear, you're going to see what I see, and never want to look away."

"If I get to look at you the whole time, I'll be fine."

#chris bang #bangchan #bang chan #christopher bang #bang chan fluff #bang chan scenarios #loml #i love him #love of my life #straykids #stray kids #stray kids bang chan #channieandhisgoonsquad #channie

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liminalpebble · 9 months

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Eddie's Education: Chapter 11

Masterlist link

Minors DNI

Chapter 11

The drive from The Hideout was quiet one, with Eddie's free hand reaching for Leia's whenever he didn't need it to steer. Eventually, Leia spoke up, voice raspy from the weeping, reluctant to say what she needed.

“Eddie?”

“Yeah?”

“I'm...afraid to go back to my apartment. Sam knows the address. It's where we were going to move in together before....uh...anyway,” she said with a sniff, forcing her voice to sound more normal than she felt. “If you could drop me off literally anywhere else, I'd appreciate it. I'm sorry I ruined your shift and..and...caused so much trouble..and.”

He could hear her voice waver and feel her hand begin to shake again where his fingers grazed hers. He pulled the car over. Eddie couldn't stand not facing her or holding her with both hands when she was so upset. As soon as he parked, she was enveloped in the cool smooth blanket of his leather jacket, head nuzzling against hers.

“Listen to me, Leia. You did nothing wrong. You just fell in love with the wrong person. But you,” he said as he cradled her cheek with his big hand, “you have no idea how much good you really deserve do you?”

She looked away, unable to meet his intense eyes. “I have no idea about anything right now, Eddie, except that I don't want to go home.”

He looked concerned for a moment, asking, “Does he have a key?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head emphatically, “Thank god.”

He nodded too. Thankful to hear she had some safeguard against Sam other than distance. Suddenly a thought hit Eddie out of the blue and his eyes lit up. “You don't have to go home! I have an idea. Trust me?”

She looked at him, baffled, but nodded. “Ye...yeah, of course....what are..?”

“Hold on tight, Princess Leia. I have a plan!” he said with a huge trouble-maker's grin.

------

A little while later they were sitting side by side and cross-legged on the pillows in the back of his van, doors open to give a full view of the drive-in movie they were attending, both sipping milkshakes. She smiled as Eddie shifted to throw one more blanket over her, warding off the chilly night air. Observant man that he was, he was learning that she gets cold so easily.

He chuckled. “Sorry, maybe milkshakes weren't the best plan tonight but these always cheer me up. That drive thru has been there since I was a kid. Same family still owns it, I think.”

She smiled to him and held his hand. “No, Eddie. It's perfect. This is so sweet. I can't thank you enough,” she said, her big kind dark-chocolate eyes drawing him in and melting his heart.

“Hey, don't mention it. You've been through the wringer. You deserve some happiness, and a hell of a lot more than that asshole ever gave you. I'm guessing he had you convinced that you didn't deserve any...slimy little shit,” he declared, swirling the little red straw, trying to get to the last of his dessert at the bottom of the cup.

When he looked over she seemed pensive and timid, eyes glued to her hand as it slowly stirred her shake. He reached his hand out and scooted closer, “Fuck...sorry. I shouldn't have brought it up...rubbing salt in the wound.”

She looked him in the eye. “No! No Eddie it's not that. I love your honesty...your openness. Please never stop being so real...so honest. I've never had that. Just pecking orders and passive-aggression and gaslighting and fear of damnation from people who were supposed to love me. Not...not that I have you...I...I don't know.” She looked away, but Eddie just grinned, thinking, Oh but you do, princess. You have no idea how much you have me.

“Come here,” he said gesturing for her to snuggle against him. He put an arm around her while they watched Casablanca flicker across the screen in its dreamy black and white glory and he held her close. He could feel her begin to slouch into him with more ease as they passed a joint back and forth. He couldn't help watching her sensual sanguine lips as she took a drag then released little tendrils of fragrant smoke with a soothed exhale, a hint of a sigh, shutting her eyes in pleasure. Eddie swallowed hard, imagining that might be her reaction the first time he would touch her as more than a friend; a sound of long-awaited relief, like sinking aching muscles into a hot bath. He would give anything to hear that sigh from her again because of his hands caressing her.

“You know what I want to hear.” he parroted along with the movie in a Humphrey Bogart impression, which drew a little giggle from her half-asleep form. Leia was sinking further down and he scooted so she could lay on her side. Using his thigh for a pillow, she snuggled into him, pressing her cheek to the worn denim as he stroked her hair gently, moving it away from her sweet round cheeks. They'd both seen Casablanca a thousand times, but even if they hadn't, neither of them were paying any attention to the movie.

Even in her drowsy state (or maybe because of the liberty of it) she allowed herself to enjoy his touch, to fantasize. She wished she could crawl just a little farther between his strong thighs, slowly unzipping and releasing him. She longed to hear him sigh gratefully, praising her like a goddess as she'd take the warm length of him into her mouth. Leia could imagine it, though she'd never experienced it that way. Sam liked to hold her head in place, fucking her mouth like she was just an old sock to jack off into. Her throat always hurt the next day, but Leia assumed that was just how all men were, how all men liked it. Eddie would be different. Eddie would be gentle, she knew with certainty. He would cradle her head and stroke her hair reverently, massaging her scalp as she enjoyed the taste of him. These idle thoughts began to make her wet, and she squirmed a little, readjusting. Sweet unassuming Eddie just figured she was uncomfortable from the position she was laying in.

Eddie whispered close to her ear, “Sorry sweetheart, I know this isn't the best spot for a nap. She opened her eyes and stared up into his. His long hair tickled her cheeks as he stared down at her. His deep eyes looked concerned but his lips still carried the twitch of a smile. He licked his lips nervously then said, “I swear I didn't plan it like this, and I'm not trying to get in your pants or something, but my trailer park is across the street. You're welcome to stay at my place tonight...” he could feel himself beginning to ramble, like a boulder picking up momentum as it tumbled downhill, “I...I know it's kind of trashy...you know... living in a trailer, but it's pretty big and new. There's plenty of room so I can give you privacy. I live alone now. Wayne lives with his lady so it'll be quiet. Well, except for me. I'll be on the couch and you still might hear me snoring through the door. It's so fucking loud. Wayne used to call me the freight train, but he snores just as bad...runs in the family I guess...”

Leia raised a single finger and pressed it against his lips. God, they were so soft and full and pink, begging to be kissed, she thought. She ran the pad of her finger over the pillowy flesh, lightly tracing. She couldn't help herself. It took her some time to respond, hypnotized by his mouth and the desires it summoned within her.

“Eddie, that's so nice of you. As long as you don't mind me there. And I'll take the couch. You sleep in your own bed.”

“No way,” he protested, his mop of hair wiggling as he shook his head. It made her giggle as it tickled her and a smile blossomed on her face. Eddie wanted to kiss her so badly it physically ached. It tormented him. He didn't want to take advantage of such a vulnerable time for her, or cause her to lose her job. What if I'm reading it all wrong? I think she likes me, but fuck, what if I made a move and she didn't want it? I could never look her in the eye again. I might just cry in bed for the rest of my life if that happened.

From there his rumination spun around and around; a record playing the same old tune. And it was the same sad song that Leia was playing in her own mind.

I'm not good enough.

“If she can stand it, I can! Play it!”

---

When they reached the front porch of his trailer, he turned to her and said sheepishly, “Can you give me just a minute. I'm gonna tidy up real quick. Wait here. Are you warm enough?”

She chuckled. “Yeah. I'm fine. And you really don't have to.”

“I know...I know, just two seconds, okay?”

And he was off in a flash. She watched surreptitiously through the crack in the door as he whisked piles of laundry into a hamper and loaded the dishwasher all in record time. He bounded back to the door, and she let out a little yip, not expecting the sudden movement. Eddie opened the door with a bow, taking her hand dramatically he said, “Your Highness, welcome to Casa Munson,” as he welcomed her inside.

“My champion, thank you,” she said, matching his dramatic tone. She eyed his private space, hungry to learn about him. There were Iron Maiden and Metallica posters on the wall, along with a beautiful red and black guitar proudly displayed, gleaming and well-maintained. A second-hand kitchen table was strewn with Dungeons and Dragons player's guides, figurines and elaborate varieties of dice. She strolled over to it, saying over her shoulder, “Don't worry. I promise not to touch it,” as she inspected the display.

You can touch anything I got, dollface, Eddie thought.

“This is amazing,” she said, smiling to him in genuine awe. “You're the dungeon master?”

“Yeah,” he answered, beaming with pride. “I still play campaigns with the little shrimps I knew from high school...well...they're obviously not little anymore. In my mind they're still 14, and I still feel like I take care of them.”

“Of course you do,” she said, smiling knowingly. “I'm getting the impression, from how you treat me, that that's just in your nature.”

“Nah. Only for people I really care about. Otherwise I'm a total butthead.” He paused for her to finish laughing. He couldn't bring himself to interrupt the beautiful sound of it. Eventually he asked, “Do you play?”

She shook her head. “No, but I always wanted to learn how. I was just always afraid to ask. I didn't want to get in the way.”

“I could teach you sometime. This group is nothing to be afraid of. They don't bite...well accept for me. I'm the mean and scary one,” he finished, voice dropping conspiratorially.

She came closer. “You can't fool me Munson. I know you have a reputation for that in this town, but deep down, you're a sweet little cupcake.”

He laughed and dug his hands in his pockets, averting his eyes shyly, and stepped back. “Uh...so, let me find you a toothbrush and towels and stuff. I'm guessing you'll want to shower off all the fake blood.”

“Correct,” she admitted. “And..uh...can...can I borrow something to sleep in. I didn't exactly bring anything.”

“Oh right...yeah yeah...just a minute.” Eddie breezed off to his closet, finding a clean pair of boxers and his favorite Motorhead shirt, freshly laundered. His cock twitched thinking of her in his clothes like that. She probably wouldn't even have underwear on under those sleep clothes. She'll be all damp from her shower and smell amazing. She'll be wet and soapy and naked in my shower. Before he knew it, Eddie could feel the bulge forming in his pants and cursed to himself. He waited it out, biding his time as he changed the sheets for her. He didn't like the idea of her sleeping on the same bedding where he jacked off thinking about her and moaning her name night after night.

Frustrated in so many ways, he slammed the ball of old sheets into the hamper, took a breath and begged his cock to calm down as he tidily folded her nightclothes, towel, and washcloth, setting a brand new toothbrush on top. He breezed back out once the evidence of his thoughts had calmed down, plastering a smile back on his face as he hand off the items. He scrambled for a quick but polite escape.

“Well...uh. I'm pretty beat. Mind if I turn in?”

“Oh..uh. No. No of course not. I'll try to be quiet getting ready for bed.”

