#where’s dvd in a swim cap when you need her

[parvatisshallow]

This a soccer match or a swimming competition good lord

#where’s dvd in a swim cap when you need her #uswnt

[crystalninjaphoenix]

MerMay Day Thirty-One We End as We Began

The dock is old, the wood rotten, so the woman sits on the shoreline where the land drops off into the sea, her feet dangling in the water. The beach is empty this time of night, with the full moon high above, so there is no one to see her, or the gathering taking place in the water. Even twelve years later, this rocky part of the beach, supposedly closed to the public, is still not well-patrolled.

“Mom! Mom! Look at this!” Sereia ducks underwater and pokes her tail into the air, spinning around and sending drops of water flying everywhere. Eventually she toppled over, surfacing and spitting out water.

“Woohoo! Great job!” The woman applauded. “You’re really getting better!” She looked around the water, seeing if any of the others gathered had noticed her daughter’s stunt. Most of the merms weren’t watching, gathered around and talking in their strange chirping language. Muirin was watching, of course, and clapping to show his sister support. And so was a familiar figure with a clownfish tail.

One of the merms popped up from the water near her legs, startling her. But he smiled, baring shark’s teeth, and started chattering. “Oh...hello,” she said, smiling.

“Heh-lllloh,” the merm repeated, tripping over the word. He bounced in the water, excited. “Hhoh—hhhow errr ooo? Yuh. Yuh-ooo?”

“I’m doing good,” she said, giggling when the merm’s expression lit up. “Sorry, which one are you? You’re a lemon shark...is it Jackie?”

“Ahkee.” Jackie pointed at himself, then around at the various other merms in the water. “Neep. Mereen. Aimisehn. Ai Kase. Kase!” Jackie waved at the clownfish merm, who was resting half out of the water on the dock. He said something in the other language, chattering and clicking rapidly. The other one swam on over.

“Hi Chase,” the woman said, waving.

Chase sank deeper in the water, cheeks turning red enough to be seen clearly even in the moonlight. “Hi Stacy,” he said quietly. Jackie smiled, and disappeared below water. Chase started, and called after him in the clicking merm language.

“Hey, Chase?” Stacy asked. “Do you...want to talk?”

“Um…” Chase sank lower still, so only his head was poking out. “About...what?”

“Well, you know, things.” Stacy shrugged. “Like why you can speak English perfectly but your friends have trouble with it.”

“Oh. Well.” Chase pulled himself out of the water, folding his arms and resting on the shore. “That’s some magic bullshit, I think. Marvin’s spell to temporarily turn me human, like imbued with the knowledge I needed to be human.”

“But it didn’t include pop culture, did it?” Stacy asked, a smile tugging at her lips.

Chase grinned as well. “No, it didn’t. But like, it skipped all the learning process for new languages. I think Schneep actually knows how to speak a bit of a human language, but not English.”

“I see.” Stacy reached over and picked up the small flashlight she’d brought. She flicked it on and cast the circle of light over the waves. It landed on a pair of merms circling one of the dock supports, holding round stones. The one with the silver tail pulled on a mask, turned the stone over in his hands, and suddenly the stone and the bits of glass in the mask lit up, glowing green. Water spouted into the air. The other mimicked the gesture, and a smaller spout flew into the air. The two of them seemed to giggle, then looked over in the direction the light was coming from. They grinned in unison, and two jets of water spurted over to where Stacy was sitting. She shrieked as they hit her.

Chase laughed. “Nice. Very nice.”

“It’s like a super soaker, but without the plastic gun,” she spluttered.

“Fun!” Chase exclaimed. Then his expression suddenly dropped, becoming more serious. “Hey, uh...how’s Jack doing?”

“Roxy says he’s stable. Not much change.” Stacy shrugged. “Of course, my sister is a fish scientist and not a merm doctor, but I think we’d notice if something went wrong.”

“She’s a lot more...nice than the stick-in-the-mud I remember,” Chase remarked.

“Well, she mellowed out a lot after college.” Stacy shone her flashlight out across the water again, this time landing on Muirin, talking to the octopus merm in the chirping language. She figured that the language must’ve been magically transferred to the twins’ brains the moment they were fully submerged for the first time in their life. That was weird, but not as weird as them being half-merm in the first place. She’d always sort of wondered if they’d have some sort of fish qualities, but those qualities never showed up when they were younger. Guess it had to be underwater for that to happen. “Well, at least your friend isn’t hanging out at the Institute anymore.”

“Schneep? Yeah.” Chase glanced over at him. “I think he still kind of wants to, just to make sure Jack is alright, but that place kind of upsets him.” He lowered his voice. “I think he...had a thing with humans in the past. A not-so-nice thing.”

“Hmm? Have you asked him?”

“Well, no. I don’t want to upset him.”

“That’s fair.” Stacy fell silent for a moment, scanning the water with her flashlight a bit more. Sereia was swimming with Jackie, him teaching her some tricks. The two merms by the dock—who she now remembered were Marvin and Jameson—were still practicing their magic tricks, and Muirin and Schneep had gone on to watching Jackie and Sereia race around. “Chase…I do have a question.”

Chase paled, suddenly looking very nervous.

“Why...why haven’t we talked?”

“Um…” Chase slipped back into the water. “What do you mean? Of course we’ve talked.”

“I mean, yeah, you talked to me when you needed help with your friend Jack. But we haven’t really talked.”

“About...about what?”

Stacy laughed. “How about ‘holy shit I still can’t believe I dated a merman’? How about ‘holy shit I had kids with a merman’? Y’know I half-convinced myself that the whole ‘merman’ thing was some sort of grief-stricken hallucination I had after you disappeared. I mean, I still thought about you. I got really into the ocean because of you. And like...now it turns out my kids can become merpeople—merms. And you have all these merm friends and a merm enemy who kidnapped our kids—holy shit to that too, by the way!” Stacy paused. “And in all this, you...you haven’t talked to me. It’s a little...I dunno. You know?”

Chase stared at her, eyes wide. “I...I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I-I didn’t want to make it...weird. You know? Because like, fuck, I mean it’s been twelve years. I don’t know what your life is like now. Maybe you didn’t want to see me! Maybe you even married someone else! And maybe, I dunno...I-I just didn’t want to impose myself, you know? Like, just because I still remember you doesn’t mean you still remember me.” He was slowly sinking into the water with every statement. “I-I mean, it’s a little weird, still coming to the place every year and still holding onto this cap, and I didn’t want—”

“Chase, it’s not weird,” Stacy interrupted. “People still go to the places that were special for them and a partner they really liked. People still hold on to things from that time.”

“But I mean…” He was almost entirely in the water at this point. “Twelve years—”

“C’mon. You fall in love with someone of a different species, you’re gonna keep thinking about them. I’ve kept thinking about…” Stacy trailed off. “If anything, it’s my fault. I never showed up. I left you hanging.”

“Didn’t you move, though?” Chase asked.

“Yeah, my parents found out I got pregnant at seventeen and flipped their shit. But we agreed four years later. By then, I was finishing college. I totally could’ve found a way to meet you, but I didn’t.” Stacy rubbed at her eyes. “And I am so sorry that I never even tried, even if I sort of started to doubt—”

“Look, neither of us expected the move,” Chase said. “That changed everything. And none of it is your fault.”

Stacy smiled sadly. “How about this. I’ll say it’s not my fault, if you say that you’re not weird or imposing.”

“Deal.” Chase offered his hand. Stacy laughed, and shook it. “Do you want to...give it a try again? I mean, it’s okay if you don’t.”

Stacy grinned. “Another try sounds alright. I mean, I’m moving back here anyway so the kids can be close to the ocean. The city has a great aquarium, y’know. But...let’s agree that we’ll be understanding if it doesn’t work out for one of us.”

“That sounds good.” Chase nodded, and looked back out over the water. “We better get started before Sereia and Jackie somehow manage to knock the whole dock down.”

“Hmm, my money’s on your magic friends doing that first.”

“At least we can agree that those guys aren’t the problem,” Chase chuckled, waving over to where Muirin and Schneep were still chatting. “Anyway. Are we going now?”

“Yep.” Stacy stood up, reaching over and grabbing the duffel bag she’d brought. With some light from the flashlight, she unzipped the bag and took a white, a miniature DVD player, and a projector.

“What’d you bring?” Chase asked.

“The Little Mermaid. Figured it was a good place to start. And your friends can have fun yelling about how wrong it is.”

“Oh, they’d like that.” He looked over at the others and yelled something in the merm language, catching everyone’s attention. The whole group swam over to the shore, with Sereia and Muirin climbing out of the water and onto the pebbles.

“Aaa look at me! I’m a fish out of water!” Sereia rolled onto her back and flopped her tail while Muirin giggled.

“Oh no!” Stacy looked mock-shocked. “Well I guess we better rrroll you back in, then!” She started rolling Sereia back towards the water.

“Mom, no, I’m fine!” Sereia protested. Muirin started to laugh harder.

In the water, the merms were jostling for space, chattering to each other. Jackie slapped Marvin with his tail only for Marvin to splash him with a magically-enhanced wave. Jameson was signing at Schneep, nudging him to scoot over. When Schneep refused to move, Jameson ducked underwater and popped up in between Schneep’s arm, ignoring his screeches. Chase just smiled, settling into his spot.

They got the movie rolling easily. Though it was late, the kids were allowed to stay up, since this was a special occasion. Chase explained to the other merms about the movie while they chirped about how different it was than reality, though none of them seemed too bothered by that. The moon rose in the sky, and eventually the movie ended, and all had to part ways. But they all went home feeling content and tired after a long, fun night. 

#jacksepticeye #jacksepticeye fanfiction #jacksepticegos #septic egos #chase brody #jackieboy man #dr schneeplestein #marvin the magnificent #jameson jackson #brigid writes fanfiction #mermay snippets

[amberandmetal]

How to thaw when the ice is in your bones

Request filled: Anonymous said: 2 & 7 with Bucky? Some nighttime cuddling perhaps? :3 “Stay here tonigth?” & “I’ll keep you warm” Square filled: Cuddling for @marvelfluffbingo Pairing: Bucky x Reader Warnings: Smut but not very graphically detailed, angst (mission gone bad and the flashbacks that come with), uhm.. might be some bad language as is standard when I write. I think that is all. If not: let me know. Rating: M Word count: ca 1,5 k Summary: During a mission things goes awry and now you can’t seem to get warm. Bucky, being the sweet thing he is, offers a solution. A/N: I’m actually quite happy with how this turned out, and suprise surprise again it seems like I have written a gender neutral reader. It seems to be my default mode nowadays? So this fic can be read by any gender! Whoop! Also I am not a native speaker, english is my second language and this is unbeta’d so all mistakes are my own!

       ~~~

    The blankets you’d wrapped around your body until you were practically cocooned in them did nothing to counteract the cold in your skin: it had gotten into your bones. You couldn’t hear the TV over the chattering of your teeth or the febrile thu-thump thu-thump behind your ribcage.

    It had been a close call, not that it mattered; you’d had plenty of those, all of you had. But you’d never felt so helpless before.

    The woman, the agent that had gone under right through the ice, you didn’t even know her name. She’d been there one second, gone the next and you hadn’t been able to think, hadn’t been aware of making the decision until you were down there with her, the cold sharp as shards, using your enhanced speed to get to her before the currents took her with them.. She had been breathing when you left but that was also all you knew.

    “Y/n?”

    Your head snapped around so fast you almost fell off the couch, limbs tangled in a dozen or so blankets of various materials and sizes.

    The others were all asleep, the wear after a mission hitting them all hard; except for Steve and Thor who were probably in the gym working out some lingering adrenaline.

    Left awake in the common room were you, and Bucky.

    “What?”

    “You okay?”

    You tried for an easy smile, puzzling together some sort of elaborate lie to tell him so he wouldn’t worry. You’d done this before, you could do it again. It was better this way. There was already enough burden on everyone's shoulders, you didn't want to add to that. You could do this. Just get the words out. That's all. Just settle for a I am fine. Just, get the words out.

    His silver grey eyes looked tired but open with worry and you just deflated- too fucking tired. Too tired to come up with a plausible lie, too tired to act like you were fine; too tired, too cold and too fucking lonely. You averted your eyes, fixing them on the patterns of the floor.

    “I’m cold.”

    You squared your jaw as your neck tensed against the oncoming rush of images. The thick ice above you, the currents pulling you down, down, down, snagging on your feet and making it impossible to kick, superspeed be damned. You couldn’t find the opening where she had fallen through; you’d got her back up, and then.. slipped. Hit the back of your head on the ice on your way down and the few seconds of desorientation was apparently all it took for you to completely lose your bearings. You followed the bubbles from your breath upwards but found nothing but thick ice. You saw your team on the other side, tearing at the hole in the ice, making it bigger, searching for you. You’d tried to scream, tried to remain logical, tried to swim towards them, tried to hold your breath, tried to pound on the ice- anything. It had been so cold, and you just couldn’t get warm.

    “Still feels like you’re in the ice?”

    Still shivering, you nodded.

    You heard some rustling and the sound of fabric against fabric and then a sudden thump.

    “Ever since the serum,” you looked up at Bucky who had removed the back pillows from the couch and scooted in a bit, holding the blanket he’d been wrapped up in high over himself in clear invitation, “I run hot, like crazy hot, so.. if you want..”