“Sure sure...”

They stared each other in the eyes for just a moment, both breathing heavily before they stuttered over each other saying “Goodnight” and set about getting ready for bed in separate rooms. Both kicking themselves for not seizing the moment.

@sunflowerdaydreamer

#eddie munson x ofc #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson #strangers things fanfic #stranger things

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raaorqtpbpdy · 10 months

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Mother Gotham and Her Beloved Children

This is yet another fic I wrote for the @batfam-big-bang, this time for @red-hood-redemption's gorgeous artwork, which they posted here! This one is a one-shot, so I'm posting the entire thing here, but you can also go read it on AO3 if you want.

[Warning for minor violence]

Selina had never been the sentimental type. Through a significant stretch of her life, everything she owned had fit in a single suitcase. Ever since her mom died and she was left alone, she'd never gotten attached to anything. If she left something behind somewhere, it was lost to her forever. She didn't grieve. She didn't linger. It was hers and then it wasn't. That was how her life had always gone.

When she left Gotham behind, she thought she would never look back. Her whole life, she'd been trying to get out of that god-forsaken hellhole of a city, to get away from the wretched slums she was forced to live in, from the skeevy club where she had to work with rancid, drugged-up men eyeing her like a piece of meat, and especially from her scumbag father. Although... he wasn't an issue anymore, was he?

Maybe she should feel something about that, anger or depression or whatever those stages of grief were supposed to be, but all she felt was relief. Now that he was gone, she felt freer than she had ever been, and the very first thing she'd done with that freedom was get the hell outta dodge. Her dark and ugly past was in that dark and ugly city. Her bright future was supposed to be anywhere else.

She had a whole world at her fingertips, so why would she ever go back to the rotten apple that was Gotham? Because she was born there? She'd been raised there? Because her mother, completely inexplicably, had loved that city? Ha! Of course not.

Sentimentality was the kinda thing that got a girl like her killed running back for something she left behind someplace in the middle of the night, or baselessly believing someone who fucked her over in the past could turn a new leaf. So why in the hell was she going back to Gotham? For one score? It wasn't any better than the DC job she could be pulling right now, just closer.

She could deny it all she wanted. She could pull out any excuse in the book to justify her choice to return. But she knew the real reason she was going back wasn't some ancient treasure in some museum.

It was Gotham.

It was like the city itself was calling her back, drawing her towards it, trying to bring her home—no matter how much she wanted to leave and never think of the grim, grisly town again. It was like, even with Falcone dead and her debts paid, the city still had some kind of hold over her. Even though it had killed her friend, and her mother, and chewed her up and spit her out, she owed it something, somehow.

Less than a year had passed, but a lot of the city had already been rebuilt since the Riddler flooded it. The stadium at Gotham Square Garden had been drained and torn down, but construction had already started on a shiny new one. The sea wall had been the first thing to get fixed, patched first as a stop gap, then rebuilt taller and stronger. Given actual security measures so no one could drown the entire city with seven rental vans and a few homemade explosives ever again.

The fact that it had happened even just the once was a testament to what a shit-hole the city was, and how downright awful the people who lived in it were. Not that Selina needed any more evidence than her own personal experience had already given her. She had known that all her life, it was why she wanted out so badly. And she'd gotten out. She'd had exactly what she wanted after the flood. She was free, and gone, racing away as fast as she could, like a cat outta hell.

Now, here she was, driving back across the Brown Bridge on her motorcycle.

Driving ever closer to the hell of her nightmares.

And yet, rather than feeling like she was a helpless kitten, trapped in a sack and drowning in a river... she felt like she was coming home. Like the city was embracing its prodigal daughter.

It made her stomach turn.

She wouldn't be staying, she told herself. She was only there for that museum exhibit, the Jewels of Jeresta, which was on display at the Gotham History Museum, on loan from a small country in South America whose name she couldn't rightly pronounce. God only knows why anyone would let a valuable treasure like that within a hundred square miles of Gotham City, but she sure as hell wasn't about to let this golden opportunity slip past her. Gotham was her home turf, and she knew that museum top to bottom, backwards and forwards, inside and out.

All she had to do was make sure she didn't run into Vengeance and she would be in and out and gone like a whisper on a breeze before the police knew the treasure was missing. Of course, avoiding the Batman was easier said than done.

Even having met him, the Batman was a mystery to her, almost, but not quite, a myth. They said he was the shadows, that he could be anywhere at any time, and that he knew every single thing that happened in the city of Gotham. And though she knew that wasn't entirely the truth, a part of her, however small, still sort of believed it.

Once, Selina had even heard some batty theory that he was the soul of the city itself, a physical manifestation of it. She had laughed at it then and she laughed at it now. Batman was smart, and strong, and resourceful, but he was just a man. Albeit a strange, obsessive, mysterious man, but a man nonetheless. And she was an expert cat burglar. And Gotham was a big city. Surely, she could hide under his nose for a few short days without too much of a problem.

Once she was in the inner city, she got herself a hotel room. She could afford a pretty swanky one these days, between the money she had stolen from Falcone and the jobs she had pulled while she was away, and she wasn't about to deny herself any luxuries after a lifetime of struggling to get by. As soon as she had her cat taken care of—Patch, the only one she'd been able to take with her—she prepared to case the museum.

Selina already knew all of its standard security measures, of course, this was hardly her first time around the block, but there were bound to be some extra features set in place for the jewels.

There was going to be some big, fancy, charity party at the museum to reveal it. Several of Gotham's elite had already been invited to it, but anyone could buy a ticket, and the proceeds and donations were all split fifty-fifty between a foundation for the cultural restoration of the country who'd loaned the exhibit, and another one for cultural enrichment right there in Gotham. Selina, of course, had bought her ticket online in advance.

A year ago, before the flood, she might have been pretty worried about some of the people there recognizing her, and there was still a decent chance that some would, but since Falcone's death, and the inauguration of Mayor Reál, a lot of the city's old fat cats had been replaced with new ones, ones who wouldn't know her face, or at least not as well. Still, she had decided that a new wig and some heavy contouring were in order.

She had chosen the name Catarina Abbot as her cover, and she'd been practicing a traditional southern belle accent as well. No one would ever suspect it was really her, of that, she was all but certain. Or at least, no one who wasn't already in on the con.

It didn't take her too long to get ready, although the stark contrast between the sleek black gown with its rhinestone trim extending down to her ankles, and the tight club outfits she once wore that never dropped below her mid-thigh, would take a little bit of getting used to. She took a taxi to the museum, stepping out onto the long, maroon carpet that had been laid out from the curb all the way to the front door. Clouds hung low in the sky, but the weather forecast had promised that it wasn't going to rain, and it hadn't yet. Selina wasn't about to start holding her breath for it to stay dry though.

Gotham and rain were like cats and claws, to remove the latter from the former would be inhumane. Gotham needed rain like it needed gargoyles, and lead paint, and the sound of gunshots varying distances away every half-hour. These were the things that made it uniquely Gotham, and not some other urban city that smelled like pollution and hot garbage, and looked haunted beyond belief.

Selina smiled at the news cameras, waved, said nothing. As soon as she was inside, her shoulders drooped with relief. Hopefully the makeup was enough that no one would be able to recognize her in the photos, at least not for long enough that she could make her getaway with the goods. She unconsciously tightened her grip on her clutch purse, her sharp, expertly manicured nails digging into the black satin, and sashayed confidently toward the wall.

The main hall of the museum, where the party was being held, had high, arched ceilings with a row of short, wide, windows at the top of the walls. Colorful paintings of nature by a long dead local artist of some renown hung liberally on the cream colored walls, with little brass plaques next to each, declaring the titles and some commentary of the paintings. In the center of the room, was the same tall, black marble statue that had been installed when the museum first opened, decades ago, of a woman cradling a pair of snarling grotesques like babies in her arms.

If Selina's memory served, there had been quite a lot of controversy around the statue. The artist had been commissioned to create a statue which encapsulated natural history in Gotham, and there had been a minor uproar about what the artist had actually delivered not fitting the bill. The artist had argued intensely in the statue's favor, and in the end, refused to make a new one, but accepted a reduced payment for the commission provided they actually displayed it, and as the museum had not had enough money to hire another sculptor, the statue remained.

It was called Mother Gotham and her Beloved Children, and as the years passed, patrons and employees of the museum alike grew quite fond of the marble woman and her monstrous young. Selina herself had stared at it in awe for nearly an hour when she'd gone on her first field-trip to the museum as a schoolchild. She couldn't help staring at it a little, even now. They sold smaller versions in the museum gift shop, when the museum was actually open—paper-weights and key-chains. Perhaps she should come back during normal hours and buy one.

She tore her gaze away from the statue to take in the crowd of guests. Women in luxurious gowns, and well-dressed men in suits mixed and mingled throughout the room. Many of the men stared at her, even here, but not in quite the same way they did at the Iceberg Lounge. Their lasciviousness, though certainly present, was much better concealed. It was a nice party, after all, and they had to be on their best behavior. A woman in a dark purple gown, one with layers of tulle and ruffled shoulders, stopped Selina to compliment her on her dress.

"It suits your figure so well, dear, wherever did you get it?" the woman asked.

"Versace, I believe," Selina laid the accent on thick, but spoke casually, as if she couldn't be bothered to remember which luxury clothing brand had made the most expensive gown that she had ever worn in her life. "But of course I never wear anything that I haven't had fitted by my personal tailor. I do say, she's an absolute miracle worker."

"I can see that," agreed the woman, looking Selina up and down enviously. "Although with a waistline like yours I'm sure it's not too hard to be. Delia Maracus," she introduced finally, gesturing to herself with one hand, and then to the rest of the museum with the other. "My husband, Simon, is the museum curator."

"Catarina Abbot," Selina introduced, placing a hand delicately over her sternum and tilting her head politely, "Collector of fine things."

"Ooh, well doesn't that title have a nice ring to it," Delia remarked, her golden curls bouncing as she leaned closer with interest and then back again with a gentle shake of her head. "I wish I could call myself something that classy, but all I collect are vintage perfume bottles and dusty old books." She laughed at herself, and Selina smiled gracefully.

"Those things are plenty fine, Miss Delia," she said kindly. "Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, after all. I just so happen to be partial to a cat's eye."

"That's nice of you to say. I've got more of a sheep's eye, most of the time, ha ha." Delia's attention was diverted by something over Selina's shoulder. "Looks like I'm needed elsewhere. It was so lovely meeting you, Miss Abbot, do enjoy the party, won't you."

"Please, Catarina," Selina told her, stepping aside so she could walk past. "And thank you, I intend to."