    It was frankly adorable how uncertain he looked, and under normal circumstances it was likely you’d be over analyzing this a mile a minute before coming to the conclusion that it was probably a bad idea. But this wasn’t normal circumstances and you’d do just about anything to warm up the ice in your veins. So without a word you untangled from your cocoon and cautiously made your way over to Bucky, nestling in, back to chest and making yourself as small as possible, knees drawn up tight to your body.

    Bucky draped the fabric over you both, tucking it in around your smaller frame and then wrapped his shiny left arm around you; and to your great surprise it was warm. Just as him.

    It was like being hugged by a radiator and you felt your muscles untense just the tiniest bit.

    “Oh, wow. You really weren’t kidding, huh?”, you sighed, eyes closed and the soft quilt pulled up beneath your chin.

    Bucky reached for the remote, pushing replay on the movie and then settled back against you, pulling you close as the notes to the intro rang out through the speakers. It felt weird but.. good, safe.

    “Nah, I really weren’t.”

    He hummed, pushing his face against your neck and you froze for a moment, and a second later so did he.

    “What are you doing?”

    “Enjoying the moment?”

    And you actually managed to laugh at that, an unexpected effervescent sound trilling off your lips.

    “So is this- what? You just-”

    “Can’t we just stick with I like to be close to you and maybe not analyse that right this instant? You’re still shivering, doll, and not in a good way.”

    You snorted, grateful that he managed to not only lighten the mood but distract you from the persistent memories picking your brain apart.

    The shield had almost cracked your skull when it broke through the ice and you had three stitches to prove it, but you were still grateful, for if it hadn't been for Cap and that shield you wouldn’t been here now at all. Still, it was a sound you’d probably never forget. These things had a way of latching on to the very fibers of your mind, etching themselves into the linings of your skull like a morbid cave painting. You shuddered and burrowed closer.

    “Yeah, yeah alright,” you conceded, pushing back, chasing the warmth, “but if you weren’t so damn deliciously warm I’d-”

    “Still be here because of my dashing good looks?”

    You huffed a laugh, snickering under your breath.

    “You’re ridiculous,” you breathed, and added as in afterthought, “don’t ever change that.”

    It was easier being open and stupid about things when you were tired and cold and in the warm arms of one of your favourite people. Even though you might judge yourself for this later on, you knew he wouldn’t.

    He shifted closer, his body curling around yours until his knees nudged the back of yours, a pleased hum in his chest.

    You’d almost fallen asleep when his lips moved behind your ear, his breath a soft thing against your skin.

    “Stay here tonight?”, he let his hand curve around your waist and squeeze lightly, “don't worry.. I’ll keep you warm.”

    You shivered against him, but this time for only the good reasons.

       ~~~

    When your eyes reopened everything went by in a sleep riddled haze; the room was dark save for the light from the DVD menu- and you were the only two left.

    There was only Bucky, warm and hard against you, and hands- his, yours, who knew- in a blurr; asking, squeezing, petting and pulling. Somehow you ended up facing each other and there was something there in his eyes, something only half aware but still asking. You answered not in words, but in touches, tiny little moans that you allowed to slip and the wet slide of your lips against his. He groaned as if in relief and you swallowed every noise down, tugging at him, caressing, pulling the sounds from him to drink down like water.

    He mumbled sweet nothings in your ear, warm metal finding the curves of your body with ease, seeking out all the places that made you light up.

    When you were flush against each other, not a thread between you, he slowly entered you, warming you up from the inside out, thawing you in a rhythm that closely resembled a slow heartbeat, soft and unrushed.

    The heat billowed around you, seemed to come off his body like vapor and it was simultaneously comforting and addictive.

    His arms were tightly wrapped around you and the nails of his right hand bore into your skin, keeping you centered, grounded. He closed his mouth over your shoulder, just at the nape; teeth grazing and rasping over your rapidly heating skin.

    You whimpered, pulling closer and burrowing your face along his neck, the slight stubble rasping your cheek.

    “I got you.” he murmured, and his voice sounded low and rich in your ear.

    There was heat, and sleep addled minds, and roaming hands that never sought permission from their owners- just need beneath a blanket of barely awake; and when he drove you to your peak, pushing you over the edge only to soon follow, you simply shivered in each others arms, shared breaths and soft moans slowly warming you up.

#marvelfluffbingo2019 #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky x reader #bucky imagine #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #the avengers #gender neutral reader

[the-years-between-us]

Lamplighter

Summary: Stella gets a call from Reed directly following the final episode of The Fall S3. (Stella Gibson/Reed Smith)

Chapter Index 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8

Warning: This story contains references and descriptions of self-harm. NC-17.

AN: Thanks as always to @therobbinsnest, @mobygirl21, and @misshadley!

Chapter 3

In the morning, she washes her face at the bathroom sink.

The water is hot as she wipes away the suds foaming from her face scrub, trying to avoid getting anymore in her already stinging eyes. She can feel the ache in her muscles leftover from the day before and perhaps she’ll go back for another, easier, swim this afternoon. Maybe it’ll help. Droplets slide down her wrist leaving goosebumps in their wake, and then they’re all over. Suddenly she catches a full chill that runs up her spine, icy fingers at the base of her skull.

She hates this part, the part where she can’t see, where she’s blind to her surroundings, so she cups her hands taking an extra large handful of water and pours it over over face attempting to wash away the rest of the soap. As she cracks her eyes to see if it worked, she notices that there’s still bits lingering around her hairline, tiny pearling clusters that remain tediously elusive.

And then she stops noticing, quickly turns off the faucet.

Shit.

She swears she hears it, the sound of something - someone - on the stairs. That familiar creak of tired wood bending under the burden of passing travelers. Soft but there. And then there’s her heartbeat and she hears that too.

They’re not one in the same.

She steps back into her bedroom quietly, looks to her bedside table for her weapon. This is stupid, there’s nothing there but if there were, she should open the drawer and grab the gun. But that’s idiotic, she's being irrational. Standing near the door of her bedroom, still as can be, she listens. And then she’s inching forward to look over the threshold and there’s still nothing there.

Absolutely nothing.

She’s becoming paranoid, one of those people who lives alone and panics at every gust of wind against glass. Spector. Fucking asshole. She goes back to the bathroom because she won’t be terrified in her own home. He’s dead, she'd seen the body. He’d taken his life without a second thought, left countless broken in the wake of his cowardice and she refuses to be one of them. Absolute fucking dick.

So she tries to settle her heart with deep breaths, in the nose, out the mouth. She repeats this and returns to her sink, turns on the faucet and tries not to think, tries not to hear, tries to find her inner sanctum no matter how cliche it might sound. There’s just her and the water and this morning. Nothing else.

Testing the water with her hand, she waits a few seconds for it to become hot again and breathes steadily. She does this several times until the hot water burns and stings against her skin. Then she bends her face down to sweep the it across her hairline, does it a few times until she’s sure it must be gone. Sometimes these calming exercises work, sometimes they don’t, but right now she’s feeling a bit of the former as the warm water trails off her chin and down her neck. Lifting her head to look in the mirror, her blood runs cold.

Behind her. Something moves. Something dark clips all too quickly from her line of sight and adrenaline spikes up under skin. She needs her weapon, should have grabbed it. She looks around. Her blow dryer’s no substitute for a gun. Act, she needs to act. Needs to get to her bedside drawer.

Moving to leave, to retrieve it and take care of whoever the hell is in her house, she jumps and stumbles back as the bathroom door slams shut in her face with a loud thud.

The shower curtain rips open next to her, and fuck, she's absolutely fucked. Grabbing for something, her blow dryer, curling iron, anything, she feels a tight fist wrap around her arm and before she can reach it he’s got hold of her.

He’s wearing black, a mask, and he’s much larger than her, stronger, and she’s strong but not this strong. It’s a crushing sort of strength that has her confused and she knows she can injure him if she just gets some leverage but he’s already wrestling her to the ground and fuck, fuck, fuck, how did this happen? Both arms are pinned beside her and the full weight of his body is on her’s in seconds.

Her eyes go watery while her ribs scream under the pressure, she’s not fully healed, it hurts like hell. She can’t breathe.

And then there’s his voice cooing in her ear. Her name slips from his mouth like a lover’s caress and it comes out coddling, patronizing in the face of his complete power over her. Igniting a simultaneous bout of fear and rage she can only think one thing over and over, it's impossible. Blue lips, lifeless eyes, condensation clouded over plastic. She needs to be able to move, why can’t she move?

He’s smiling, she can’t see it but she can tell, gleeful that she’s struggling and wasting her energy. It's useless because he’s settled over her, has her arms fixed to her sides against the tile of her goddamn bathroom floor. His hands are unbelievably strong in their grip, unmoving like stone, painful against her efforts. And then she feels her stomach bottom out, bile rising in her throat as his thumbs abandon the task of keeping her immobile to trace the outer curve of her breasts through her cotton camisole.

“You kept my note.”

She can’t even scream, she's going to be sick.

“He that loves-” one of his hands moves to wrap around her throat.

“-abides not-” squeezing and there's water on her face, her tears.

“-in death.” So tight she thinks this is it and then he eases them, brings his face closer to hers. His lips graze hers and his mouth smells putrid. It is nothing like a kiss.

“It won't save you.”

She jolts violently awake.

Heaving, everything, her whole body. Her heart’s racing and she sits upright, looks around and then collapses back down into her pillows, feels the claminess of sweat cling to her back. Dream, just a dream. Nothing but her subconscious at work, neurons firing, conjuring images. Deep breaths, count backwards from 100, relax.

After a few minutes, she realizes it isn’t working. Too much adrenaline. She turns over to her nightstand and grabs her journal, flipping it open to reveal clean white pages, empty and waiting. Pen hovering in her hand, she considers capping it and stowing it away. This habit doesn’t own her, she doesn’t even know if it helps at this point. But it’s a habit and her habits are torturously hard to break.

And then it hits her, the intense desire to cry washing over her, the burning clench of her throat, needles in her eyes. Not for the first time, she feels distinctly cheated out of the sanctity of this private ritual - it wasn't his to take from her and yet he'd taken it anyway. It’s what makes her touch the pen to paper and wipe her face, shake it off, he can’t have her thoughts and her dreams and her goddamn journal.

Once she’s done jotting down his name too many times for comfort, she knows she won’t sleep here. So, she tucks the leather-bound pages away and throws back the comforter. Pulling on her heavier robe, she brings the phone downstairs and much to her own defeat, checks the locks as she goes.

Since she’s home, Stella will put in a movie that she liked as a child and hopefully fall back to a dreamless sleep on the couch. She doesn’t own many movies because they don’t hold her attention. And when would she ever watch them? But there are a few she keeps stashed in the drawer of her coffee table for nights like this, films that she can tuck around herself and curl up with, pretend that years haven’t passed.

As she inserts the DVD and clicks all of the appropriate buttons to make it work, she settles back into her couch and gathers the squishy throw pillow under her head. The glow of the television proves itself to be a comforting nightlight as she reminds herself not to look for the shadows. Paired with the familiar tune of an overture too picturesque for looming monsters, she thinks that it might just do the trick. Might just drown out the completely normal sounds of her settling flat. Might just wrap her in a fabricated cocoon of safety, a refuge lost at hands of many. Might just lull her into forgetting how much she hates.

Everything.

*

Morning comes and with it a rare cloudless sky. Sun blindly bathes London in a slightly delusional, beautiful display of a spring-like brilliance. A few days out of the year, the city loses itself in a stunning identity crises and this is one of those days.

Lunch finally rolls around without a hint of awkwardness from Reed who is in soaring spirits and looking at her as if she's as bright as the day waiting beyond the restaurant doors. It makes a certain place inside Stella twist uncomfortably and she tells herself to ignore it. Because Reed’s in front of her bursting with positive energy and she knows that's an empirically good thing.

So, she focuses on appreciating the simplicity of listening to Reed rattle on about such wonderfully mundane things as grading systems and classroom space, her excitement over an upcoming meeting, and starting this new position in the following semester. Until then, it sounds like most of her time is filled with ironing out details, shuffling lessons around and preparing the materials she’ll need. Still, Stella can't help but think that listening to her talk about it feels particularly foreign, such a drastic departure from the world they’d been living in. Maybe that’s the whole point.

Definitely the whole the point.

It's better this way. It’s what Stella wants, what they both want. Nevertheless, she can’t shake the sense of loss sinking into her as she sits across the table.  

“I’m slightly terrified of putting them through all of the horrors I experienced in medical school,” Reed laughs, picking at the remains of her salad and pulling Stella back to the conversation. She should be paying attention instead of wandering pointlessly through the minefield laid out conspicuously inside her brain. “But I suppose some of those things are inevitable.”

“Can't be too hard on yourself,” Stella says knowing that regardless of where things ended up while she was drifting, it deserves to be said. “New jobs are always an adjustment, new people, new environment, a lot to take in. It'll take time like anything else.”

Even as the words leave her mouth, they a trail a taste of acid on her tongue. Proverbial wisdoms that everyone is supposed to prescribe, and in turn accept, simply because of their righteousness - not really her thing. Time heal all wounds. Everything comes with time. It’ll take time like anything else. Somewhere down the line these phrases were ordained enduring truths by the masses, difficult to disprove and placid enough to trust. As they roll mockingly through her psyche all she can think is that she’s a hypocrite. Momentarily Stella feels as though she’s let herself down but then a small voice let’s her off the hook. Reminds her that even though none of that morally ambitious philosophy ever rings true for her, Reed is better. Maybe the ‘right’ advice works for her when it’s supposed to.