The Jewels of Jeresta were displayed under bulletproof glass casings in a smaller exhibit room off the main hall, all the way on the far side from the front entrance, and Selina began to make her way toward it as inconspicuously as she could—slowly, keeping to the edges of the floor, smiling politely and making idle small talk with those who approached her, putting forth a concerted effort not to be too reciprocal of their interest in her, so as to discourage them from taking too much of her time.

Then a small voice spoke from behind her. "You look beautiful." Selina turned to see who had spoken, and when she saw him, she blinked in surprise. Though he was quite a bit taller than her, the slope of his shoulders and the angle of his head made him seem slightly smaller than he actually was. His eyes were fixed on her face, but didn't quite meet her own eyes. "My name is Bruce."

"I know who you are, Mr. Wayne," she told him. Reclusive as he was, or had been before she skipped town, everyone in Gotham knew who Bruce Wayne was. She had heard that he'd started making more public appearances ever since the flood, but she definitely hadn't expected to run into him herself during the brief period while she was back in town. He smiled when she spoke, a small, sweet smile, with a hint of humor in it.

"Bruce is fine," he told her, his eyes finally locking on hers for a few seconds before they shifted away. She thought it reminded her of someone else, but wasn't sure. Maybe it was more of a vague aura than an actual person. He certainly had an air about him. "And you are?"

"Catarina Abbot," she said in answer. "You may call me Catarina, if you'd like."

"Catarina," he repeated, and that hint of humor flickered a little brighter behind his blue eyes, like somehow he got the joke, even though there was no way he could have. "That's a lovely name."

"Why, thank you."

"Are you an aficionado of culture, history, or rare and beautiful treasures?" Bruce Wayne asked, swirling the honey-colored drink in his champagne flute. "Or are you just here for the champagne?"

"I have been noted as a collector of fine things," she answered after allowing the joke an airy laugh. "An experience like this one is a fine thing indeed."

"So the treasures, then. Have you seen the exhibit yet?" he asked. "It's quite a sight to behold."

"I've been moseying that way," she admitted. As a guest, she was all but expected to go back and look at the exhibit at least once. There was nothing suspicious about that. "I have been looking forward to it for some time."

"I'd be happy to escort you," he offered, extending an arm for her to take. Though a bit surprised, she accepted, and allowed him to walk her back to the exhibit room where the Jewels of Jeresta were being displayed.

The jewels were breathtaking, and she couldn't wait to steal them. Unfortunately, with Mr. Wayne in the room, watching her with that dopey look on his face, she couldn't look too closely at the security measures without arousing suspicion. Selina made mental notes of the ones she could see without being too obvious about looking. Cameras, of course, motion sensors, the glass casings were sealed against the display podiums, but she couldn't see the release mechanism from where she was standing, and trying to look behind or under would be too obvious.

"Gorgeous aren't they?" Bruce Wayne asked her, and she was struck again by just how soft his voice was. She'd never imagined a billionaire CEO would speak in such gentle tones.

"They are just ravishing," Selina agreed. "Some of the most stunning pieces I have ever laid eyes on. Why, it's a privilege just to look at 'em. I ought to thank the museum curator for his good work."

"I'm sure it was no easy feat, convincing the country of Sanamiguay to loan a collection like this to Gotham," Bruce said. "They've loaned these jewels to museums around the world before, but Gotham's... reputation tends to deter some."

"A reputation well deserved," Selina scoffed, her accent almost, but not quite, slipping as she said it.

"Perhaps," Wayne agreed, nodding and looking back at the jewels behind the bulletproof glass. "But I have faith that Gotham can change. At least, I think it's worth the effort to try."

"Why, Mr. Wayne, you're much more of an optimist than I ever imagined you'd be," Selina remarked. "Listen to you, all starry eyed and dreaming of sunshine."

"Have you lived in Gotham long, Catarina?" he asked. "Judging from your accent, I'm guessing you're not from around here."

"No, I'm from Georgia, the city of Savannah," she told him, "but my family's done business in Gotham since I was a girl. I've seen the city you have faith in, and I wouldn't be so bold as to say that faith is misplaced, but... well, let's just say that I am not of the same opinion."

"I guess you're not entirely wrong to disagree." Wayne shrugged and shifted his weight so he further obscured the camera she was trying to see behind him. "Most people disagree with me. I just don't think everyone should be so quick to write this city off as a lost cause. At the very least, we can have a little hope, can't we?"

"I suppose."

Wayne kept her talking for some time before someone finally interrupted them and dragged the man away, his face scrunching up in displeasure for a moment before he visibly forced a more pleasant expression and allowed them his attention. When the opportunity presented itself, finally, to properly inspect the room, Selina took it. Then she slipped away, out of the exhibit room, and out of the museum, before Wayne tried to engage her again.

It wasn't that she didn't like the man, but he seemed to like her a great deal, and she couldn't afford someone like that getting attached, not when she was planning to disappear without a trace after the job was done. Men with his resources could find her anyway, if she wasn't careful, and in her experience, no matter how polite and seemingly respectful they were, wealthy and influential men could not be trusted.

The next few days, she spent planning her heist. Marking up her entry and exit routes, acquiring or making the necessary tools to enact her plan without any snags. She had every detail accounted for, from the entry to the escape, as meticulous as her pointed nails, and as clear as her objective.

She broke in through one of the high windows, scaling down the wall on a rope she'd tied to the roof. Those windows didn't lock, since they were considered too high up to present a viable security risk. The room with the Jewels of Jeresta had no door, just a wide arched entryway with motion detectors near the floor which activated when the museum closed, but were laughably easy to step over.

Upon inspection, she saw that the sealed glass covers required a key-code to unlock. Lucky for her, she had no intention of unlocking them. She had gotten her hands on a diamond-edged cutter, which she used to slice a circle into the bulletproof glass and reach inside for the jewels. Diamonds really were a girl's best friend.

So far, everything had gone off without a hitch, which of course meant it was time for someone to throw a wrench in her well-oiled machine.

"I'd almost be impressed if I wasn't so disappointed in you, Selina," came a voice from behind her, and she whipped around to see the Batman standing there. "I've already set off the museum's security alarm. The cat's out of the bag. Police are on their way now."

"Then I guess it's time for me to go," she said, snatching up the jewels from the case she'd already opened and sprinting at the Bat. She had hoped that, by rushing him, she could catch him off guard and slip past. She should have known better.

Her back slammed hard against the wooden floor as he hit her in the chest and shoved her down. She was only pinned for a moment before she wriggled out, wrapping her legs around his neck and forcing him sideways before he wrenched her off of him.

They continued their little back and forth with Batman snatching the jewels from her grip one after another and Selina slowly rotating the fight until their positions in the room were switched. Her hands were empty by the time she was on the other side of the archway with her exit route finally clear, at least until the cops arrived. She wished she could nab at least one of those jewels, but if she didn't split now, she'd be caught.

"Thanks for mucking everything up for me again, Vengeance," she sneered at him, and sprinted full-tilt back to the rope she'd climbed in on, scaling it with record speed and cutting it behind her, letting the Batman, who was climbing up after her, fall to the floor. "This was supposed to be easy. Damned Bat."

She wouldn't admit, or even acknowledge, that it had been kind of nice to see him again, despite the circumstances. To see that he hadn't gotten himself killed on his stupid mission just yet, to fight with him, that little back and forth that constituted the first contact she'd had with the man since leaving. No. She was too frustrated to acknowledge any of that.

She ran and leapt across the city rooftops with feline grace, and was halfway down the block before she saw him chasing after her. Apparently the setback of the rope being cut hadn't slowed him down for long. She cursed under her breath and sped up, running as fast as she could as long as she could.

Glancing over her shoulder every few minutes, she kept going, and going, waiting for one of them or the other to trip, let coincidence decide her fate, whether he would catch her and turn her in, or whether she'd escape to steal something else another day.

Finally, she came up against a rooftop with nowhere to go. She couldn't turn, the gap between the roofs on either side was too wide for her to jump it, and she couldn't keep going straight unless she wanted a three story drop into a face-full of sand, broken glass, and whatever other shit ended up on Gotham Beach. Selina skidded to a stop before she accidentally hurled herself over the edge, and looked frantically around for another way out, finding none.

Taking heaving breaths, she tried to recompose herself, and she looked back at the man in pursuit of her. Once he got to her, she'd have to fight her way out again, and she didn't really like her chances, if she was being honest. Her experience and lithe body gave her the edge over a lot of opponents, but not Vengeance. He was bigger, stronger, just as fast, and as much as she hated to admit it, more skilled. His training must've been a lot more extensive than hers.

By the time he reached her, she still hadn't caught her breath, but she stood her ground nonetheless, and lashed out with her nails, aiming for the few square inches of flesh his suit left open. He blocked her easily and countered with a fist, which she narrowly dodged. Their exchange of blows continued, back and forth, a kick blocked, a swipe dodged, an elbow landed, but the recipient recovered quickly.

"You ruined everything!" she complained through labored breaths. "Do you have any idea how much money I would have made on that job?!"

"Is money more important than a nation's cultural treasures?" Batman asked. "More important than your city's reputation?"

"This city's reputation is garbage already," she insisted harshly. "You don't get to decide how I live my life, Vengeance."

"I'm not," he said, dodging another slash of her nails and countering with a sweep of his legs which she somersaulted over before launching herself into his abdomen. "But your life circumstances don't make you above judgment," he grunted, forcing her off of him, "or the law. You're free to do what you want, but not free of consequences."

"You couldn't have left me alone for one damn job?" Stumbling slightly, she regained her footing, but was too winded to attack again. She thought for sure he would be on her as soon as she stopped moving, but he wasn't. He allowed her to catch her breath, his imposing figure blocking any exit, but not making any attempt to catch or cuff her.

"No. Because stopping crime in Gotham is my job."

"Well, you've done your job now, crime stopped," she panted out. "You can go now, unless you plan to put me in handcuffs. That could be fun."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" His voice was as deep and even as it ever was but she would almost think those thin lips of his turned up at the corner, ever so slightly.

"Isn't that what you law enforcement types are into?" she asked, smirking back at him. "If that's what you wanted, you didn't have to go through all this trouble." He took a step forward and she almost took a step back, but she stood her ground.

"You seem... different now," he told her, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully.

"What do you mean?" she asked. He took another step forward, and she straightened her posture, almost daring him to keep closing in on her and see what would happen. He'd already chased her across two and a half miles of rooftops. It was a challenge she knew he'd take.

"Since you've left... you shoulder less," he said. Another step closer, and this time she had to fight herself not to meet him halfway. "Or you carry it differently."

"I like to call it financial security," she purred, then shrugged vaguely before adding, "and the knowledge that the bastard abuser who probably killed my mom, definitely killed my friend, and tried to kill me, is six feet under. I sleep a lot better these days."

"You really feel that much more comfortable knowing he's dead?" Batman asked her, disapproving but obviously unsurprised.

"I really do," she confirmed, and finally took a step his way. The sky was growing lighter, she noticed. The sun would be rising soon. "Don't you sleep better knowing a bastard like that is off the streets?"

"Someone else has already taken his place," came the response, and he took another step. The space between was only a few feet now, but it felt impossibly wide. At the same time, she wanted to close it and wanted him to stay far away. "That's how it goes. A falcon, a penguin, there's always someone that needs to be stopped."

"And a Bat's gonna stop them?" she asked, a light scoff on his name as she edged ever closer, but never quite close enough.

"I'm gonna try," he said. "Although, you certainly don't make it easy."

"Oh, come on, Vengeance, if it was easy, it wouldn't be fun," Selina teased, resting one hand on her waist and reaching the other up to his face. They were so, so close now, almost pressed up against each other. All she had to do was dig her claws into that pale flesh of his face, and she might distract him long enough to disappear. Her internal debate didn't come to any sort of conclusion before he caught her wrist and held it in a firm but gentle grip, rendering the question moot. "You do know what fun is, don't you, Vengeance?"

"I've heard of it," he answered, his voice so deadpan she let out a huff of laughter. Ever so gently, ever so sweetly, she pushed her hand further, caressing the side of his face, his mask, and his own grip loosened, his heavy black glove sliding down her forearm to settle on her bicep. She had to lean back, to look into those sharp, bright eyes of his. Absently, she wondered if he was wearing those strange video contacts he'd had her use to scope out 44 Below. If he was—and he probably was, since he was a paranoid son of a gun—they really weren't visible from the outside.

The sun was rising. Though the sun itself was hidden behind the city's ever-present cloud cover, it bathed the Gotham skyline in a beautiful orange-yellow glow as it crept up over the churning sea. The scene was too perfect, too beautiful, and Vengeance must have thought the same, because as she stood up on her toes, he leaned down to meet her, and their lips pressed together in a kiss, soft, but needy, gentle, but charged with emotion.

She deepened the kiss and he raised no complaints.

Then, finally, after a very long moment, which felt simultaneously like not nearly long enough, they broke apart. He searched her eyes, and she searched his, but what either of them were looking for, Selina didn't know. Then the Batman took a small step back, and released his steadying grip on her arm.

"Don't try to steal the Jewels of Jeresta again," he said firmly.

"What?"

"They should be appreciated through glass, and then returned to their country," he said. "Leave them alone from now on."

Selina looked at him curiously, wondering what was going through that head of his. "Alright," she agreed at length.

"Then go." She blinked at him in shock.

"That's it?" Her shoes clicked against the rooftop to punctuate her surprised step backwards. "You're letting me go? Are you even gonna call the fuzz?"

"I can still change my mind," he reminded her, and that was all the incentive she needed to walk slowly back toward the other edge of the roof and climb carefully down the drainpipe to the ground.

Once safely back on the sidewalk, she took off at a run toward where she'd parked her motorcycle. It was still there, even after several hours, which was a bit of a wonder, given the locale. She straddled it, revved the engine, and took off toward her hotel to pack up and get out of this city once again.

Patch greeted Selina at the door of the hotel room. He meowed softly and she knelt down to stroke the silky fur between his ears. "It's time to leave, again," she told him, stepping past the cat with purpose. She gathered together all her things, and packed them neatly away in her suitcase. This time, when she left Gotham, she really wouldn't be coming back. This time she'd go somewhere farther away, Metropolis maybe, or maybe somewhere even farther than that, like Chicago, or Detroit.

Anywhere but here.

For years Selina had been telling herself that same thing. Anywhere but here.

"Come on, Patch," she said, scooping up the cat once everything else was in her suitcase. He didn't complain when she gently placed him in the cat carrier. He'd always been so well-behaved when it came to traveling. It was what enabled her to take him with her when all the other strays she had taken in had to be left at an animal shelter. "Time to go."

It took one trip to take everything she had down the elevator to check out of the hotel. She secured Patch and her suitcase to her motorcycle, and she was off again, driving down the streets of Gotham, still early enough to beat commuter traffic. Skyscrapers flew past as she rode down the city streets, neon lights blurring in her periphery. Mist from the perpetually damp streets rose up in a plume behind her.

She was ready to leave this god-forsaken city in her rear-view mirror for good this time. Or so she thought.

The sea wall was in her sights, and Selina didn't slow until she'd almost reached Brown Bridge. Then it was looming in front of her, its towers a gateway to a greater world than Gotham, and yet... she veered to a stop, staring at it. She'd told herself that across the bridge was freedom, was a new life, but she'd already crossed it once, and already, she was back on the Gotham side again.

She'd had her freedom, and with it, she had returned home. She had enough money for now to live the life she pleased, to steal what she wanted and make even more without having to worry about resources. Freedom meant she could do or have whatever she wanted.

And yet... all her belongings still fit in a single suitcase.

She could carry everything she owned in the whole world on her motorcycle.

Maybe freedom wasn't packing up and leaving, going somewhere new every week, and never having any place to come home to. Or maybe it was, after all, what did Selina really know about it? She had been trapped under the thumb of rich assholes, of poverty, of debt, fear, and shitty circumstances her entire life. But if it was, maybe that wasn't the kind of freedom she really wanted.

Maybe freedom was traveling the world, stealing what she wanted, and then coming home, to a nice apartment with more than just Patch, who would get lonely all by himself while she was away. She twisted in her seat to look at Patch in his carrier, at the black duffel bag that held all her mortal possessions. His big yellow eyes stared back at her, glistening in the early morning light.

As a kid, living in an orphanage, the thing she'd wanted most in the world was an actual closet, and not a black garbage bag stuffed under her bed. She had wanted to be one of those women she only saw in movies and magazines, with a new dress every day and dozens of pairs of shoes, and jewelry for every occasion. That had been her idea of decadence, of luxury. She owned two pairs of shoes now, six outfits, three wigs, and hardly any jewelry. It wasn't like she couldn't afford it.

Maybe it was time for Selina to try being a pampered house-cat for a while... after all these years of being a stray. If she didn't like it, she could always go back. If she kept running, she might not have this chance again, this chance to have an actual home. Her hands moved before she had consciously made up her mind, revving her motorcycle and making a U-turn back into the city.

She could spend another few nights at a hotel while she looked for apartments, then once she was settled in, she could look for her next score, and it could be anywhere in the world. And when she finished the job, she would have someplace to come back to. Back in Gotham. Back home.

She rode back past the dingy buildings, past the broken signs and flickering lights, past the cracked sidewalks, past the boarded windows. It was a shit-hole of a town, and that would never change, she was sure. But she'd never truly hated Gotham for what it was. It was a filthy, crime-ridden city full of wretched, awful people.

But it was also full of empathy, of compassion. Not from the crime-lords, and gang-bangers, and skeevy, greedy socialites who cared only about themselves, of course. But the general population of Gotham understood better than most that they were all in the same rotting boat. And if that boat was sinking, and lord knew it was sinking, they'd teach each other to swim.

And Selina? She knew how to swim.

Her bike roared down the road as the city began to wake up.

On a rooftop, overlooking the streets, the Batman smiled.

#dc #batman #the batman 2022 #batfam reverse big bang 2023 #batfam big bang #selina kyle #bruce wayne #fic #things i wrote

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qu1cks1lversb1tch · 1 year

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Eddie Munson ✨ Twilight Vampire ✨

Ever look at Eddie and wonder 'What if Carlisle Cullen found him? How would he be doing in the 2000s as a veggie vamp?'

Well, even if you haven't, I have. And now I'm writing these so I can remember to add them to my Wattpad fanfic later on. These are specific to my story and my OC's pronouns/living situation + her relationship with Eddie.

Feel free to use some of these ideas, but please don't post this anywhere else. This is my own hard work

So, first of all, he would totally still smoke weed. Like literally tons of it. Carlisle and the others would hate it because of the smell, but they gave up on getting him to quit after 10 years.

He most definitely kept the hair from the 80s. After he turned, his hair was the one thing he had full control over. Not even Alice could get him to change it.

Would dance in the rain with his mate.

He rips his pants at least once a week just doing dumb shit, like attempting karate kicks and jumping down from trees.

He was destroyed when his van finally took its last ride in the 90's. It hadn't been very old at all, but some things are beyond repair. So he allowed Carlisle to buy him a new one.

That van became his baby.

Despite not needing to have a job, he works at a bar on the edge of Forks. He saves the money so he can eventually paint a sick mural on the side of it.

When hunting, he'll use the five second rule, even though its unnecessary.

"Ooh! Five second rule!" "You realize that mountain lion has been outside its whole life? Its been on the ground before." "Shut up."

He didn't care much for physical touch when he was human, he dislikes it more as a vampire.

On the other hand, he doesn't know what personal space is either.

He always sits as close to his mate as humanly possible. The others find it irritating, but his firey mate thinks its adorable.

She thinks alot of things about him are adorable, and there's a constant argument: "Awww you're so adorable, Ed's." "I'm not adorable... I'm a man."

When his mate tells a funny joke, he almost always falls out of his chair in an exaggerated fashion.

He bought a goldfish in Port Angeles because his mate told him she wanted one when she was younger.

She named it Frito.

He's an absolute menace at red lights. Windows down and music all the way up. Most likely headbanging while his fingers drummed on the steering wheel.

He let's his mate paint his fingernails black.

He also let's her draw on his arms whenever she's anxious.

He took up writing as a stress relief. Sometimes he erases something so hard it tears the paper in half.

He's not big into sports, so while Bella and the others were at baseball, Eddie was in his mates room, watching 'Mean Girls' because that's what she wanted to do.

Both of them were shocked when Bella got home and she was yelling.

Eddie and his mate stayed in Forks.

He hates dressing too flashy, but he'd willingly do it for his girls senior prom. He didn't get to go to his own in his 3rd round of senior year, but he accepted her offer to go.

Even though he hates it when people stare at him.

He teaches her how to play guitar, using a second-hand one from a music store not too far from the bar. It was her nineteenth birthday present and she loved it.

His mate developed a love for playing, very similar to the one he had when he was a teenager.

She surprises him by playing covers of their favorite songs at the bar on Friday nights. She did it just to spend more time with him.

It takes about a year for him to open up to her about the events that led up to the week of his death.

His mate listens quietly, knowing it took a lot to reveal a traumatic event.

Nobody's allowed to touch his hair, except her.

While Ed 1 won't have premarital seggs, Ed 2 and his mate go at it constantly.

Literally, all the damn time.

That kinky bastard.

When she's at work, Eddie stops at the diner to pick up her favorites before walking all the way down the street to the auto repair shop.

He always greets her with a kiss and the bag of food.