“I just really want it to go well,” Reed says nodding in agreement, zoning off in the direction of Stella’s shoulder. Stella’s reassurances haven't seemed to phase her either way and Reed’s still nodding slowly, incrementally before she snaps out of it and says. “Suppose I’m nervous…don't need any creeping doubts that this move and everything has all been a massive mistake.”

“It's a big change, doubt tends to follow. Warranted or not,” Stella offers, feeling a bit better about that one. But her concerns over it fade quickly into background noise as Stella vainly attempts to compartmentalize Reed’s statement, brushing off the niggling sensation that she should feel hurt by those last two words.

Massive mistake.

Stella tells herself that they aren't meant for her. But there's another part that immediately decides that she and this big change, potential-massive-mistake, are one in the same. Perhaps it’s an unnecessarily narcissistic jump. If nothing else, the two surely share the same space amongst Reed’s worries.

“Yeah,” Reed replies somberly, and Stella needs to get out of her head and pay attention. Reed’s gone from cheerful to sullen in a matter of seconds and Stella can't quite piece together how that happened. But before she gets the chance to ask, Reed continues. “I've never done anything so drastic without anyone's approval but my own. Seems stupid, I'm a grown woman, I know. I just don't want to give anyone the chance to rub it in my face. Say I told you so.”

“You mean your sister?”

It’s not a terrible guess but Stella must miss the mark by miles because Reed seems taken aback at the suggestion. But then her dark eyes tilt upward, rolling the thought over like she might be considering it anyway. Still nothing. With a brief sigh and firm shake of the head, Reed brings in her shoulders, fortifying herself without realizing, and whatever’s going on in there must have struck a nerve.

“More like my husband.”

Husband, there it is.

“Hmm,” Stella hums in response, an array of several emotions at play.

After all, discovering that Reed’s married isn't entirely a shock to the system, she'd been waiting for this piece of the puzzle, thinking on it. Stella's been with a lot of different kinds of people and even though Reed doesn't necessarily seem married, doesn't quite fit the bill of married woman, she doesn't seem entirely unattached either. And as much as Stella feels like she knows and understands Reed from their shared experiences together, she finds her to be equal parts mystery at times. Like now. Stella's not one for prying, not one to push but this question over Reed’s partner has been playing quietly in the back of her mind perhaps since the day they met. And Stella’s envisioned different scenarios for her - married had been one of them. So even if it's not necessarily a shock, Stella can't deny that she's intensely curious.

“I didn't really mention him at dinner the other night.”

“Or ever.”

“Or ever,” Reed says self-consciously, toying with her hands. “But the separation and the move are a bit one-in-the-same…

“He's not very happy about it,” she concludes and there's a certain harshness to the meeting of her brows.

“Sounds like that might be putting it lightly.”

“You have no idea.”

Reed looks stressed over the thought, eyes downcast, picking at an undeserving nail bed. And while others in Stella's position might feel threatened by this new element at play, shut down or react badly, she remains neutral. Stella’s intrigued, inherently interested in a way that has much more to do with Reed as a person than as a sexual partner.

“Enlighten me.”

“Really?” Reed’s expression is just a step short of wonderment and perhaps it's because she expected Stella to be upset. Perhaps it's because she wants Stella to be upset. Stella really doesn't know, she can only react in accordance with her thoughts, which are pulling in several directions leaving her to waft in the middle.

“Why not?”

“Because,” Reed laughs a little like it should be obvious, and to anyone else it might be. Stella's always been a bit of a masochist.

“I don't mind.”

Reed eyes her curiously before accepting Stella's strange ease with the situation and moving on to explaining herself.

“That night back in Belfast…” Reed shakily starts, struggling to find the phrasing and Stella really doesn’t need an explanation to know the particular night to which she’s referring. “It was like a moment of clarity, I suppose. I don't know how else to describe it. The realization that I'd been trying so hard for so long to be happy in a construct that wasn't working for me. My marriage, that town, even my job… I just realized how desperate I was to get away from there and I guess it blindsided him. Can't really blame him for being upset.”

“So all this time he’s supposed to have thought you were blissfully happy then?” Stella knows the answer even before she asks it, but she does it anyway to make a point.

“Well, no. By the end of things it felt like neither of us were ever home with the girls, and when we were there was so much fighting,” she concedes. And Stella can see just from the change in Reed’s demeanor how much this has been wearing on her. She looks instantly exhausted, barely enough energy to find the right words. But then a strange sort of smile twists at Reed’s lips, one that Stella’s never seen before. “Now it's a different kind of fighting.”

A different kind of fighting? Stella’s so distracted by Reed’s expression that she can barely keep up. And then it clicks. The smirk. The husband. The fact that Reed’s sitting here with Stella.

“Because he wants to work it out?” Reed nods in the affirmative. “And you don't.”

It's not a question but maybe it should be.

“I think he thinks he wants to work it out…” Reed responds warily and the assessment makes sense to Stella because she's met many men that don't like to lose what's theirs. So many of them have passed through her life over the years, most of them never realizing the true value of what they're fighting for.

“I don't know. I'm questioning so many things right now,” Reed laughs at herself pitifully and Stella waits for her to elaborate. “He says he wants to find a place down here, find a new job, find a way to ‘fix things.’ I never thought he'd leave that job, not in a million years. And he says he doesn't want to be so far from the girls but he's never really shown up on their behalf in recent years. Truthfully, I thought it was all bullshit,” she says rubbing at a spot on her forehead. Stella wonders who Reed’s been leaning on. If it's her sister. If so, Stella wonders what Lydia makes of all this. “But he’s picking them up tonight after school and he says he's looking at a few places over the weekend with them so I don't really know what to think anymore…

“I'm sorry I shouldn't be telling you all this. My life is a disaster.”

“No it's not.”

“Still, I shouldn't be bothering you with it.”

“You can talk to me about him, I don't mind. I can't promise an unbiased opinion but the offer stands.”

Reed smiles and holds her eyes. “Well, thank you.” A mixture of warmth and relief lingers in her gaze now and it's much better than the strain there just moments ago. But then Reed sighs and it sounds less like a release and more like a groan of frustration. “Anyway, the point is that he's already angry, I don't need to give him any more ammunition.”

Stella immediately has a lot of thoughts, a lot of things she could say, but there's really only one that Reed needs to hear right now. “You're going to be brilliant. And even if it all goes horribly wrong, you don't have to justify yourself to anyone - not to him, not to me, not to your sister. Your choices are yours and no one else's. There's nothing wrong with owning all the parts of yourself.”

“Even the shit parts?”

“You don't have any.”

“You just haven't seen them yet.”

As Reed looks at her playfully, Stella’s mobile begins ringing and she has no idea who to expect. But once she fishes it from her coat pocket, she recognizes that it's work and her heart picks up the pace just at the sight. “I have to get this,” she says meeting Reed’s eyes briefly before hitting the accept button.

“Gibson.”

“DC Hollins, mam. I've been instructed to call and notify you that there's been a break in the Sophia Nichols case. CS Spencer and DSI Westfield are requesting your presence for an interview as soon as possible.”

“I can be there in 20 minutes.”

“I'll let them know, mam.”

“Thank you.”

“Work?”

“Seems I have to go,” she says already in motion, retrieving a few notes from her wallet and setting them down on the table. She should stop at home, there are a few things there that she'd like to have before going into the office but it sounds like time was of the essence, she'll have to make do. “Sorry to cut things short.”

“Don't worry about it, I hope it's nothing too serious.”

“I’ll know when I get there,” she says, doing up a few buttons on her coat. She has the inclination to elaborate but stops herself because they no longer work together and it’s going to take some active severing to remove Reed from that line of thinking. Then Stella’s grabbing her purse and normally she wouldn't feel too bad about something like this, leaving unexpectedly, comes with the territory. But suddenly she feels remorseful. “Good luck with your meeting, I'll call you.”

Reed smiles and nods watching Stella leave.

*

“Well, well, well. Look who's back in action,” Westfield says as she pushes through the doors striding toward him with purpose. A swift cloud of rumbling thunder, lightning crackling every step of the way just knowing she's been allowed back a day or two early. She would have been fine, she would have made it but she's glad she doesn't have to.

“It's good to be back,” she says her coat already halfway off and hanging over one arm, an evident swing of her hips and set of her shoulders that hasn't been there in some time. Looking around at the handful of colleagues working the case in her absence, she finds them convened in a conference room waiting for her. Sophia’s case had been fairly high profile when it broke, crimes against a politician’s daughter tend to have that effect, and Stella knows the details better than anyone. They didn't necessarily have to call her in but looking around, they appear grateful to see her there.

“Hollins, get DSI Gibson setup to listen in on interview 5, they should have cleared it by now for us. The suspect is in holding but they can bring him in,” Spencer tells Hollins, who nods and gives Stella a slight smile as she leaves to follow her instructions. Then Stella’s boss approaches her, “I’d apologize for calling you in but I hear we're having trouble keeping you away.”

The look Spencer gives her is admonishing and amused in the same breath, and all Stella can do in response is shrug her shoulders, a small lift of her brow that says, you should have known. Having worked under Spencer for some time, Stella knows that she likes the woman. Although they have their differences and aren't particularly close, they have a firm understanding of each other that works in this professional capacity.

“The Smithe kid just got picked up on drug charges in the east end. Now that we've got him here, we need to find out what he knows about the night Sophia went missing.”

“Understood,” Stella says thinking that she needs to swing back to her desk first and collect a copy of the casefile. It had been hot and cold for over a year now and even though she knows it like the back of her hand, it still feels like it’s been ages since she worked on it with any sort of devotion.

“Here you go,” and like clockwork, James Colgan arrives at her side with a small stack of paper.

“Thank you,” she says while an overwhelming sense of gratitude for him blooms beneath her chest. “Are you conducting the interview?”

“Yes, mam.”

“Good.”

Then James is walking away to the interview room and Stella thumbs briefly through the files he'd handed her.

“Shall we?” asks Westfield and Stella hadn't noticed that he'd stuck around but there he is, beckoning her to follow him. Would he be listening in with her? Of course he would, he's taken lead on the case while she was gone, naturally he would be there. It's fine. So she shuffles her files back into place and nods, leaving the room and turning down the hall. She doesn't wait for him, maybe it's rude but she's not terribly interested in making nice with the man. When he'd transferred in, he'd stuck out to her immediately and not necessarily in a good way. But he's the relentless type so he jogs a few paces to catch up with her.

“Good to have you back behind the wheel,” he says approaching and falling into step. She nods appreciatively but says nothing, which is apparently a mistake. “You look great.”

It's a prime example of why she's not terribly fond of being left alone with him. It's harmless enough but wearisome, inappropriate.

“I look the same.”

“Well you've always looked great.”

She tries very hard not to roll her eyes as they join the others in the observation room.

*

As Reed saunters back to their table, Stella can't help but notice how entirely fuckable she looks.

After hours stuck in that interview listening to their lead suspect prove completely invaluable, Stella was ready for a drink so she'd phoned Reed. Twenty minutes later they'd ended up at some place around the corner from Reed’s flat - well, her sister’s flat - that Reed very worriedly told her over the phone probably wasn't “her scene.” Immediately intrigued, Stella asked for the address so they could meet there. The temptation to discover what Reed deemed unsuitable for her based on their nights consisting of too many cups of stale coffee was almost irresistible. And while Reed wasn't entirely wrong, this place is one step up from a university basement party, it’s also as good a place as any to get properly drunk on a Friday night. Amongst the kaleidoscope of colored lights whirling over moving bodies, they'd managed to snag a small table against the wall and Stella's already thrown back one tequila soda as Reed returns with two more.

“Thought you were a whiskey girl,” Reed had said with an impressed eyebrow when Stella first ordered it from the bar.

Stella responded with a purposely vague “I am many things,” eyeing the bartender with a look that commanded attention.

But it’s true, she normally doesn’t touch tequila. Tonight however is an exception because they’re in a dive bar and one look at Reed’s outfit told her she’d need it. Having got there a few minutes before Reed, Stella scoped out their little hole-in-the-wall. Glancing around she had to admit the place had a decent vibe and at least there wasn’t underwear hanging from the ceiling, so she made her way to the bar. Thankfully before she could order, she’d heard the tell-tale “Hey” of Reed’s voice behind her and that’s when she saw it, the leather skirt that took Reed from fuckable to entirely fuckable in two seconds flat. It was black and shiny and looked remarkably different from the ones Stella wore - actually it could be exactly the same and it wouldn’t make a bit of difference. Because Stella’s immediate inclination to drag Reed out of here in favor of a flat surface is more about the entire picture it paints. A dusky silhouette involving a pair of over-the-knee boots and low-cut blouse. Flowy twilight material that attracts ships to shore. It makes her look like she invented sex, orchestrated the whole thing for the sole purpose of publicly embarrassing Stella. But she stands there innocently, waiting for Stella to form any sort of  intelligible response beyond “Hello.” When nothing else comes, Reed flushes a little under her fuckstruck gaze and passes it all off as an excuse for her first “legitimate night out in years,” which falls on Stella’s distractedly deaf ears.

So tequila it is.

And as Reed returns from grabbing their second set of drinks, Stella listens to the pulsing music around her and lets the liquor do its job, tries to find that quiet place inside where things don’t phase her. Leather included. But then Reed’s there next to her, putting down two glasses of vaguely amber-colored liquid on the table and bringing her hands to her thighs, adjusting the fit of the skirt against her hips. The leather pulls and stretches over the curve of her ass in a way that has Stella royally screwed, so fucking screwed.

So she reaches for a glass and swallows.