They sit and talk on her lunch break.

Bear hugs at random.

He almost died again the first time she wore his hellfire shirt to the bar. He hadn't seen it in a while, but decided it looked good on her.

His wallet carries a picture of them that Alice took when neither of them were paying attention.

He always looks at her as if it was the first time he ever laid eyes on her.

This man-child vampire, loves aquariums.

He always slaps her ass when she walks by.

Pulls her in by the belt loops.

His hand always finds its way to her back pocket whenever they're out together.

Whenever he stays the night during the summer, he insists on tying her shoes before she goes to work.

He takes pinky promises as seriously as one would take an unbreakable vow. He would rather die again than break a pinkie promise.

He doesn't need to sleep, but he pretends to.

Never telling anyone his middle name, so his mate guesses.

"Edward Cornelius Munson?" "Absolutely not, are you even trying?"

She eventually guessed the right middle name after a week. "Edward James Munson?" His silence was enough of an answer.

He hates being called Edward, which only makes her do it more.

Refuses to tell anyone his birthday because it was never celebrated.

Its August 13th.

He's a man... who loves forehead kisses.

MATCHING GUITAR PICK NECKLACES.

When the other Cullen's left, Eddie stayed. He refused to leave his girl the way Ed 1 did.

He doesn't like kids that much, but he's good with them.

A kid waved at him at the aquarium and he casually mentioned how he'd love to maybe adopt a kid or six one day.

"I saw this and thought of you."

Then he hands her a flower 🌼🥺

It was always a different one.

He always tells her how beautiful she looks, even when she's just woken up with unbrushed hair.

He verbally fights with the shifters a lot because the ones that hadn't imprinted were interested in his girl.

They all knew she'd choose Eddie over them. Not because she wanted immortality or because she was scared to die. But because she truly loved him.

He realizes he wants to marry her one night while she's sleeping peacefully.

He wouldn't turn her until she was ready. However long that could be.

He wanted to propose in a meaningful way, but a vampire army put a kink in his plans.

He hates the thought of her being in any danger, so he does the most reasonable thing and doesn't let her leave his side unless its to use the bathroom.

Attempts to teach her DnD after a long day of battle training.

Turns into anything except learning how to play.

After almost losing her, he remembers human lives are short, so he proposes one night before she goes to bed.

She obviously says yes.

They decide to wait a bit before they get married, since Bella's wedding was coming up fast.

The coming months were very busy, so there wasn't much time to plan a wedding.

Finally, in January of 2007 they could begin planning.

Married in October of 2007.

Had their own Renesmee situation with twin boys.

She was turned not long after the birth of their two sons.

Adopted a little girl in February of 2008.

Moved to Alaska.

Lived happily ever after with their three kids.

If this gains any interest, I'll place the fanfic here when its finished!

—A. Barnes / Qu1cks1lversb1tch

#eddie munson #eddie my beloved #stranger things #stranger things headcanons #twilight #twilight headcanon #bella swan #vampire #main character #hybrid child

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paleparearchive · 6 months

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Dress to Rock!

Delacroix's initial 1★ story (1/1)

Location: city (night); entrance (night); atelier (night); Rembrandt, Velazquez, Van Dyck & Rubens' room | Characters: Delacroix, Van Dyck, Rubens, Aoi/MC

Delacroix: Damn, I can't find it anywhere… I've been lookin' everywhere for it, the hell's goin' on!?

Shit, this town ain't rockin'...

—

Delacroix: Dammit. Even if I wanted to go to another city to buy somethin', I can't travel that far…

Aoi: Ah. Delacroix-kun… Is there anything wrong?

Delacroix: Anythin' wrong, ya ask… How could it be otherwise? This town ain't rockin' enough.

Aoi: This town? Did something happen?

Delacroix: It ain't there, it's nowhere to be found!!!

Aoi: U-Uhm, what are you talking about…?

Delacroix: I'm talkin' about clothes, clothes! I can't find my favorite rock clothes anywhere!!!

Aoi: R-Rock clothes, you say… Indeed, I've never seen a store that sells such a thing.

Delacroix: This can't be... This town doesn't know what rock is all about at all!

Aoi: Ah! But if you're looking for clothes…

Delacroix: Aah? What?

Aoi: When it comes to clothes, Van Dyck-kun knows a lot about them, so he might know something about it.

Delacroix: That guy? … Well, I'll just ask him.

—

Delacroix: And that's what I'm sayin'. Got any info?

Van Dyck: Is that really worth worrying about? If you don't have them, why don't you just make them?

Delacroix: Aah…! I didn't know that was possible!!!

Aoi: You mean custom-made?

Van Dyck: That's right. You can design them yourself, or you can leave it all to me. If you want, I can introduce you to a good tailor. I'm always trying to make things beautiful, too.

Delacroix: For real…!? But is it ok?

Van Dyck: It is. No matter how you look at it, your fashion sense isn't going to match my beauty in any way.

Delacroix: Hah? Ya tryin' to pick a fight?

Aoi: D-Delacroix-kun, calm down…

Van Dyck: Hah? There's no way I would do something so unbeautiful.

Delacroix: Watch me, I'll design the most rockin' outfit that will blow your mind!!!

—

Delacroix: Van Dyck, look! These are my rockin' clothes!!!

Van Dyck: What is it so early in the morning? Don't tell me you were up all night drawing…?

Delacroix: That's right! Take these to the tailor right away!

Van Dyck: It's not open yet at this hour... In any case, what's this?

Delacroix: Haaah? No matter how ya look at it, it's rock!

Van Dyck: With all these holes, it's just a rag.

Delacroix: It ain't a rag, ya don't get it! This damaged look's nice, dontcha think!?

Van Dyck: Where!? There isn't even an ounce of beauty in it!!!

Delacroix: Haaaah!?

Rubens: Alright, alright, alright. Both of you, noooo fights in the morning.

Van Dyck: T-Teacher…

Delacroix: I ain't doin' that. I don't give a shit 'bout that, aight?

Van Dyck: Hold on, you! You can't talk that way to Teacher!!!

Rubens: Okay okay, you calm down too, Tony.

Hey, Delacroix-chan.

Delacroix: W-What…?

Rubens: Could you leave this to me? I'll design you an outfit that will suit you perfectly♪

Delacroix: Hah…? But I ain't really into your taste…

Rubens: I told you. It's not about my kind of clothes, but rock clothes that would suit you, Delacroix-chan.

Van Dyck: Y-You would go through all this trouble for a guy like him, Teacher…!? I'm so jealous…!

Rubens: Tony, shut up for a second. This is my attempt to venture into unknown territory♪

Van Dyck: If you say so, Teacher... But I also want you to design clothes that suit me…

Delacroix: … Heh. I'd be interested to see how the clothes will turn out. Fine, I'll leave it to ya.

Rubens: Then it's settled! Fufufu, my arms are trembliiing~♪

Delacroix: I hope ya rock it properly.

(Well… No matter what kind of clothes I get, as long as they rock, it won't be a problem.)

#card tl #card translation #palepare #palette parade #palepare tl #palette parade tl #translation #eugene delacroix #delacroix #1★

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zhangsanjian · 1 year

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Talent

Original Essay

Talent refers to a person's innate performance in a certain aspect beyond the normal level. It is a special ability bestowed by God, and it is also a precious gift given to us by God. Everyone wants this gift, the one-in-a-million, exceptional talent.

Our parents will place this kind of expectation on their children. For example, my child is talented in reading and ranks among the best in grades; My child is socially gifted and eloquent, and often represents the school in various speech competitions; my child is gifted in drawing, lifelike, and always gets good results in painting competitions.

In short, people with talent have a higher probability of success in the struggle of life. But there are also those who are pessimistic that they don't have any talent. In fact, in my opinion, all people have their own unique talents to varying degrees. I even think that being able to sleep soundly anytime and anywhere is also a talent. You must know that many people are facing insomnia.

Confucius said: "When three people walk together, there must be my teacher." In fact, everyone has something worth learning. Talent doesn't sometimes pop out and say, "I'm here, I'm here," it's more like a shy, withdrawn child somewhere in your heart.

Talent does not show up for no reason, or it is extremely difficult for talent to be recognized. It's like a child who is very talented in painting and eventually becomes a world-famous painter. People will say that he is really talented. But if this child fails to become a well-known painter, but engages in other industries and lives an ordinary life, is he living up to his talent? Or is he not talented enough?

You have to ask me: "What talent does Sanjian have?" I really can't seem to answer. Because the world always measures people's talent by their success in an industry. So here I want to discuss with you how to find your talent and grasp it.

I think a word that can be connected with "talent" and is very close is "love". If you love a certain career, you will have the motivation to move forward and be willing to overcome all difficulties for it. I can't imagine your talent isn't something you love. As I said before, love is the driving force of everything. Can you imagine that Beethoven didn't love music or playing the piano? Can you imagine that Van Gogh didn't love painting? Can you imagine Einstein not liking physics? I foolishly think that talent shows that you love something enough, imagine that your talent is not the direction you love, what a sad story that is.

Another possibility is that you don't know or recognize your talent, and you need a guide to lead you to find it. This is "Maxima often exists, but Bole does not often exist", you need a Bole who knows people and supports you.

Often the task of helping us find our talents falls to our parents, and family education is especially important during childhood and adolescence. Parents should give their children more room to choose, instead of forcing them to study extracurricular subjects that they are not interested in. It is difficult to find a way to show their talents. It's more about seeing what the child likes? What are you interested in? What are you willing to spend time on? Maybe you are not talented enough in this area, but you are willing to put in the time, and I think half the battle is done.

Secondly, this heavy responsibility will be passed on to the teachers. Teaching and educating people is to help us broaden our future path in our youth. We have heard too many stories of this sacred profession, the teacher is the one who leads us to grope in the dark cave with the oil lamp. So finding that fiery impulse is the first step to finding talent.

The 10,000-hour rule is a law pointed out by the writer Gladwell in his book "Outliers". "The genius in people's eyes is not extraordinary, but the continuous hard work. Ten thousand hours of tempering is a necessary condition for anyone to become a world-class master from ordinary people." He called this "The 10,000-hour rule". To become an expert in a certain field, it takes 10,000 hours (1.1415525 years), which is calculated proportionally: if you work eight hours a day, five days a week, then it takes at least five years to become an expert in a field.

The most talented sprinter in the world cannot win the honor of Olympic champion without hard training day after day. Just like a flower cannot bloom unless you water it. Use sweat to water your talent, and talent will eventually bloom.

When we find talent, it is more important to cherish our own talent. At this time, someone may refute me, I spent 10,000 hours on one thing, I spent 99% of my efforts, why I didn't see my talent, or I didn't succeed. Then I think 10,000 hours is just a foundation, and what is more important is learning, thinking, and improving. Effort does not necessarily lead to success. Effort only gives you a chance to succeed. If you don't work hard, you will definitely not succeed. If you are just complaining that I have spent 10,000 hours and haven't achieved what we want, then go back to the first question, do you love it. I think if I spend 10,000 hours doing something I like, I think I should be happier, and I will think of ways to do it better. Just like I insist on writing now, I am not saying that I want to be a writer or a novelist, but this thing makes me feel comfortable and makes me realize the meaning of life and life. When I express my emotions and thoughts through words When I come out, I will have a very magical experience and a sense of accomplishment. Here I also hope that you can find a corner that you love and feel comfortable in your work.

I don't know if you have read Wang Anshi's "Injury to Zhongyong". The original gifted child prodigy has become an ordinary person. When we were young, we often saw stories about gifted teenagers who were admitted to Tsinghua University and Peking University at a young age. We saw the beginning of the story, but did not witness the end of the miracle. It is regrettable and unwilling to waste talent, which is why people always measure talent by success, and talent also needs to be persistent.

"Finding one's talent is where one's love lies. Only by working hard and persevering will there be a moment of blooming."

The last thing I want to discuss with you is, what will you do with your talents? Just like I wrote this article, if it can inspire the talents of readers, it is really a great act of kindness. I hope that while I think, I also lead everyone to think together, which can be regarded as relaxation. For example, Olympic athletes win glory for the country, and violinists bring people an unparalleled concert, as if I am listening to Beethoven's piano music when I am writing now.

The ancient and modern sages have used their talents to change our living environment and accept the influence of art. Similarly, our modern people are also benefiting future generations. We should use our talents to give back to the society and the country.

Here I suddenly thought of another topic, because we always say that "the greater the ability, the greater the responsibility", and the more outstanding the talent, the more burdens. Everyone should know that "Heaven is jealous of talents". Extraordinary talents will bring more expectations, and amazing creations may come from unimaginable suffering. You must know that God has given you such a great gift, you must be able to accept it and bear its weight. I hope that all gifted people can bear the burden of life, use their talents and talents to make due contributions to our motherland and society, burn our youth, and realize the value of our lives.

#zhang zhehan #zhang sanjian #word of honor #haizhe #July 23 #2022 #shan he ling #the english translations are machine translated and hence prone to errors

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allzelemonz · 2 years

Text

Spencer Reid X Intersex (he/him) Reader

I Hope you like it! I got a bit distracted and had to leave off sooner than I wanted, but it's still wrapped up with a sweet Spencer. I didn't get to that second part, but know that Spencer will always be there for you.

Most unsubs are specific. Meticulously specific. They have every trait of their victims set in stone. Not this one. This was a broad swinger. The only thing that linked the victims was their identities. Gay, lesbian, trans, non-binary. Anyone within the LGBT+ community was vulnerable.

“The only way we’re catching this guy is if we trap him.” Morgan threw a file folder on the table, a bit frustrated that the team hadn’t gotten anywhere.

“So we need bait.” Prentis chimed in.

“I hate to put a hole in such a well thought through plan, but where are we getting this bait?” Rossi, ever the logical, brought up the flaw.

“One of us could always act.” JJ threw out the idea.

Act. The word sort of echoed in your head.

“I can do it.” You volunteered.

“You’re sure?” Spencer asked. “I mean if you-”

“No, I can do it.” You assured. “I’ll be in the gay bar, I’ll get some little pride flags, I’ll play the part.”

Play the part.

You squirmed, a bit uncomfortable now that you were actually in the bar. The team had narrowed it down, it was one of the only bars in the comfort zone that hadn’t been closed. The killer was most likely already in the crowd. He went after anyone that seemed like they wouldn’t be missed and whoever seemed to display their identities. Every victim had been wearing their pride flag on a necklace, bracelet, or something like that.

So you sat and waited. The yellow flag displayed on your bracelet. It had been a gift from a good friend, you never really had the courage to wear it. But since everyone thought you were playing a part, it was easy to display.

“Hey, handsome.” A guy leaned against the bar next to you. “Wanna dance?”

You looked the guy up and down. Tall, black, very easy on the eyes. Not the unsub, he was nowhere near the profile.

“No, thank you though.” You gave him a smile.

“Come on, I’ll make it worth your while.” He raised an eyebrow.

“Seriously, dude, no.” You said a bit more firmly.

He made to touch you, but you hit his hand away. You stood from the stool and walked out to the back alley of the bar.

“I’m sorry, guys.” You spoke into the earpiece. “He was drawing way too much attention to me, I had to get out of there.”

“It’s alright.” Prentis spoke in your ear. “Didn’t seem like our guy was there. We’ll swing around and pick you up.”

“Yeah, yeah.” You muttered and leaned your head back against the wall of the bar’s exterior.

The surveillance van rumbled into the quiet alley and you watched as the headlights got closer. But something caught your attention in the corner of your eye. You ducked down fast and scrambled behind a dumpster and the gunshots landed all around you.

The team moved fast. They were out of the van, guns raised in a matter of seconds. Morgan used the door as cover and tossed you a gun. You checked it and readied yourself for whatever the next wave of gunfire would bring.

“(Y/n) (Y/l/n) as I live and breathe!” A man, presumably the unsub, shouted.

The voice was vaguely familiar, but you could place it.

“What do you want?” You yelled back.

“You know, I never thought I’d see you repping that flag!” He taunted. “You were always so secretive about what’s in your pants.”

Your breath was caught in your throat. It suddenly felt like that bracelet was burning the circle into your wrist for everyone to see. You vision was blurry and you made yourself drop your gun before you did something stupid.

“What’s wrong, Agent (Y/l/n). Ashamed?” The unsub laughed. “You should be!”

That’s when you heard more gunshots. You could tell it was Hotch that shot first, Morgan followed fast. The two most protective members of your team came to your defense. You tried to focus on the ground in front of you as you heard the team advance on the unsub. Tears began to well just before Reid came into your view, his hands rested on your shoulders.

“It’s okay, they got him.” He glanced over to the team as they put cuffs on the unsub.

Spencer pulled you in for a hug, blocking you from seeing as the team took the guy away.

“Not everybody is the same.” Reid said in a quiet voice. “It doesn’t matter how different you are, or how similar you are, there’s always someone that’ll hate things about you.” Reid gripped a bit tighter. “Around one in one-hundred people are born to be different from the gender binary, you’re not alone and you don’t have to be ashamed.”

You squeezed your eyes shut as the tears came down and you buried your face in Spencer’s shirt. He held you close and waited until Hotch came to get the two of you. Spencer kept his hand intertwined with yours for the drive back to the precinct. He wasn’t letting you go through this alone.

#criminal minds x male reader #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x interesex reader #x reader #x male reader #x interesex reader #spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x male reader #spencer reaid x reader #spencer reid x intersex reader #intersex reader

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crestfallenyh · 3 years

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8:23AM—.

"don't forget to eat something before you leave!"

hongjoong let out a small giggle at the purplish post-it adhered to the pristine surface that the dining table in the middle of your small, practical kitchen was. a cup of tea with milk and —most likely— tons of sugar was also waiting for him and he sleepily rubbed his eyes with the sleeve of his hoodie, his heart slowly warming up when he noticed the lingering essence of the coffee you probably you just had, because you had taken the time to make him a hot drink since you knew he couldn't really drink bitter things.

it was a small detail, and it most definitely had happened in the past, but it still brought the faintest trace of a smile to his lips, smile that didn't go away even as he finished his quick breakfast and got up to get ready for work.

it wasn't usual for him to stay at your place in days where his schedule was packed, because although he liked it a lot more than his own dorm full of noisy (and nosy, too) guys, it was further from the company's building. he could've sacrificed his precious hours of sleep if that meant he could spend some alone time with you, but more often than not he found himself nagged by either you or his members. so the rare moments he could actually get you to himself for an entire night away from everyone else, it was impossible for him not to be happy.

particularly the evening before you had been a lot more cuddly, and the reminiscing feeling of your lips over his and your fingers tracing delicate figures over the exposed skin of his chest still made him tremble. you had warned him though, that you probably wouldn't be there when he woke up because you needed to be at work first thing in the morning, so he wasn't upset. just a little worried, because as he walked by the window, he could see heavy raining hitting the window panes.

not even two steps into the bathroom and an even wider grin settled on his sharp features. almost anywhere he looked, there was a star-shaped, heart-shaped, and even apple-shaped post-it with a cheesy message or a cute drawing in it. from pastel colors to neon shades of orange and green, he couldn't stop looking with wide eyes.

he grasped the closest note to him, which happened to be the one on top of the toothpaste cap. its bright pink color burned in the back of his eyes, yet he still laughed at your attempt of drawing small hearts all over the paper.

"i wanted to wake you up, but you looked like you needed a lot of sleep. see you later?"

he could tell by the way your handwriting looked just a little more smudged with every note he found, that you had had a pretty rushed morning. probably running from here to there, he even wondered if you had overslept and the sole thought made him chuckle. he couldn't stop giggling, thinking you were absolutely adorable.

although he hadn't been awake to say goodbye and wish you a good day properly, he still felt your love through your words and actions. it were things like this, seemingly small but meaningful acts that helped get him through exhaustive hours of recording and producing at the studio, filming new contents and even practicing the group's choreographies, all of it while still being in a good mood only to find you waiting for him at home after you both were done with your day.

he was practically bouncing on his feet as he made his way to the door, picking up an umbrella from the coat rack and folding carefully between his finger one last (or so he thought) note. a blue one, square shaped.

"take this with you, we wouldn't want you to catch a cold ):"

not long after the company's black van stopped in front of your building, the door opening to reveal his teammates and manager waiting for him to get on. he greeted them and soon enough the sound of eight voices overlapped with each other as all of them tried to update him on what happened in his absence. however, san's voice resonated louder from one moment to the other, making him blush and the rest of the members cackle.

"i love you, my moon and stars?"

frozen to the core, hongjoong only could blink one, two, three times in a row. "come again?"

san shrugged and pointed at the back of hongjoong's long trench coat. he hurried to take off the post-it he missed in his rush to get out of your house in time and gave them an embarrassed glare, ignoring the giggling and instead slipping the piece of paper in his pocket. he got his phone out, typing a message and immediately smiling when the delivered and read marks appeared on the screen, one after the other.