And when Reed’s done pulling at her clothes, she sits down and angles herself towards Stella, leaning in enough that the lace of her bra flirts with the dangerously low neckline of that top. It's black, some delicate expensive thing no doubt. Not that she cares. She's trying to be immune, she needs survive the next few hours in order to appreciate it properly later on. So she tears her eyes up only to see Reed trying and failing to hide her amusement with Stella’s not so subtle staring.

“Let's play a game.”

A game? Stella's not one for games, not one to entertain diversions that serve no purpose, she doesn't have the patience for it. She’s also not one for exhibitions of unbridled playfulness, that much she thought was obvious. Thinking back on it, she can’t remember the last time she played a game that wasn’t for the sake of occupying a child. That’s who games are for, not adults. But here they are, at a bar of all places and Reed wants to play a game. It’s got Stella immediately unnerved because Reed’s buoying in the surf of her night-off high. She's glittering from the inside out and it would be a shame to steal the stardust from her eyes. Red light keeps washing over her features in the most attractive way making everything go vividly monochromatic. And she’s looking at Stella with barely bated anticipation. It's really not fair. Stella's not sure what she’s willing to agree to if it means preserving the air around her.

So she's sips on her drink long enough to pin Reed with a skeptical stare and throws out a noncommittal, “Depends on the game.”

“20 questions.”

Still fresh in her mind, Stella can't help but think back to the hospital, that kind doctor who'd essentially asked her to do the same thing, using her head injury as an excuse. Open-endedly agreeing to reveal things about herself was decidedly not something she’d ever enjoyed. It left her feeling raw, exposed in a way that she’d rather avoid. But at the time, she’d been too tired to fight him over it. She's not feeling tired now.

“Tempting but no.”

“Oh, come on!”

“Tell me, how exactly does this even constitute a game?”

“Fair point,” Reed concedes, considering the counter argument and biting the bottom of her lip - also startlingly unfair. Reed must strike gold there because she looks up with a plan already set in motion. “How about for every question you answer, I'll buy you a shot.”

“You're going to buy me twenty shots?” Stella spars back, blowing holes in that deal before it could go very far. If she were a different sort of person maybe ‘games’ like this wouldn’t be so difficult for her, maybe she’d find them entertaining, enjoyable even. Maybe Reed wouldn’t be so exasperated. Maybe.

“Fine, it doesn’t have to be twenty.”

Stella looks at her plainly then, finds her hopeful expression endearing. Soft brown pleading eyes, an enticing please etched in the gilded flecks there. Taking her in, Stella realizes that she wants to give Reed certain things. She wants to give her answers if she needs them. Not to everything and not all at once, but some things. She wants to give her fears a rest, wants to let Reed forget the worries resting with her at night. She wants to give her a good night-out. She wants to give her fun if that’s what her life’s been lacking.

And why this is Reed’s definition of fun, Stella cannot reason. But a few questions won’t kill her. Aided by alcohol, she might even find a way to not hate it. Besides, questions are questions, nothing more. She is in control of the important part, she can reveal or not reveal whatever she chooses.

She caves.

“5 shots, 5 questions,” she says rather unenthusiastically. “Choose wisely.”

Reed assess Stella’s pared down concession with a calculating expression, weighing her options. “You’re quite the negotiator.”

“Limited time offer.”

Without another word, Reed’s back up and off to the bar giving Stella a smirk over the shoulder and quite the view as she goes. Once she disappears behind the anonymous crowd, Stella’s left to herself again, left to wonder what on earth she’s just gotten herself into. Hopefully Reed’s intuitive enough to analyze the setting, to know not to ask certain things in public. But there’s a deep fear seeding in Stella’s stomach, fear that this is nothing more than a ruse for Reed to ask about things Stella would rather leave unsaid. Reed wouldn’t do that, she reasons. Remembering the scratches and the scars, Reed knows Stella doesn’t like that sort of thing.

Before she can get too worked up over it, Reed’s back with the assistance of a small tray and five inconspicuous shot glasses filled moderately with tequila. Taking her seat, Reed unceremoniously sets one in front of Stella spilling a bit of it down the side.

“First question, are you ready?”

Yes. Looking at the shot and casting away the voice that tells her this is a bad idea, she decides it’s Game On. She can talk about herself without the world swallowing her whole. It’s just Reed.

In a sleazy bar. Looking happy.

She can do this.

“What’s your sign?” she asks with a tickled expression and Stella falters, not understanding the question and suddenly it feels like this is all a joke that she doesn’t get. Her jaw tilts inquiringly in Reed’s direction until Reed elaborates, “Astrological sign.”

“Seriously?” Reed looks at her pointedly as if she should've known it would be like this. Silly questions. Nothing too painful. Fun. Stella sighs and tries to find groove in herself where she can sit comfortably, play along, release her defensiveness over something so frivolous. She tries but she’s not sure it works. “Scorpio.”

“See, that wasn't so hard,” she says giving Stella’s first shot a little nudge, here's the reward for your bravery. Stella picks it up as Reed muses, “Scorpio… That’s the Scorpion, right?” Stella nods lifting the small glass to her lips and Reed gives her an appraising look. “Who's surprised?”

“No one,” she scoffs before throwing it back with ease and letting the warm liquid burn down her throat. She doesn't drink tequila often and she doesn't take shots often, but she knows how to put away liquor cleanly. Reed holds out a lime wedge for her and Stella looks at it baffled once more.

“It's supposed to help.”

She waves it off as if Reed had just offered her a tic-tac. “What're you?”

“Aries - the ram. I don’t actually know much about all that except I’m fairly certain that we’re intensely incompatible. Fire and water,” Reed says, amused with their cosmic rebellion.

“Figures.”

“Alright,” she says sliding the next shot glass in front of Stella, shifting in her seat to gear up for the next question, a childlike excitement taking over. Stella finds herself torn between thinking it's adorable and wanting to kiss her. Not mutually exclusive feelings, true, but she’s still a little wary about the questions to come, would like to retain her guard until it’s over. It’d be easier to keep up if Stella didn’t get carried away by the sight of her every five fucking minutes. Four questions to go. Four questions and the first was easy enough. She implores herself to find enough patience to get through this gracefully. “Favorite book?”

“The Lighthouse.” Done. Two down, three to go and without hesitation she throws back the second shot. It goes down a little raw and makes her wish she had some water. She clears her throat.

“I've never read it.”

“Have you ever read Virginia Woolf?”

“No.”

“She's not for everyone.”

“Anything worth reading rarely is.”

“Touché,” Stella admits before placing the next shot in front of Reed. Comically, Reed lifts her eyebrows in a theatrical display of bemusement. “If you don't want me completely useless later…” Stella reasons simply, letting her voice trail off in a way that sets implications in motion, running wild into the depths of Reed’s dilating stare.

“Fine,” She says taking the shot in her nimble fingers. Assessing it quickly, she drains it in one go and reaches for the lime with a sour face. It does the trick Stella notices and Reed powers through, looking at her with question number three locked and loaded. “Favorite spot in London?”

“Kew Gardens.”

“That’s such a cop-out, everybody loves Kew.”

“I can't be blamed if the masses get it right on occasion.”

“I can’t believe I just took a shot for ‘Kew Gardens.’”

“Alright,” Stella acquiesces and runs through the spots she likes best, the places that bring her peace. “Sometimes I like to wander the south bank. Usually at night, it quiets my mind.”

“I can live with that. It’s beautiful there,” Reed accepts lifting the fourth shot to its rightful place in front of Stella. Then she eyes her a bit too long, eyes smirking, and angling forward. The fourth question sits on her lips, flickering there in the charged air between them. Stella begins to lose interest in whatever it might be, finds her attention drifting to Reed’s mouth instead, a much more promising reward waiting there. “What’s your favorite kind of lingerie?”

“The kind that’s on the floor,” she fires moving her stare to Reed’s darkening eyes. And it’s the kind of answer that puts the power back in her court because she’s let Reed have it long enough, leather skirt and tequila shots and everything else. Stella wants it back, needs it back in order to feel herself again under the haze of hard liquor in her blood. And she likes the rush of making Reed squirm a little, how she’s doing now, flushed and mouth poised to say something, arrestingly unable to do so. Pleased, Stella takes her shot and puts it away, wipes at the moisture lingering on her lips. “Alright, last one. Make it good.”

Reed’s no fool, she knows Stella’s distracting her on purpose. So under Stella’s instruction, she rises to the occasion and makes it a good one. “Strangest place you’ve ever had sex?”

Stella’s first inclination is that her answer might be disappointing. Control is a decent part of her sexual makeup. She likes the freedom to set her own rules, doesn’t enjoy being limited by her environment. Of course there’s the exceptions, the thrill of semi-public spaces and she runs through her mental catalogue of what might constitute as the strangest.

She finally settles on, “Classroom,” and Reed looks immediately concerned or maybe it’s startled. “University, don’t worry.”

“With who?”

“I believe I fulfilled the requirement of answering, which means it’s time for you,” she points at the shot glass.

“As an upcoming professor, I need to know how to keep kids from screwing on my desk. Your first hand account could prove very useful,” she says teasingly.

“I agreed to five questions and five questions only.” Reed looks at her as if she’s trying to decide whether to push her on it or not. It’s a risky sort of look, a bit flirtatious. Stella finds it charming and takes pity on her. This particular encounter isn’t something she keeps that close to the vest anyway. A fling.

“He was my literature professor. It happened a handful of times.”

“Your professor?” she asks even more shocked this go round. Seems she was expecting a stolen moment in an empty classroom with a boyfriend, or girlfriend, after a long day of studying. Something quick and reckless, and well maybe it was those things but it was also something else. “In his classroom?” “Not always.”

“How old was he?”

“Old enough.”

“How old were you?” “Also old enough.”

“How long did it go on?”

“Drink that and I’ll tell you.”

Eager to hear, Reed brings the forgotten shot to her lips and tilts her head back, a black wave of hair sweeping heavily around her shoulders as she does so. It gives Stella a moment to appreciate the cinnamon slope of her neck as she swallows, a peek of purple from their night together revealing itself in a blaze of blue light. Everything about Reed evokes the dramatic imagery of slow motion, moonlit tides ebbing and flowing, pretty silks slipping over skin. Cinematic effigies coming to life before her at a water stained table in a shitty bar.

And then Reed rights herself, letting the black veil fall messily around her face. Shuddering discretely, she brings the lime to her lips and sets the glass down. Back to business. “Alright, how long?”

Stella scoots in a bit closer so that their knees knock clumsily against each other. Beckoning her forward with a siren’s gaze, Stella leans in to whisper the answer. Reed draws unassumingly near, takes the bait without a second thought before Stella slyly redirects course and aims for her mouth instead. Instinctively yielding, Reed meets her in a surprisingly open-mouthed kiss, an accidental greeting as if they’d just bumped into each other. Funny running into you here. And they stay like that for a moment until Stella moves her tongue to delicately capture Reed’s bottom lip. For a moment Stella thinks she’s stunned Reed into stillness, a bit like their first kiss, but then she’s there warm and buzzing. Blood thick with alcohol, Reed molds like hot steel under her touch, opening further and seeking a more intimate fit against Stella’s mouth. A matchstick at the mercy of her lips, suddenly willing to light, a simple strike. And with a rush of arousal, it makes Stella feel distinctly powerful to have such an immediate and desired effect on her.

In public.

After all, that was the goal, she won’t deny it. So she takes advantage by slowly sweeping her tongue in broad unrushed strokes along the inside of Reed’s mouth, enjoying the echo of lime in the small sounds she uncovers there. Maybe lime with tequila isn’t so bad after all. Mixed with the salted taste of Reed’s tongue, it tastes pretty fucking good.

Then Reed’s hand rises to Stella’s cheek and gently urges her closer, apparently unhindered by the fact that they’re in a crowded bar. And that’s fine because despite the music reverberating off the walls, the dreamy fire she finds in Reed’s kiss starts to make Stella forget the bar all together. It has her breathing in sparks and breathing out smoke, lost in the feel of discovering her this way, methodically, sand slipping through the hourglass as the seconds stretch blissfully around them.

Stella sometimes has moments like this with Reed, ephemeral moments that draw her out of herself and into something else. Intoxicating and short-lived. They scare the shit out of her. At least the liquor dulls the fear inching up her skin as she realizes it this time. But it’s still there, even as Reed writes letters of adoration with softness of her sighs, lingering in a way that makes Stella think she should be more careful. Because she’s coming off a hard case, her worst in some time and she can feel herself disappearing in this woman. Swept from the shore, the horizon shrinking at an alarming rate.

It’s enough to have her finally pull away, one lasting drag of her lips over Reed’s, lungs searching for air.

“Long enough,” she whispers, taking in Reed’s dazedly hooded eyes and the swell of her lips. Reed tilts her head, confused and clearly forgotten what they were talking about. Then Stella brings her hand to rest on her thigh with a gentle rub of affection, an apology for seducing her out of an answer, and returns to her drink.

Then she sees a man staring.

Clearly he'd been watching them, the heat of their moment reflected back at her in his eyes. Stella sips her drink and stares back unflinchingly, the sort of direct stare that makes most men run from the don't fuck with me message it projects. Holding him there, she sizes him up - mid-thirties, relatively attractive and surrounded by a group of similar idiots trying to get his attention. A few of them look over in her direction and notice Reed before nudging their voyeuristic friend encouragingly. So fucking moronic.

“What's wrong?” Reed asks picking up on the shift in Stella’s stance and following her gaze to the inept man now walking towards them. “Do you know him?”

“No and I don't care to.”

“Seems he thinks otherwise.”