"from: hj.

my coat, really? ㅋㅋㅋ i love you too, doll face. thank you for the breakfast and the notes, see you at home yeah? xx"

#this is most definitely not proof-read #pardon me if there's any grammar inaccuracy #i loved writing this tho #ateez fluff #ateez scenarios #hongjoong scenarios #hongjoong fluff #ateez timestamps #hongjoong timestamp

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adamsvanrhijn · 2 years

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I want the Brook+Van Rhijn part of S2 to start with Agnes and Ada doing something typical like Existing In The Drawing Room, or something, chatting about something that seems really routine and passive and At Home and maybe in contrast to a previous more upbeat scene with the Russells, say

and then we turn around and like, Oscar is sitting in a chair in a way that shouldn't be humanly possible looking incredibly bored and mopy and dissatisfied, and Marian is slumped with a book silently fuming even though it has now been weeks and/or months since she was yanked out of eloping at the last minute, and it is IMMEDIATELY made clear that they are both Living Here, not going Anywhere (except work if you are Oscar I suppose), and not at all happy about it.... but if you ask Oscar Everything Is Fine! He Just Didn't Fancy Going Out Today and if you ask Marian she is currently being Kept Prisoner, And It Is Hardly Fair When She Made The Choice Any Young Woman In Her Circumstances Would!

and they all have the most hilariously awkward conversation known to man.

something like this. i would appreciate something like this.

#the gilded age tag

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theidiootti1 · 3 years

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•My Mysterious Scotsman

[Chapter one]

He walked along the dimly lit hallway and looked around. It wasn't anything glorious, really old and poor looking place at the back sides of restless Belfast. Wallpaper or weird looking paint missing from the walls and looked like those had a bit of water damage aswell. The place smelled really badly of mold and old building, and it made his nose to tingle. It Wasn't anything new for him if he remembered the places where he had lived as a kid at the bad parts of his home town. It was too familiar. The young man kept walking silently down the hallway trying to avoid from making any kind of noices as he heard silent mumbling coming from the very end of the hallway. Curiousity killed the cat but he couldn't do anything to his nature, he needed to go closer. The sound of the far coming thunder storm and the rain that was assaulting the roof of the building was just a distant sound somewhere as the young man tried to listen what was going on behind that half closed door. He stopped near to the door looking carefully into dim lit room, he saw two male figures. They probably were arguing , because the way they were standing was radiating something bad. Something dangerous. Something what you don't wanna stick your nose into.

"We can't trust that bastard", the voice crowled at the inside of the room with an deep Irish accent. It must belong to the guy that was basically radiaitinh all the bad vibes around.

"And why is that ?" Came other a bit deeper voice, clearly annoyed to the other males presence

"He is not Irish !" The other one growled again "That's why we can't trust that Scottish brick !" He rised his voice a bit.

"And that is not your goddamn business, Jimmy ?!", the older one who had the deeper voice said, "We need more guys, you understand ?! I do it for the cause, what ever if some motherfucker is not irish ! The cause is more important than that, you understand me do ya ?!" He said with a stern voice. The voice rised the young boys neck hair up.

The younger man listened and suddenly his mood was dragged even more down, as long as he listened. He sighed silently and pulled air in and grapped the handle of the door. He exhaled as he knocked to the door and opened the door little. Both man's eyes shot to him and he suddenly felt really exposed for no reason. His eyes wanted to look anywhere else than to them and in fact he wanted to crawl under the table and hide. Unfortunetly he would not fit under anything in this room. He could run ? Could he ?

"Go back to your work, get out ", said the older one to the other man whos gaze was burning into the dark haired skinny boy who was standing in front of the door. It was one of those "if looks could kill" - looks. He frowned with an killing gaze, but obeyed the order.

"aye." , he said dryly, his voice was dripping poison as he nodded to the older man and started to walk towards the door. When he walked past this silent boy he showed him with his shoulder and went out of the door slamming it shut after him.

The older man sighed and rolled his eyes while rubbing his forehead and his gaze fell back to the boy standing beside the door. The boy who was watching his shoes , with head down and fidgetting with his hands.

"Sorry 'bout that...this weather affects all of us, come sit down mr. Telford.", he said and showed with hand gesture to the chair in front of his desc as he sat back down to his own chair at the opposite side of the table.

Young so said mr. Telford took a step closer to the chair and waited before the older man sat down. Some things that his lovely mother had thaught him. He sat down and suddenly felt like being in headmaster's office. He didn't like that idea. He hated that place and wouldn't like to re visit it.

The older man cleared his throath and the young boy in front of him raised his gaze up from his hands that were resting on his lap. The older man sighed and leaned forward in his chair. Clasping his hands on top of the table top.

"So. How you doing lad ?" He asked, a little bit too friendly that took back the young man for a moment. He didn't know what to answer, he started to play with his fingers again, nervous habit of his.

"you excited about your first big job ?" The older one asked again and the younger nodded lightly, still not able to form actual words.

"That's good, that's good 'cause you know the lads are a bit restless... I don't want you to dissapoint me, aye ?" He asked with an rised brow and tilted head. His gaze was demanding. One of those looks what dad gives to their son.

The young dark haired boy lifted his head up again and nodded, with more confident than before. There wasn't backing down anymore.

"Aye, sir." He said with his deep Scottish brogue that was hard for some to understand. He was really proud of his heritage and wore that with proud. For these mans fightning for the cause. It was hard thing to accept.

The older man nodded aprovingly and stood up, closing his jacket button.

"Great. The other boys are probably waitin' for ya", he said and showed the young man to get up.

He stood up and straightening his jacket a bit.

Still wet from the rainy weather outside, not able to dry out in the wet air of the inside.

"Don't make us regret our choise. ", he said sternly with lifted eyebrow before shoeing the younger man out of his little office kind of room.

The young man stumbled out of the room and once back in the hallway, he leaned to the hallways wall for the moment, gathering his thoughts. That seemed to have spread out like a broken glass bottle pieces. Was this really what he wanted from his life. He was going to do his first blood work for the IRA. He is going to kill someone. Take the life from the person. Was this really the only thing he could do. He was a nerv wreck and he prayed silently for the god not to watch his doings tonight. Suddenly a bit mad shout draw him back to the reality from his too loud thoughts. He shot his gaze to the end of the hallway where a familiar looking face with dark short hair was looking at him from the doorway.

"C'moon Filip, get yer arse back in here", he growled with almost a snarl and get back into the room leaving the door open.

The young man breathed deep and put his hand over the big silver cross that was hanging around his neck. He then took the first steps to his new coming life where he couldn't turn back anymore. This was the day that changes his life for ever.

Filip reached the back room and stepped into the dimly lit garage kind of storage room. There was his other group mates that were chosen for this mission what they got. The plan was simple. "Go there and kill that bastard" like they had said

"What took you so long ?" Asked the group leader, the brains of the mission with an annoyed tone with matching expression on his face.

"Sorry, i was..-", Filip said and stood silently his hands in his jacket pockets

That guy just rolled his eyes and raised his hand to him "save it.. I really don't want to hear it", he said annoyed and looked back to others.

"Our job is simple. We go in there and we make sure that the bastard gets bullet to his brain, end of the story clean and simple", said the other guy beside the leader, leaning over the small table that we all were gathered around

Filip just stood silently a little bit more far away from the table. He knew who was gonna be the one who completes that plan. He started to feel nervous again, the feeling building up slowly the bottom of his stomach and started to build it's home into his body. He wasn't a killer, they say when you first time kill someone your never gonna be the same anymore. It changes you, and the thought of that was turning the young man's stomach upside down.

Why he was there then ? Well. He didn't have a choise, he needed to do this for the sake of his future.

He felt light nudge at his shoulder and came back into the reality once again Suddenly all the eyes were on him and he started to move on his feet with unconfirtable feeling from the stares.

"Did ye hear me ya idiot ?" The leader of the group growled at Filip who was almost shaking at his place, but he had learned to keep the cool expression in the army.

"aye, i did", Filip lied with a slight nod

The man looked him with disbelief and nodded then slowly eyes still on Filip's face looking straight into the man's dark brown eyes with his own green once.

"We don't have changes for this to go south, ye can't go chicken when the moment comes." He said sternly and then the other one rolled the map from the table and put it away.

They started to move outside to the storm that was throwing ruckus at the outside. They all gathered into small van and of they went. Filip sat silently, eyes closed and he preyed in his mind silently. He was asking for forgivness for the things what he is gonna do. He prayed that his mother wouldn't be watching what he was going to do tonight,. He prayed for everything in this world, god he was fucked...

#chibs telford x reader #fanfic #sons of anarchy #chibs x reader #chibs telford #filip telford #filip chibs telford #tommy flanagan #sons of anarchy fic #celebrities #fanfiction

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minaslittleone · 3 years

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Fission & Fusion (Part 2)

Part 1 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Summary: How did the refined and proper Wilhemina Venable end up working for two coked-up tech bros out of the back of a van?

An origin story of sorts, dedicated to the amazing @lucyintheskywithxanax who has developed such a beautiful and nuanced depiction of Mina. This was inspired by her incredible story "And I failed to climb the mountain".

Word count: ~2700

The hours after that were fuzzy. After storming out of her parents house with little more than the bare essentials and no intention of returning Wilhemina didn't really have much of a plan. She had never fantasized about running away as a child, she hadn't even been brave enough to rebel vicariously and yet here she was, with no plan and no where to go. And terrified.

But Wilhemina was nothing if not practical so she sequestered all of those doubts and anxieties down into the deepest corners of her brain to be dealt with later, she told herself. Really to be dealt with never.

Practically speaking, money was her first concern. She knew that her mother's threat to cut her off had not been idle, but she also hoped that her mother would continue to underestimate her long enough that she would be able to clear the remaining funds out of her account before her mother froze it. Her pride raged against the idea of taking the idea of taking the money religiously placed into her "allowance" once a month by her father, hating how spoiled that made her sound and wanting to be free of any lingering ties to her parents. She would have gladly traded every last dime for any other monthly ritual with her father, for anything with him really. But she was a casualty of her parents' failing marriage, the only thing that they hated more than each other was the idea of acknowledging that their marriage had long since fallen apart. Her father avoided the house like the plague, and her by extension, throwing himself deeper and deeper into his professional life to mask the failure of his personal one. And so their relationship had become almost completely transactional, her father attempting to atone for his absence by providing her with everything she could ever dream of, save for the one thing she truly wanted - his affection. But as much as she hated the money and everything it represented, she really wasn't left with much of a choice.

That was how she found herself standing in front of a bank teller at 1:30pm on a Wednesday afternoon, lying through her teeth and praying that her voice wasn't shaking as much as her hands. Exactly how she had got there she wasn't sure - a bus? Surely she hadn't walked this far - she was completely focused on getting what money she could and getting out.

The process was certainly made easier by the fact that she had been coming to this branch since her father had opened the account on her sixteenth birthday. And maybe for once in her life her twisted frame would be an asset - it was difficult to forget a girl her age with flaming red hair and a cane.

So she lied. She told the teller that she was using the money to put towards a car but that her parents were unfortunately too busy to accompany her. That part wasn't even really a lie, her parents were always too busy. Either way the teller didn't seem to see anything unusual about depositing the entire $5000 balance into Wilhemina's hand, before politely wishing her a pleasant day.

She had thought she would feel safer with the money in hand, feel like she had more control over the situation. In fact all it did was make her realise how vulnerable she was. How she would never be able to defend herself if someone decided they wanted to take it from her. Maybe her mother had been right, maybe she really was too broken and useless to survive on her own.

She could feel her heart racing. She had to find somewhere to stay. Find somewhere that she could get off the street. Maybe then she would feel safer. Maybe.

Except she didn't know how long she would need to make that $5000 last. She had no job and had effectively forfeited her degree the minute she walked out her parents' front door. Any future prospects she had were tied to their connections anyway. Oh god, what was she going to do? She had no experience and no qualifications, and any jobs that would have been open to her without those were made impossible by her twisted spine. She wouldn't have been able to stand for long enough to finish a shift as a waitress, let alone carry much whilst also maneuvering her cane.

So she would have to make the money last. At least until she managed to come up with a better plan. Which is how she found herself unpacking her meagre possessions into a battered shell of a room in a run down hotel that offered rooms by the hour. As she eased herself down onto the bed, finally allowing her back some respite after hours on her feet, she reasoned that this was the best choice for now. And she would think of something, this was only temporary.

But it hurt. The adrenaline from her triumphant exit earlier that morning was long gone and now she was left with the painful reality of what life on her own would look like. At the moment it consisted of a sea of mismatched floral patterned fabrics, a green melamine kitchenette and far too many questionable stains.

She felt like she was suffocating, that the battered walls with their pealing wallpaper were steadily encroaching on her, squeezing the last ounces of calm and confidence out of her by force. She had to get out, had to keep moving, had to keep busy lest the reality of her situation catch up to her and drown her in its melancholy.

She burst from the room, shaking fingers struggling clumsily against the lock. She had to get away, to be anywhere but here. Away from the stale smelling room with the pealing wallpaper. Away from the lumpy bed swathed in garish floral covers of questionable cleanliness. Away from the suffocating reminder of how alone she was.

It shouldn't have surprised her that she would end up back in the college library, it's where she spent most of her time any way, finding any excuse she could not to go home. It was quiet and it was safe. Between the warm, dim lighting and the earthy smell of the old wooden shelves and the books themselves Wilhemina finally began to calm. She could feel the tension to funnel out of her trembling fingers, feel heart finally stop racing and draw her first real breath in hours.

She didn't know how long she sat there, not really seeing or hearing the world around her, just being, adjusting. Letting her body and mind begin to come to terms with her situation. Start to reset her parameters and realise that she wasn't going home tonight, that there wasn't a home to go anymore. Perhaps there never had been, not in the ways that mattered.

She was drawn from her haze by the gentle but insistent whispering of her name that indicated that this wasn't the first time the owner had tried to rouse her. As her vision cleared she was met with the kind, if not slightly concerned countenance of her adviser, Professor Thompson.

"Is everything alright, Wilhemina?" She could only nod dumbly in response. "I missed you in class this morning" the older woman added. "I know you said had a specialist appointment and might be late, but I got worried when you never showed up. Did everything go ok?" Wilhemina couldn't find the words to answer, couldn't find a way to explain how her life had been pulled out from under her in the preceding few hours. Her mouth guppied in response, producing several sounds that could have been the start of ideas but nothing intelligible.

Professor Thompson's brow furrowed. Over the years that she had known Wilhemina Venable she had always been impressed by her tenacity. For all this young woman had endured, she had refused to let it define her. She was always the first present in class, sitting front and centre, attention never wavering, even on the days Professor Thompson could see the tell tale signs of pain breaking through her indifferent facade. The tension in her brow and jaw, the twitch of her lips and narrowing of her eyes at each spasm, the shifting in her seat in a desperate effort to find some level of comfort. There was a hardness, a determination in the eyes of that girl which said she refused to give up which was notably absent now, replaced by a glazed, foggy expression that made Professor Thompson's heart hurt.

"Wilhemina," she tried again, "would it be easier if we discussed this in my office?" The redhead's eyes rolled up to meet hers almost drunkenly, obviously still not entirely processing the world around her. She managed a small nod, vacant eyes focusing somewhere in the middle distance. "Here, let me take your bag" she offered, hands floating just beyond Wilhemina's shoulders as the redhead hoisted herself to her feet, swaying slightly as she found some semblance of equilibrium.

Professor Thompson couldn't help but bring a hand to gently cup Wilhemina's upper arm, causing the younger woman to finally meet her gaze. Oh and didn't it just break her heart, the pleading terrified desperation she found in those deep brown eyes. "Come on, dear" she coaxed, "this way."

Wilhemina felt herself start to come back into her own body as she sat in Professor Thompson's office, old worn leather chair beneath her and warm cup of sweetened tea pressed into her trembling hands.

Professor Thompson noticed the change as well. "Easy, dear" she cautioned, as Wilhemina's shaking hands tried to raise the warm mug to her lips. "Are you feeling better?"

"Yes" Wilhemina managed to rasp.

Professor Thompson reached out her hand to rest on Wilhemina's knee, rubbing slow comforting circles. "Do you think you can me what happened? Was it something at your appointment? Do you need another surgery?"

"No" Wilhemina whispered, teeth worrying her bottom lip before lifting her eyes to the older woman, who's warm gaze encouraged her to continue. "The surgeon doesn't want to do anything, doesn't think it's necessary to do anything. My mother on the other hand is not satisfied and won't be until I look *normal*"

"I'm sure she just wants the best for you" the older woman tried.

"She wants me to stop being an embarrassment. She flat out told the surgeon she doesn't care about my pain, she only wants him to fix how hideous I look." It was happening again, Wilhemina realised, the years of repressed pain and frustration spewing out of her unbidden. "The surgeon stopped recommending procedures when I was eighteen because they weren't likely to help but my mother kept insisting because I looked so hideous she couldn't stand it. She put me through years of pain because I was so ugly and she was so ashamed of me." Her voiced cracked as the tears she had tried so hard contain broke free down her cheeks.

"She was trying to do it again" Wilhemina choked. "She was trying to convince him to operate again and I finally told her no."

"And how did she take that?" Professor Thompson asked, almost fearing the answer. Wilhemina let out a self-depricating laugh through her tears, rolling her eyes. "Wilhemina," she added urgently, gently squeezing her knee to get her attention, "she didn't hurt you, did she?"

Wilhemina stopped at that. "Not physically, no." A beat of understanding passed between the two women before Wilhemina continued. "She threw me out, cut me off, told me I was completely on my own unless I agree to have the surgery. Told me I can kiss my degree goodbye." The older woman gasped. "I told her she could have it, I was done with her controlling my life."

Professor Thompson reached out to take Wilhemina's hands, squeezing them in her own. "That was so incredibly brave." Wilhemina let out a wry chuckle "You don't think I'm completely mad?" Another warm squeeze of her hands. "Absolutely not. I think you are so strong."

Wilhemina raised her eyes again to meet those of her professor, searching them for the signs of a lie. Finding none she felt her chin begin to tremble as she fought against the tears.

She lost. The tears came bubbling out of her against her will. Tears for the years of pain she had endured, both physical and emotional, at her mother's hands. Tears for the little girl who spent years in pain trying to convince her parents that it wasn't all in her head. For her childhood that had been stolen from her. For the little girl alone in a hospital, who's parents were far too busy to visit, who was left to rely on nurses for comfort and support. For the twenty four year old woman who had just lost everything.

She curled in on herself as much as her twisted spine would allow, rocking rhythmically backwards and forwards, trying in vain to offer herself some comfort. She felt the chair next to her dip and then she was being cradled in her advisors arms - how embarassing. But try as she might she couldn't quiet the hysterical sobs.

Eventually pulled herself out of the older womans arms, trying to regain some level of dignity. Professor Thompson gave her hands one last squeeze as she let her go.

"We will find a solution to all of this" she assured "but for now all of that can wait. You need to eat and you need to sleep. You must be exhausted" Wilhemina nodded, still frantically pawing at her tear-stained cheeks. There was no point hiding anymore, not after her earlier display.

"Do you have somewhere to stay?" Professor Thompson asked. "You're welcome to my spare room if not"

"No it's fine" Wilhemina replied, glad to avoid imposing on her professor further. "I have a hotel room."

"Ok I'll drive you" Wilhemina tried valiantly to rebuff Professor Thompson's kindness, but the older woman would not be dissuaded. And once Wilhemina realised how dark it had gotten she was secretly grateful.

As the car came to a stop in front what currently passed for Wilhemina's lodgings, Professor Thompson took her hand once more. "After work tomorrow" she pressed "I am picking you up and you are having dinner with me. It will give us a chance to come up with a plan for what happens next. I refuse to see someone as smart and driven as you are, Wilhemina, be sabotaged by negligent parenting. We will figure this out."

Wilhemina couldn't even bring herself to try and rebuff such kindness, for how her heart ached for it. Instead all she could manage was a watery "okay" and tremulous smile. As she walked back to her room she felt lighter than she had all day, tension finally beginning to drain from her body like water trickling down her arms and plummeting from her fingertips.

Exhaustion quickly rose to fill vacancy making her limbs heavy and fingers clumsy. Almost there, she told herself as she struggled with foreign keychain, not much longer. Just inside the door and then you can rest. But try as she might her exhausted mind could not make sense of the lock nor could it co-ordinate her trembling fingers well enough to keep hold of the keys which fell limply to the concrete just beyond her door.

It was as if the universe was laughing at her, she thought, as she gingerly squatted down, bending her legs to compensate for her immobilised spine. After all the humiliation she had endured today she could not be allowed to rest without at least one more reminder of her inadequacy. So fucking useless, the voice in ear chided, so fucking stupid. Hurry up and pick up the god damn keys and open the door like a normal, functional human being. Can you manage that much at least?

And maybe she could have managed it had the hand she extended to reach for her keys not been firmly crushed into the concrete and pulled away from her by a steal-capped boot, upsetting her precarious equilibrium and sending her sprawling face first into the concrete.

"Now, what's a pretty little thing like you doing in a place like this?"

A/N: Ok, so number one - I'm sorry (ducks). I promise I won't hurt her too much. This part wasn't even in my original plan but then the angsty little plot demons took over and here we are. Number two - for those of you who are interested I wrote Professor Thompson with Prof. Stromwell (Holland's character from legally blonde) in mind because I think she is exactly the type of tough but caring person that baby Mina would be drawn to. But also because I'm dying to see Sarah and Holland work on a project together, so this was my own vicarious little head cannon.

#sarah paulson #wilhemina venable #lucyintheskywithxanax #mina #baby mina

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