“Strange how that happens.”

“Good even ladies,” he says putting his glass down on their table and settling into their space, making himself comfortable, eyes trained on Stella. “I'm Adam.”

She won't deny that he's handsome, even more so up close, but he carries that air about him that speaks of someone not used to being denied. Decidedly unattractive. Presumptuous, clearly. Foolish.

“How nice for you,” Stella says instead, a little condescendingly. Actually, a lot condescendingly and she feels Reed shift a little next to her, amused or uncomfortable she can't tell.

“Do I get the pleasure of knowing your names?” He asks carrying on, undeterred by their apathy.

Stella turns to Reed now and finds suppressed laughter lining her lashes - amusement. And something else. Maybe it's just the remnants of their kiss but she looks ready to continue what Stella had started as if they hadn't been interrupted. Biting her bottom lip to tame the smile growing there, Reed’s eyes rake over the skin of Stella’s neck as if she wants to put her teeth there. That powerful feeling rushes back through Stella’s veins and goes straight to her core, filling her up and making her wish she could properly enjoy it without the company of this asshole, still standing there she realizes.

“No,” she replies without moving her eyes from Reed.

“I'm going to excuse myself for a minute,” Reed says quietly, eyes dragging themselves back up to Stella’s as she motions towards the back of the bar. “I'll be right back.” Her stare lingers on Stella as she turns to leave, knowing quite well she’s about to miss a show worth seeing. Something straight out of Planet Earth, surely, a predator left to mingle with its prey. If only Adam knew which side of that scenario he was bound to fall...

“Alone at last.”

Reluctantly prying her gaze from Reed’s retreating form, Stella turns back to their intruder, smug and leering, ready to continue one-on-one.

“I don't recall extending an invitation.”

“All that seemed like one to me,” he says, something dark in his expression igniting as he shifts closer to her, a hand moving forward. She retracts succinctly, a well practised move, and sits a little straighter evaluating her course of action should he try it again.

“Your mistake,” she tells him flatly, studying the confusion and subsequent determination articulate across his brow.

“Alright then let me make it up to you. Your next round is on me,” he offers, shifting tactics. He’s gone from wolfish to smooth-talker hastily and with ease, a soft mask of remorse cloaking his initial brazenness probably well enough for most. But not for Stella. It’s actually somewhat pathetic, she notices, how sure he is that this will work on her. So sure that his eyes fall to the dip of her blouse, working her over as if she won’t notice that either, as if he’s not under scrutiny, teetering on a fine line between nuisance and harassment.

“No thank you.”

And at that his gaze springs back up to her’s, seeing the unflattered boredom of a woman whose patience is running thin. Shaking his head a little with a puff of laughter meant to disguise his anger, he looks at her sternly. “Christ, you don't take a compliment well do you?”

“About as well as you take a hint,” she says sliding from her chair and removing her things from the table.

“What the fuck?”

“Do yourself a favor and kindly fuck off back to your friends.”

And then she’s gone. Walking back to the distant corner of the bar, Stella wades through the shadows leaving what’s-his-fuck in a collage of dancing lights, probably floundering in the wake of his failure. Hopefully he doesn’t follow her. She’d really rather not deal with his particular brand of bullshit for a second longer than she’s been forced to already.

Winding through the crowd to locate Reed so they can get the hell out of here, she feels the tequila hit her funny. Not bad funny but different. Maybe it’s all these fucking people, all of this loud music, she feels fuzzy around the edges, a little wobbly. But she can handle three fucking shots, she’s not an amateur. This damn bar’s too hot, that’s the problem. Jesus, she needs to find Reed, they need to leave. They can go somewhere else, she doesn't want to cheat Reed out of her first free night, but she doesn't want to go back to that table either. Maybe she could stand to linger if they hid in one of these darker corners. Somewhere she can let her lips and hands wander with less conspicuous eyes to witness. Or maybe now that they’ve had a few drinks, Reed will want to dance. And as soon as the thought crosses Stella's mind, all she can think about is having Reed draped against her, hips swaying under the rhythm of an otherwise obnoxious beat. Foreplay isn’t something Stella prides herself on but she certainly doesn’t hate the idea of tempting Reed on the dance floor before they leave. Definitely a possibility if only she could find her.

Ah, bathroom door, there it is.

Stella reaches for the handle and twists just as it begins to swing away from her. The sudden lack of stability has her stumbling forward but luckily not too much. Also luckily there’s Reed standing right in front of her, the culprit behind the opening door, looking pleasantly surprised to see her there.

“I was just coming find you. Is our new friend still alive?”

Something about the relaxed laughter in her voice and the way she hangs like a poster in the doorway floods Stella with restlessness. Adrenaline. Arousal. Annoyance that she's wanted to touch her since arriving and realizing that she hasn't fully done so. It pinches in her middle and has her heart rate jumping. And before Stella can make the conscious decision not to, her tequila-induced loss of impulse control takes over. She's pushing past Reed and over the threshold, tossing their things carelessly on the counter, one of the coats sliding over the edge.

“What’re you d-”

Reed doesn’t really get the rest of the question out as it drowns in a muffled gasp against Stella's mouth. And it's the second time she's caught her off guard tonight, just as satisfying as the first, maybe more. Stella burns into her, a searing bite to that bottom lip before immediately seeking entrance to her mouth. Thankfully Reed’s excellent at taking these unexpected meetings in stride. Quick to recover after the initial shock, she's responsive and pulling at the fabric of Stella’s trousers in a desperate attempt to get her closer, lips parting and giving over the access that she demands. So Stella boldly sweeps her tongue against Reed’s and starts walking her backward, thriving off the candor of the sounds they make. The gasps and the sighs and the thud of Reed’s back knocking into the door behind them. It’s all forceful, a little rough, and while Stella makes sure not to hurt her, she also makes no apologies for how badly she wants her.

Pushing Reed into the hard surface with the length of her body, Stella keeps her there as she moves a skilled hand up to the lock on the door, twisting it to the left without breaking their kiss. And with their newly ensured privacy, it quickly becomes necessary to use it. Stella moves her hands over the billowy material of Reed’s blouse, palms running over her ribs, moving up and cupping the weight of her breasts. It has Reed’s hips jerking in response, fingers pressed into Stella’s waist. So Stella takes a moment to situate herself between the set of Reed’s thighs, difficult in light of the leather but she creates enough contact to properly grind against her, leaving Reed breathless and resting her forehead against Stella’s on a gasp.

Moving her lips to the skin of Reed’s neck, she uses her teeth before soothing the angry spots with her tongue. And then Stella pulls the plunging neckline of Reed’s top to the side, playing with the decorative trim of her bra, feeling the intricate lacy pattern under the pad of her thumb. Then there's a distinctive “Stella” whispered somewhere near her ear and she wastes little time tugging the cup aside too. A firm swipe over Reed’s nipple turns that whisper into a whimper. And after one last kiss against her collarbone, Stella bends forward taking the erect flesh between her lips. That has Reed’s whimper turning into a moan.

One of Reed’s hands weaves through Stella’s hair, nails brushing her scalp and sending goosebumps along Stella’s arms as she focuses on circling Reed’s nipple. Stella bites gently at her and is rewarded with a bruised curse tumbling from Reed’s lips.

Then the door moves beneath them, a small movement halted by the lock and a bout of loud knocking ensues. Reed jumps a little and it definitely wakes them up to their surroundings. Bathroom bar, grimy and paint chipping off the walls. In the moment it was an incredible turn on but now suddenly less so, grumbling drunks yelling beyond a hunk of wood.

So Stella lets Reed’s nipple loose from the suction of her mouth, kisses the top of her breast softly and peppers a series of light kisses up her chest until she’s looking into her eyes. Reed’s smirking at her, aroused as hell but apparently not enough to resist poking fun.

“Christ, that prick gave you such a hard time you had to come snog me in the toilet?”

“Maybe he did. Maybe I just wanted to.”

“I appreciate the end result either way.”

Stella mirrors Reed’s flickering smile and takes a moment to appreciate the sight before her. Standing back a bit, Stella observes her hands running down Reed’s waist and over the curve of her hips, sliding against the fabric of the taunting skirt. It’s stretching and bunching over Reed’s legs, a bit amiss after the rush of seeking contact.

“This skirt, I swear,” Stella remarks, admiring it appropriately now that they’re completely alone, minus the next series of knocks on the door behind them.

“You like it?”

“I think you know the answer.”

“I’ll remember that.”

“I’d like it better off.”

“I guess we should leave then.”

“You sure?” Reed gives her a skeptical look, the kind that says ‘Did you seriously just say that?’ Stella sighs, remiss to continue talking Reed into staying but she knows she’d regret it otherwise. “It’s your night out,” she explains, “You should properly enjoy it.”

“I’d like to properly enjoy it back home.”

“Is that so?” “Mm.”

“Alright then,” Stella says, letting her finger slip over the waistband of Reed’s skirt, tugging at it a little suggestively. “Let’s go.”

*

They walk home.

Just a few blocks away from Reed’s flat, it seems silly not to, and walking off some of that tequila is probably a good idea too. So they walk, maybe a bit too fast, maybe a bit too eager, and Reed stumbles laughingly over a curb. Shaking her head in admonishment, Stella steadies Reed’s arm and then searches out her fingers, twining them together and tugging lightly.

“I’m not that drunk,” Reed mumbles into her unoccupied hand, now pressed bashfully to her face.

“I know,” Stella assures her, a small stroke of her thumb over Reed’s knuckles.

“It’s this one up here,” Reed points to the flat two doors in front of them and Stella can feel the air hum as they draw nearer, the anticipation of a closed door and dark spaces rumbling between them. Stella feels it build steadily between her legs, walking up the pathway and it’s been there for hours, reticent and waiting. But her body knows that the wait is almost over and Stella feels that familiar tension make itself known. Combined with the alcohol, she’s brimming with a careless sort of energy that generally leads to both memorable and regretful evenings in equal measure. The kind of evenings where her body makes demands without her mind’s approval. And as they walk the few short steps to Reed’s flat, Stella reminds herself that this is all still very new for Reed. They’re both relatively intoxicated and it’s not the Stella doesn’t trust herself, she just doesn’t want to forget herself too much along the way.

Then they’re on the landing and Reed digs through her bag, rummaging around for the keys. Perhaps Stella’s just impatient because it feels like it’s taking an awfully long time. So she makes herself comfortable against the brick, watches Reed’s hair whip and flutter, muddling her vision as she searches. There’s something unspeakably attractive about the messy way Reed wears it tonight that provokes all sorts of images onto Stella’s imagination. Maybe that’s because the scattered tendrils remind Stella of the way Reed looked after coming around her fingers a few nights ago.

That thought does nothing to dilute the dangerous feeling growing inside her.

Suspended in the promise of that memory, Stella doesn’t realize she’s staring rather intently and Reed notices with a self deprecating grin. There's a quick “I’m sorry,” because it’s definitely taking a long time at this point and then seconds later, “Found them.” Dangling the keys from a loop on her index finger, Reed displays her success with a languid smile, all honey and terribly inviting. Stella tries not to think of kissing her until they’re inside.

But then Reed’s big brown eyes pause, heat recognizing heat, traversing the gun powder line of Stella’s brow down to the molten split of her lips. Before Stella can worry about keeping herself in check for a moment longer, Reed is on her, kiss scorching, mouth open and urgent. It’s a stark contrast to the cool air whisking past them as Reed’s warm tongue meets Stella’s at the center of the earth, a vibrant dance of radiant warmth. And metal apparently because Stella hears it, metal clanking - jingling as Reed struggles with the lock, refusing to tear herself away just yet. It seems drunken multitasking is less Reed’s forte than her’s, and Stella’s about to pull back, handle this herself lest they get arrested for public indecency, when the door finally pushes open with a miraculous creak.

Reed breaks their kiss, breathing out an accomplished puff of relief against Stella’s cheek, and pulls her inside. Everything is dark and Stella doesn’t get to see much of the interior, doesn’t so much as manage a glance around the shadowed flat before the door shuts and Reed’s against her again. Stella hears the distinctive thump of Reed’s purse hit the ground and moments later, a coat. It’s all she can do to notice these things in her periphery when she’s so consumed. Consumed in the satisfaction of Reed’s pliant mouth and perfect body at her fingertips. Consumed by the seemingly endless high that simply having her like this elicits. But then Reed’s peeling the jacket from her own body, pushing it fiercely to the floor.   

Well then.

Stella shouldn’t have worried so much about her own intoxicated impulses after all. Seems like someone has a rough streak, seems like they both do, and the realization makes Stella’s chest constrict. Anyone can tell you that surprising discoveries are the most exhilarating but it’s another thing entirely to be there at the moment of unveiling, to feel it rushing towards you. And Reed is like a tidal wave, all motion and strength with no end in sight, salt and tequila raging ashore. Like any flash flood, it strikes so fast that Stella barely finds time to acclimate and momentarily she struggles for air. Because truth be told, Stella knows a lot more about unleashing than she does about being unleashed upon - rarely ever does she allow herself to be unleashed upon. There’s a certain submission involved in it that Stella doesn’t adhere to when it comes to sex. Of course, there’s always advantages to acknowledging the right place, the right time for everything. Under the torrid drag of Reed’s teeth against her lips, Stella can feel each of those advantages fall into alignment along the pillar of her spine. And these are the startling pleasures of finding someone like Reed, someone she can trust to surprise her without taking it too far. No threat of a man who doesn’t know his strength, who doesn’t understand the difference between ‘yes’ and ‘no’ in the throes of a moment. So she makes the decision to indulge herself, lets herself have this, tries to ignore the way her body resists being told what to do as Reed walks her into the hallway.  

As Stella lets herself be led, Reed’s teeth move along her neck showing it the same brute attention as everything else and it sends the pressure between her legs into overdrive. It feels so good that Stella brings her hand to Reed’s head, pressing Reed’s bite it into her skin harder. And Reed’s all too happy to oblige, sinking her teeth into sensitive skin there, capillaries screaming. Then in sudden change of direction, Reed’s pinning Stella definitively to the wall.

Jesus, where the fuck had this come from?

A far cry from Reed’s shyness the other night, it’s throwing Stella off as much as it’s turning her on and her mind isn’t functioning fast enough to reconcile to the two. And then there's the gruff way Reed pulls on Stella’s blouse, untucking it from her trousers and forcing it up her torso. Concentrated, Reed breathes heavily, moves quickly and Stella might normally quiet the rush but not tonight. She lets it happen, lets Reed tear the flimsy fabric overhead and leave it in a forgotten mess on the hardwood. Thankfully it’s not an expensive item, she’ll live if it’s ruined. All she really cares about right now is getting her hips straddled around Reed’s thigh to relive some of the tension building in her clit. So Stella grabs Reed’s waist with the intention of pulling her closer, but it’s a dreadfully short lived venture. Each of Reed’s hands clasps haltingly around Stella’s wrists, bringing them from her waist to the wall, holding them there. Unexpectedly strong.

Stella feels her eyebrows instinctively jut into a challenging expression, somewhere between impressed and aroused. Who knew? Involuntarily her thighs press together, still seeking friction while Reed assesses her wickedly, covering Stella’s anchored body with her own. Stretching over her like a cat, Reed’s practically purring as she kisses her way along Stella’s jaw, hips rolling, hands pressing hands into drywall. All Stella can do is breathe, focus on breathing, focus on breathing instead of the maddening clench of her pelvic floor. It only worsens when Reed’s mouth moves to her ear, tonguing her earlobe, teeth grazing with just the right amount of pressure. She senses that same line of pleasure and pain playing between her shoulder blades as they dig into the wall under Reed’s swaying movements, pushing Stella against the hard surface.

And then she hears it, the phrase, the words that are surely destined to invade her fantasies until the end of time.

“I want to taste you.”

Stella’s never come from needy whispers alone but for a split second she wonders if she will now.

And she must have heard Reed wrong. Because it’s a jump, a big jump from last time. It has Stella wondering how serious she is, how much she’s simply caught up in the moment. But then again, it’s still Reed that has Stella pinned up against a wall in her sister’s flat, it’s still Reed that’s licking along the inner shell of Stella’s ear, still Reed painting in vivid colors over the canvas of her body.

Stella opts for a simple question.

“Is that so?”

“I can’t stop thinking about it,” Reed says bringing her damp lips to Stella’s, barely kissing her, a teasing swipe of her tongue. Then she’s pulling back, looking at Stella for something - approval maybe.

It’s been so long since Stella’s experienced anything like this and how is she supposed to form any word beyond the realm of ‘fuck’? Because fuck. Serious fuck.

Reed’s eyes are as black and glittering as the night sky in moments of heightened arousal, shifting constellations and wandering satellites. Just as alluring, just as likely to attract the curiosity and awe of earth dwelling mortals. And how the fuck had Stella landed herself here, staring into galaxies and stars, the words “I want to taste you” floating towards her at a wavelength reserved for lusty daydreams.

She doesn't say that though. Just another question.

“What’re you waiting for?”

That’s all it takes. In seconds, Reed pulls Stella from the wall and moves her back towards the couch, kissing her and unbuttoning her trousers as they go. Then they're pushed over Stella’s hips, her calves bumping into what she assumes is a sofa, a soft “Sit down,” uttered against her lips. And Stella sits as Reed follows, kneeling and tugging her pants free from her ankles, casting them aside. Everything feels like it’s happening so fast as Reed’s nimble fingers crawl over the skin of Stella’s thighs, parting them enough to create room as Reed moves in closer, settling herself in the crux of Stella’s legs. Resisting the urge to grind into Reed’s stomach as she draws nearer, Stella feels her underwear snap under Reed’s toying hands.  

“These have to go too.”

Lifting her weight, Stella lets Reed strip them away and then her heart begins to race because it’s been so long since she’s let someone do this. And it's not that she doesn't enjoy it but it's simply not something she’s prone to allowing. For a multitude of reasons. All of which she currently pushes from her mind.

And men don’t question it, usually they don’t care.

But Reed cares, she cares so much and it’s one of the many things Stella finds attractive about her. So Stella will let this happen because she trusts Reed. And because she wants this. She doesn’t always but tonight, tonight she does. Stella really fucking wants Reed’s mouth, and she wants to come against her tongue.

“Tell me if there’s something you like,” Reed’s voice interrupts her frenzied thoughts as she leans Stella back into the cushion. And Stella tries to relax, tries to quell the sudden nervousness fluttering through her. Then the heat fades a little from Reed’s appraising stare. “I mean it. I want to know.”

Of course. Stella should have seen this coming, shouldn't be continually surprised by Reed’s requests for guidance. It's just that Stella’s better at show than tell, better at control than connect. But she reminds herself that based off of their last night together, Reed’s probably anxious too. And considerate, so considerate and eager to know what works. What Reed doesn't yet know is that she's worried for nothing and that women generally know what works better than men. Women know what women like and any woman who has ever done this to her has been been pretty fucking good at it. The whole thing is surprisingly intuitive and Reed has no idea just how capable she is.

“You know what you like, right?” Stella asks her a little breathlessly and Reed nods. “Do that.”

Reed smiles a small smile at the directive and kisses Stella softly, hands sweeping down, reaching around to unclasp Stella’s bra. It comes off easily enough before the structured cups are replaced by the smooth caress of Reed’s touch. And Stella grounds herself there, breathing into it, letting the weight of her breasts settle in Reed’s palms. Within moments her worries become distracted by the sparks of pleasure wafting through her under Reed’s ministrations, little tweaks and tugs as Reed’s tongue plays in sweet circles across her lips. Efficient with her time, Reed moves to Stella’s pulse and sternum, a few stolen seconds spent on her nipples. Mapping her journey with a fine balance of haste and adoration, Reed lingers just long enough to provoke a sigh here and a gasp there, a small frustrated shift of Stella’s hips. And Stella let's her eyes fall shut, feels a chaste kiss along her ribs that she tells herself not to think about. Far less innocent kisses follow scattered along the skin of her hip, the slope of her navel, and they're distraction enough. Then there's the long lick against her pubic bone, wet kisses sacrificed at the smooth altar of her apex, and any thoughts she'd wanted eradicated from the consecration of her mind evaporate instantly.

Reed adjusts herself to sit more comfortably between Stella’s legs, spreading them a little wider and Stella can feel a rush of cool air intimately greet her. Opening her eyes, Stella tries not to make such a show of her breathing but the sight of Reed positioned so perfectly below, pulling dark hair away from her face, eyes trained on Stella, makes it a difficult task. And then Reed seductively places a open-mouthed kiss at the crease of her inner thigh. How she’s going to survive this, Stella doesn’t know…

That’s more or less the last coherent thought Stella experiences before her mind goes blissfully blank, the overwhelming relief and ecstasy of Reed’s mouth against her erasing all vernacular thoughts from existence. Starting near her entrance, Reed takes leisurely soft strokes over Stella’s wetness, indulgent licks across her folds, exploring, tasting her. Apparently satisfied to finally be doing so, Reed hums a little and Stella can’t help but wish that it was happening over her clit, practically pulsing with need. But apparently Reed’s executing a strategy that involves taunting her, lapping and kissing Stella’s slick skin, carefully avoiding the particular place Stella wants her most. Perfectly infuriating. But then there’s Reed’s eyes, glowing and angled up at her just as she dips her tongue into Stella’s pooling arousal. And she gathers it there on her plush pink tongue before sweeping up and covering Stella’s clit completely.

After that nothing remains beyond the electric way her body responds to the things Reed’s doing to her, eyes slammed shut, vocalizing god knows what. And Reed responds accordingly, creating a transcendent sort of suction with her lips that makes Stella’s legs tremble under the pressure to stay open. Reed firms up her grip on Stella’s thighs, running her fingernails tantalizingly over the exerted muscle while her mouth moves. And it moves. It moves messily and exquisitely and Stella can’t help the way that she tilts her hips into Reed’s mouth, seeking more, wanting more when she practically has more than she can take. But her body’s operating on its own accord, evidence of the sounds she hears herself make, breathy moans and strained cries, and she bites down but it does nothing to keep things quiet.

Stella has the vague thought that she needs to get ahold of herself or maybe just ahold of something, literally anything. Her hands splay futilely against the sofa’s upholstery, which offers little to no purchase, clear coated fingers flexing uselessly. And the energy is building in her so fiercely and so steadily that she needs something to steady the ascent.

Intuitively, Reed adjusts the pressure of her tongue giving Stella a chance to breathe. She strokes the sides of her from top to bottom before wandering back to her clit and returning to their previously established rhythm - a really fucking good one. And as the liquid heat of Reed’s mouth envelops Stella’s hypersensitive skin once more, Stella definitively rasps a tortured and extended “Fuck” into the dewy air between them.

Not only that but she’s also suddenly got a fist-full of Reed’s inky hair scrunched beneath her fingers and shit, she hadn’t meant to do that. Because hair pulling is incredibly sexy at the right time and incredibly not at the not-so-right time. And some people just don’t like it and some people just don’t ask, and it can be tricky to navigate. So Stella generally steers clear of it, out of respect for her partners and out of respect for herself, out of respect for the times when she didn’t know how to set boundaries.

As quickly as she can, Stella tries to disentangle her grip and that’s when Reed stops. Looking up briefly, a question in her eyes, Reed stops Stella’s retreating hand and brings it back into the mussed strands of her hair.

“That okay?” Stella asks on a shaky breath.

Reed smiles slyly with an altogether too-attractive “Uh huh.”

And then Stella’s pulled under the surface of her own cognizance once more, at the mercy of Reed’s lips, hot and wet, drawing Stella from the depths of her terrestrial limitations. With Reed’s mouth latched to her pussy she can see the explosive wonder of the milky way laid out before her, engulfing her as it unfolds in bright flashes and abrupt colors, surrounding her body in its mysterious beauty. The rush of discovery, uncharted territory vast and endless.

Then she feels one of Reed’s fingers easing into her tight heat and Stella’s head jerks down. And Reed’s assessing her reaction - the ever-flattering jaw-dropped, panting expression of someone who’s so close to coming that it’s almost inevitable. Reed moans into the mound of her sex, sloppily kissing, sucking, and Stella unabashedly uses the leverage of her hand to grind against her mouth. And fuck it’s perfect. Guiding Reed to all the right places, tense fingers and rolling hips, Stella’s soaring in seconds. She feels herself grip wildly around Reed’s hand as she succumbs to the relief oscillating through her taut muscles. Pulsing from her core, she feels the orgasm extend into her fingertips, rippling brilliance, fleeting and draining. Then it recedes and she has to lightly remove Reed’s jaw away from her drenched skin as she catches her breath.  

Holy shit.

She feels like she’s in a haze of distilled rapture, molecules and droplets of it hanging in the air. There’s a stupid smile hanging lazily across her face and she can feel it sitting there. Normally she might think to care but she doesn’t right now because that was so fucking great.

And then she looks down at Reed who’s sitting back on one arm and wiping away the remnants of Stella’s arousal from her lips, a satisfied look in her eye as she watches Stella come down from her orgasm.

“Proud, are you?” Stella asks, gaining back some of the energy into her exhausted body. She sits up a little, running her fingers through her hair, a thin sheen of sweat at the nape of her neck.

“Do you blame me?”

“Not in the least. Jesus christ…”

God, she feels sexy. Stella makes her feel that way and it’s intoxicating, Reed feels drunk off of it sometimes, especially now. Something about making Stella come, the traces of it smeared over her mouth, makes her feel powerful like she could do anything, be anything she wants. Sex and power. There’s a reason people are always after both.

Exhilarating.

This is exactly what she'd set out to accomplish and yes, she was proud. Because even though Reed had been nervous during their first night together, she’d resolved to fix that this second go round. Insecurities had been holding her back for too long, keeping her stagnant. And part of all this change, getting back to a truer version of herself, meant letting go of all that shit. She didn’t want to sit at home replaying events in her mind, wishing she’d done things differently. It was the whole fucking point of uprooting her life, that wasn’t the life she wanted. Reed was determined not to repeat mistakes if she could help it.

And that couldn’t stop at Stella.

Over the past few days, Reed hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her, about their night wrapped in expensive sheets. And while it was a pleasant memory, Reed couldn’t help but feel a little embarrassed. She’d been so unsure of herself, timid. Of course it’s understandable, nobody’s a pro their first time, nerves and all that. But there was so much more to her, things she’d buried, things that she told herself just weren’t meant for her in this lifetime. There was so much more that she wanted.

And there was also the matter of parity. At every stage in life, equality has always been important to Reed - in school, in work, in friendships, and intimacy. Being an equal partner during her time with Stella meant forgoing this timidness, instinct suggests that timid isn’t really Stella’s style. Truthfully it’s not Reed’s either but years of self-doubt can’t help but affect a person. And Reed wants to be capable of returning what she’s given.

So she made a real effort tonight, tried her best to be herself without the confines of imposing anxiety. She dressed how she wanted and she drank what she wanted and she made Stella moan how she wanted, and Reed can't help but feel empowered by her own accomplishment. Not to mention thrumming, she can almost feel the blood moving through her veins, acute and tingling.

It's an amazing thing to be so completely alive.

As she looks at Stella, breathless and beautiful before her, Reed is once again struck by how young Stella looks in these moments. Flushed and freckled, milky white skin settling like snow dust in the ethereal aftermath of an avalanche, Stella is a true force of nature when she comes, wondrous to witness in its unrestrained glory. And Reed thinks that she could simply watch Stella breathe and find it beautiful.

“You're stunning.”

And Reed knows Stella's uncomfortable with compliments, it’s evident in the way her shoulders tense and the way she sits a little straighter. But Reed feels compelled to tell her anyway, thinks Stella should know.

So she does.

And Stella doesn’t say anything, just stares at her. If Reed hadn't just seen her squirming and gasping, she might find it intimidating. There is something incredibly intense about Stella’s unfiltered gaze, especially when there’s nowhere else for it to land. And Reed wouldn’t take her words back but she briefly second guesses what’s appropriate to say to Stella in these post-coital breaths. Because as all traces of Stella’s afterglow evaporate into a haze of something else entirely, Reed worries that she may have royally fucked up.

“Stand up.”

Stella’s voice is soft but her tone is not, it’s authoritative and commanding. And Reed realizes that it’s not distress as much as determination, shifting pieces in a chess match, Stella’s simply taking back the control she’d gracefully relinquished.

So Reed does as she’s told and stands while the fierceness of Stella’s unbroken eye contact sends jolts of arousal through her center. Under Stella’s appraising gaze, a mixture of nerves and heat flood Reed’s system and she tells herself to focus on absorbing the warmth, on letting it fill her up and ignoring the rest.

“Take off your boots.”

God, Reed’s still fully clothed and barely noticed until now. Feeling a bit silly she unzips them and tosses them to the side under the palpitations of her racing heart. Bending at the waist, she also realizes how fucking wet she is because suddenly her underwear are clammy against her in the worst way. And she’d just as well take them off with the rest of her clothes but Stella’s demeanor says otherwise. Standing now, Stella walks towards her unabashedly nude, and Reed wonders how the hell a person can retain such stoic control over a situation in such an exposed state. Stella manages it effortlessly... Is she truly that sure of herself? Reed wonders this as Stella approaches her, blue eyes sliding over her body until they’re face to face, inches between them.

Then Reed’s thoughts are interrupted as the fabric of her blouse rustles against her skin. Stella’s quietly untucking it, gaze trained on Reed’s face. Met with such direct eye contact, Reed can’t help but wonder what Stella’s thinking, and the mysteries woven into the web of her irises create such a seemingly complex map that Reed finds difficult to follow. And then they’re gone from her purview as Stella lifts the shirt over her head in a swift motion, allowing the garment to flutter away.

Taking a small step back, Stella brings her hand to delicately finger the material of Reed’s skirt, a small genuine smirk forming. Amongst everything else, Reed likes this perhaps the most, the way Stella looks at her. Back in Belfast her gaze had been inquisitive, curious and analytical. Now, Stella looks at her like she’s a secret treasure, a hidden wonder of the world - something awe-inspiring and rare, untold stories written along the lengthy columns of her skin. It’s not always but every now and then, when they’re alone. And no one’s looked her this way in ages. Least of all her husband. But she pushes him from her mind because he doesn’t belong here in these private spaces, not anymore. Especially not when Stella’s bringing her body up against Reed’s, palms spreading over the curve of her ass.

“As much as I love this…” Stella says sliding the zipper of her skirt down slowly and placing a kiss to Reed’s bare shoulder. The skirt falls, like everything else, and then Stella’s mouth is hot and scraping against Reed’s lips. Graciously Reed’s jaw falls open, welcoming the invasion into her space. And the way Stella so fluently wields control is inspiring, almost as much as watching her come had been. Almost. Within seconds Reed feels like liquid under her touch, willing to surrender and sway whichever way Stella chooses, and if she weren’t so turned on by it, the lack of willpower she feels might be frightening.

Then Reed can feel herself being led backwards and christ, upstairs seems like a long way to go but at least Stella’s making the most of the journey. She maneuvers Reed’s bra away as they enter the hallway, then runs a hand over the dampness of Reed’s underwear. Gasping at the sensation, Reed stops their momentum and leans against the wall for support, bringing Stella with her. Heavy breaths and sliding hands, Reed feels her patience unravel as she moves herself against Stella’s palm. Strands of hair infringe upon on her view as she looks down at the muscles in Stella’s forearm, straining under their effort. Fingers pushing through the dark threads at her scalp, Reed sweeps them back just as Stella tears the small piece of lace down her legs.

Apparently Stella’s not concerned with getting upstairs. And maybe Reed shouldn’t be either because now Stella’s licking her neck and touching her properly, middle finger circling her entrance before taking a firm swipe over her clit. It sends an impossible amount of tension up her middle and Stella’s name fumbles from her lips in a mess of other noise.

“Turn around.”

Even amongst a tirade of thoughts and questions, Reed manages to comply, palms flat against the paint within seconds. Reed knows how this works with a man but somehow it seems like it might prove more challenging with a woman. She wouldn’t really know though, maybe it’s not. Or perhaps Stella just intends to tease her. A pitstop on their way up.

God she hopes not.

But then Reed feels Stella behind her, gathering the mass of Reed’s thick hair and draping it over the slope of her shoulder. At a shiver inducing pace, Stella presses her trimmed nails over the curve of Reed’s ribcage. Arriving at her breasts, Stella cups them and teases them while her mouth draws circles at the base of Reed’s neck. Her insides twist and coil in that dizzying way and Reed can practically feel herself coming undone. She can’t help but rock back into Stella’s hips, missing the sense of relief between her thighs. Stella simply taps the inside of Reed’s ankle with her foot, a request. So Reed spreads her legs a little wider, getting comfortable with the new stance, anticipation winding ruthlessly inside her.

And she is going to enjoy this, she can feel it as Stella’s hands venture lower, firmly caressing the smoothness of her stomach down to her tops of her thighs. Along the way, Stella rolls her body against Reed’s arching form and Reed can’t help but visualize the picture they make. It sends her spinning and she can’t reason how any of this is actually happening to her. But then Stella’s fingers are between her legs, moving the embarrassing amount of wetness there over her sensitive skin. Reed feels her knees buckle under the sensation and fuck this isn’t going to be easy. She instinctively grinds her ass against Stella and presses the flats of her palms into the wall, holding herself up. After a few quick passes of her fingers, Stella’s inside her and if Reed thought she’d felt full before, she’d been indescribably wrong.

Reed’s head falls forward as a small cry falls from her open lips, resting against the wall on shaking legs as Stella’s hand pumps into her. And thank fucking god for this wall. It’s the only thing keeping her upright. Stella uses her unoccupied hand to hold Reed’s hips against her pelvis and Reed couldn’t be more grateful because the longer this goes on, the harder it is to stand. With every brush of Stella’s fingers along her, she can feel herself getting tighter. Stella’s palm presses perfectly into her clit and every now and then, her fingers escape, wet and warm to pay it extra attention. For a moment Reed can’t believe she doubted whether or not this would work because everything about this is sending her climbing. And she can feel herself flirting with the edge but every time she feels it close, her body trembles under the weight of itself. And Stella is relentless - she supports Reed as much as she can but gives her no breaks, no room to breathe. Reed’s not sure she could stop her hips from moving if she tried, and it’s so much that her face ends up flat against the wall as she works herself nearer and nearer to that elusive summit.

And then Stella moves her feet, pushing at the insides of Reed’s ankles, spreading her legs inherently further apart without much choice. A quick bite to her neck and fuck, that’ll do it. Within a few short seconds, Reed feels her muscles clench everywhere, there’s no way she’s staying vertical. But Stella’s a rock behind her, letting Reed ride out the pulsing sensations that rip through her abdomen. God, the vice like grip Reed has on Stella’s hand is unreal. As she starts to come down, Reed’s not sure she can move. But then Stella moves her fingers gingerly from Reed’s fluttering core and it’s a mild relief.

Deep breaths in and out, Reed finally feels herself begin to recover. Turning around, she keeps her shoulders pressed into the wall behind her, still unsure of how much she trusts her body. And Stella’s far less domineering as she studies Reed’s sated expression. Reed notices that she’s almost smiling and Reed can’t help but return the gesture. Once her chest stops heaving quite so loudly, Reed pulls Stella’s mouth lazily against her lips in a sweet kiss. A thank you, a greeting, an expression of affirmation.

Pulling away to breathe, Reed can hardly believe what they must look like, naked and panting in the hallway of her sister’s flat. What on earth has her life become?

“Wow,” Reed says, a mischievous note in her voice accompanied by Stella’s perfectly lifted brow in return. “We haven’t even made it upstairs yet.”

#stella x reed #stella and reed #Stella Gibson #Reed Smith #Tanya Reed Smith #gillian anderson #Archie Panjabi #fanfic #mine #candicewrites

[like-bunnies]

Summer Dreams -- an Ichabbie Ficlet

I promised @sneetchstar I’d write her an Ichabbie birthday fic way back in early 2016. A year and a half later, here it is! With “summer” thrown in just for fun! Rated E. 

Abbie is tired of winter and Crane tries to make her forget about the cold. 

“I wish it was summer already,” Abbie muttered, putting on her heaviest black North Face puffy coat and her favorite leather gloves all so she'd be able to make her way into work. She already had her snow boots on - they were just part of her ensemble lately since this winter seemed endless. She was thankful that her street had been plowed early and that Crane had gone out and shoveled the driveway so she could get out easily. “February is brutal.”

“Indeed it is,” Crane said.

“I don't need to hear about Valley Forge,” Abbie warned him, pointing a leather-clad finger in his direction.

“I wasn't going to say a thing,” Crane said, sounding disappointed. Of course he was going to say a thing or two. That's what he did.

“Just remember how lucky you are that the archives are closed and you get to stay in for the rest of the day,” Abbie said as she wrapped a heavy scarf around her neck and face.

“Indeed I am,” Crane replied.

“Very lucky. Damn, I could do with an island holiday. Warm, clear water. A few drinks. A lot of sunshine,” Abbie mumbled underneath the scarf and the hood she pulled up over her head, waving to Crane before she made her way out the front door.

“We could all do with an island holiday, Lieutenant,” Crane said to himself with a smile.

*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*

Abbie was tired when she finally arrived home. Her feet were freezing and not even her heavy snow boots and woolen socks could keep out this amount of snow and cold. Her face was starting to chap from the icy wind and she was certain her hair was going to be a shocking mess once she was warm enough to take off the stocking cap she borrowed from a technician at the latest crime scene. It had been too damn frigid outside to worry about her hair then but she was sure she was going to pay the price now.

She leaned her back against the door and closed her eyes, enjoying the sudden warmth of her own house. It was so nice and warm... actually, it was almost too warm. The heat was turned up more than she ever set it. She opened her eyes, prepared to ask Crane if the thermostat was broken and instead she discovered that she had been transported to some magical tropical island in her own living room.

Little multicolored lights flickered here and there. Some of the light strings were in the shape of flamingos and others in the shape of palm trees. Crepe paper streamers in bright, tropical shades of pink and yellow festooned the ceiling and some generic Calypso music was playing softly. Something was filling the air with a spicy fragrance and Abbie's stomach rumbled.

She shed all of her winter gear, not even thinking about her hair anymore, and left it hanging by the door to dry. Abbie was now too busy wondering what was going on and what happened to her house. And what happened to Crane?

“Crane? Where are you?” she asked, hoping he didn't come around the corner wearing swim trunks, or worse, a Speedo. She could only handle so much tropical flare in one evening.

“I'm right here, Lieutenant,” he called out and she found him placing some tropical flowers on the table. Thankfully, he was in his normal clothes, boots and all.

“You aren't exactly dressed to match the mood you set in here,” Abbie said, seeing that lights in all sorts of tropical shapes were hanging in all the rooms.

“Just imagine I'm a Caribbean pirate, plundering whatever treasure I can,” Crane said, loosening the ties at the neck of his shirt and raising an eyebrow in a lecherous way befitting a pirate.

“Oh, trust me. I've imagined that before,” Abbie said softly, looking at the array of food before her.

“Pardon me?” Crane asked.

“Oh, nothing. What is this?” Abbie asked, pointing at some spicy looking dish. “Please tell me this is jerk chicken.”

“On tonight's menu, we have a mango crab salad, followed by a Caribbean fish stew and the entree is jerk chicken with coconut rice and beans with a pineapple rum sauce on the side. For dessert, there will be sweet plantains,” Crane said with a flourish, partially bowing and indicating that Abbie should take a seat.

“You went out in this weather for all of this?” Abbie asked, thankful but at the same time worried about Crane's sanity.

“I went out in this weather for you,” Crane said, holding up a finger and turning around, rushing off to the kitchen. He returned with two drinks in tall, curvy glasses that Abbie was sure she didn't own when she left this morning. The drinks were decorated with tiny umbrellas and chunks of fruit. “I wanted to serve you a drink out of a coconut but it is winter in New York, after all. Some of this was hard enough to find.”

“Crane...”

“I wanted to create a little warmth on this otherwise bleak February day,” he said. 

“Wow,” she said, sipping the drink through a colorful straw and getting a mouthful of dark rum.

“It's my own creation. Better than Sex on the Beach!” Crane said.

“Is there really anything better than Sex on the Beach?” Abbie joked, giving him a coy look as she took another sip of her drink.

“Ahem... how about some dinner?” he said, pulling a chair out for her and tucking her in. She just smiled as he blushed.

*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*

“Lieutenant... here,” Crane said, taking his napkin and leaning toward her, wiping the mango juice from her chin. She had been eating the slices of mango that didn't fit into the salad and enjoying every juicy bite. For a second, she wondered how much this meal cost but then figured it was less expensive than going to the Caribbean in February.

“You really didn't have to go to all this trouble, Crane,” she said, taking the napkin from him and finishing the job.

“To see you smiling and warm again, it was worth it,” he said, taking the last piece of plantain and offering it to her. She took a nibble of it off his fork and he then finished what she left. They had devoured a good portion of the meal but there's be enough for her to take a plate to work tomorrow. Everyone would be jealous.

“It was delicious.”

“After I clean up, we're going to go watch some summer block-buster movie whilst sitting on a beach blanket in front of the TV,” Crane said. Abbie was certain with all that she had eaten, she would be sleeping in half an hour or less. And she was right.

*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*

Abbie woke up when the DVD ended. The room was lit only by the glow of the TV screen and the cute little lights he had strung up around the place, some blinking and some not. She was warm and comfortable and in the arms of Ichabod Crane. Well, this was new. He was snoring softly behind her and smelled slightly of rum. His hand was pressed against her lower abdomen in a very possessive manner that she decided she really rather enjoyed.

She moved back against him to discover that he was also very warm and very comfortable and very, very erect.

Well, that answered a few questions she had.

She knew she should pull away but curiosity got the better of her. She slid back a bit more and moved her bum against him, closing her eyes and questioning where she thought this was all going to lead. She sighed, realizing deep inside that she always knew where she wanted this to go. She was just never sure how to get there until right now.

“Abbie,” he mumbled.

He neither told her to stop nor did he move away. She writhed against him more and he fumbled with the button and zipper on her jeans, pulling them down just enough so he could slide his hand under the stiff fabric. He moved her panties aside and touched her and she moaned at the sensation. It had been too long since she had felt fingers that weren't her own touching her there. She was thankful they had both taken their boots off already before they started watching the movie. It was much easier to wiggle out of her clothes and toss them aside.

After shedding her own clothing, Abbie pulled his shirt off and watching as he unfastened his breeches and kicked them down his legs and off. She was over him, her mouth hovering so close to his and they each breathed in the other, lips barely touching but enough for a hot bolt of arousal to travel right down between her thighs. His tongue flickered out across his lips for a just a second and then she kissed him for the first time, enjoying the taste of him.

His tongue now explored her mouth and his beard burned her face but she wasn't complaining. She pulled away and explored his face with her mouth, brushing across all his distinguishing features. She licked across the notch on his throat, causing him to moan from deep in his chest. She moved her mouth ever so slowly over his face, brushing across the scar he had on his forehead, wondering how he had received that wound.

Before she had the chance to ask, he turned her over onto her back and slid down her body, exploring all of her now. His tongue danced over each of her nipples and she threw her head back and moaned. He moved lower, dipping his tongue into her bellybutton and her moans turned into a giggle. A moment later, he was between her legs, his lips suckling her before his tongue explored absolutely everything. She moaned again, her fingers wound tight in his hair. When she came hard over and over again, she looked at him and he looked so satisfied with himself. More satisfied than he had been with his dinner. He smiled and crawled up her body slowly.

“Please,” was the only word she could manage to mutter. They moved together like they had been doing this forever. He was over her and in between her thighs and she reached between them and guided him into her body. She loved the feel of the weight of him on her as her legs wrapped high around his hips, letting him move even deeper inside of her, filling her completely.

It was too late to worry about any of this being “safe.” Much too late. He came inside of her and then fell on her, both of them breathing hard. She unwrapped her legs but he didn't pull out or move. Instead he propped himself up and kissed her over and over again.

“Warm enough now? Still need a tropical vacation?” he asked her between kisses.

“Oh, I'll always need a tropical vacation and the ocean and you but I'm now warm. Hot, actually. Very hot,” she said.

“Indeed you are,” he said, kissing her again as the little flamingo lights continued to blink around them.

*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*

The End

#ichabbie summer #birthday fic #ichabbie #smut #and food #all errors are mine

[superqueerwritingfangirl-blog]

Scattered Memories (Part 1)

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Character Ship: Spencer Reid x Reader

Word Count: 2004(Far too long)

Summary: After Hotch gives your team a rare long weekend you head home, but you never make it. You wake up 13 hours later in the same spot you blackout at, but something is different. 

Warnings: None descriptive rape, kidnapping, angst, eventual PTSD

Author’s note: I’ve been working on this for two days before realizing how long it was getting to be a one-parter, this won’t be as long as I plan on making my Trials and Tribulation’s series -two/three parts at the most.

Part 2

The last thing you remembered was leaving work for the day. You handed Hotch your completed files, saying goodbye to him, JJ, Rossi, Derek, and Garcia. As always, you lingered at Spencer’s desk, laughing at his awkward jokes, being completely hypnotized by his magic tricks, and sad goodbyes, even though you know you’ll see each other the next day.

After that, you head down to the parking garage that belonged to the government building. It was already dark out, being winter, so you picked up your pace and approached your vehicle. You heard of few stray footsteps, but nothing too close to you. As you started your car it seemed to lurch forward for a split second, but it rested and returned to normal, so you went on your way.

About half way home you decided to rent a movie for the long weekend Hotch had allowed the team, given no cases came up. The rental store was crowded for date night, causing you to bump into several of the inhabitants. Mumbling to yourself you searched the new release aisle, grabbing the one that looked most interesting.

You began feeling slightly dizzy ‘It’s probably just anxiety,’ you told yourself, ‘it’s far too crowded for anyone to feel comfortable.’ Pushing the feeling aside, you paid for the rented DVD and stepped outside. With a breath of fresh air, the dizziness seem to subside and you continued your drive home, but not even 5 minutes into your drive, only a few minutes away from home something turned wrong.

Something was very wrong: your hearing faded, ringing to a deafening point, your hands were shaking and you knew you had to be swerving, and your sight was almost gone. Trying your best to focus on the road, you reached into your back pocket and pulled out your phone. You knew you wouldn’t be conscious enough to make a call, your words being blurred in your mind, let alone, actually being spoken, so you sent a text. You chose the first contact in your text message history: Spencer Reid, typing a simple “911”.

As you sent it you pulled off onto a side road and parked. Just behind you, another car pulled up, you stepped out of your vehicle, hoping to signal the danger you were in but the moment your feet touched the ground you collapsed, the world turning dark.

But that had to have been hours ago because right now it looked as though the sun, which was just going down the last time you were conscious, was rising through the trees. Instead of lying on the ground, where you were previously, you haphazardly splayed over the front two seats of your car.

You groaned, shifting into a sitting position, searching for your phone. Surprisingly you found it back in your back pocket. Your phone was shut off - something you never did, in the case of an emergency, you could be tracked down. Dozens of texts and phone calls from everyone on your team and a handful of others.

Seeing the urgent messages you went to reach for your FBI badge and your gun, that always sat in your glove box, but they were gone. Immediately you dialed 911. “911 - where is your-”

You cut her off, begging yourself not to lose your train of thought. “My name is (Y/F/N) (Y/L/N), I am an agent of the FBI. I think I might have been attacked. I’ll need an ambulance, police unit, and for you to call and ask for Special Agent Hotchner and the rest of his team at the FBI.”

“Yes ma’am.” The 911 operator replied, obviously shaken. You hung up and began checking yourself.

Looking into the rearview mirror you checked your eyes, your pupils were dilated and the whites were yellowed, most likely from being drugged. Looking down at your clothes you noticed how disheveled they were: shirt untucked, buttons undid haphazardly, one sock missing. You didn’t want to think about why. Rolling up your sleeves, you checked your arms, you saw bruises and scrapes but no signs of injection marks. You did the same for your legs, but then you remembered the rentals store: someone had bumped into you, they hit your hip. Grabbing the waistband of your pants, you slowly revealed the skin of your hip and almost immediately you saw the tiny red dot, and gently touching it you could feel a slight indent of a hole. Along with remembering the rental store you also remembered the car that pulled up behind you.

Seconds later you heard the sirens, as well as two black SUV’s. You got out of your vehicle, almost running to Hotch as he stepped out, onto the pavement. “I need an APB out for a red 2014 Impala.” You began to walk away, towards the paramedics, before you felt a hand grasp your wrist. With your instincts kicking in, you swung around and attempted to punch your assailant. Luckily he was able to dodge it as you realized it was still Hotch. “Shit! Hotch, I’m so sorry!”

“What happened, (Y/N)?” Aaron asked.

“I don’t know.” You admitted. “After I left the other night, I went to the movie rental place a couple blocks back. It was so crowded and someone bumped into me. I became dizzy but tried to drive home. I knew I couldn’t make it so I pulled off here and the car pulled up behind me. I went out to confront him but passed out the second I stood up. I woke up back in my car.”

By then the team had gathered around, as well as the paramedics and police. You sighed when you saw the way Spencer looked at you. “They took my gun and badge, and - uh - there’s an injection point on my hip. I think he may have..” You didn’t have to finish the sentence for them to know what you meant. They all looked away and a paramedic ushered you over to the ambulance, sitting you on the bed in the back.

They asked you dozens of questions, trying to burrow passed your fuzzy mind. They quickly took you over to the hospital, doing horrific tests. After everything was done they finally allowed you to be released, abling you to see your team - your family. “You should be at the hospital,” Hotch said, oddly gentle.

“I won’t be able to help while in the hospital. The drugs are out of my system, and other than the kit I’ve been given a clean bill of health.”

“Other than the kit?” He asked, clearly worried.

“It came back positive, but I’m fine. I don’t even remember it.”

He gave you a look. A fatherly look that said he didn’t believe you but he’ll leave it for now. You silently thanked him. The two of you walked into the briefing room and, no matter how hard they tried, all eyes were on you. Jennifer ran up to you, awkwardly gave you a hug and handed you a warm cup. You took a sip and sighed. Your favorite coffee drink, you smiled for the first time that day, and that made her smile. “Thank you, JJ.” You sang.

You plopped down in your chair, always next to Spencer, you smiled at him and as you pushed yourself closer to the table he looked confused. In all honesty, so were you. How should you feel? You couldn’t remember what happened to you but now you know something did. You felt gross and violated but also fine. You knew it was probably because of shock but you had to ride the wave in order to catch this guy. You could mourn after he was in jail.

“We were able to track down the tape from the rental store. It’s hard to see because of how crowded it was but we can see the moment he stuck you with the drug.”

You watched intently at the screen, furious with yourself for not connecting the pain in your hip with foul play in the moment. You saw a man in a hoodie, jeans, and a baseball cap pull a syringe out of the hoodie pocket. He pulled the cap off of the needle and approached you, swiftly sticking the needle into your thigh, plunging the liquid into your bloodstream. You pounded your fist onto the table. All eyes turned to you. “I was dizzy!” You nearly yelled.

“(Y/N)” Spencer started before you interrupted him.

“I thought it was because of all the people around me. I completely ignored the pain in my hip.” You were so frustrated with yourself you felt tears prick at your eyes. “I should have stopped and made sure I was fine.”

You got up and went to leave the room, needing to be alone. As you opened the door you ran into Garcia, all but crying, she apologized. “Global News was sent a tape. They think it’s our guy, they sent it directly to us.”

You looked at Garcia then Hotch and went back to sit down. “You don’t need to watch this.” Aaron stated.

“I’m not a victim, Hotch, I’m a highly qualified Agent. Let me solve this case.” You said, trying to convince yourself more than the team. He nodded, turning back to the screen.

Your beloved techie pressed a button on the remote and ugly rock music began swimming through your ears. The music triggered a sort of trance in you and suddenly you were there. Clothed in only your panties, the man had his arms wrapped around you as you stood in the middle of a freezing shed. You were still drugged out, but conscious enough to have a vague memory of the event.

With his arms around your waist, your own arms tucked under his, he forced you to sway to the music. Incoherent moans and groans spilled out of your mouth, a few ‘no’s’ barely audible, but still there. You could feel the tears spilling from your blurry eyes. “No.” You whispered, sensing his lips ghost over your ear.

“Dance for me, agent.” The man sang, walking towards the camera. In his hands were your badge and a gun, that you assumed was yours as well. He showed the camera his new toys then looked back at you, who was standing still. “I said dance! If not you won’t be able to watch as your colleagues watch this tape. So, with the room in a fuzzy haze, you began to sway, one hand crossing your stomach and the other tangled in your hair.

On any normal day, you hated dancing when people were watching. You never danced at clubs or parties. You only ever danced with Reid at Rossi’s get together's, that's always what you did. You’d be in each other's arms and sway to the music, talking about anything and everything while the team watched and laughed.

You had no idea how to dance to rock music, let alone under these circumstances. He groaned in a disgustingly sexual way. “‘Atta girl.” He laughed, turning his direction back to the camera. He flaunted your credentials and gun, twirling it around his finger. “Isn’t your girl beautiful? Aaron? Rossi? Derek? Spencer?” He finished with emphasis. You couldn’t see his face but you knew he had a foul smirk.

With every second he spent showing off in front of the camera your mind cleared up. When you felt stable enough you reached for a stray tool, leaning against the wall of the shed. You swung for his head, but missed and a second later he slammed the second syringe into the back of your neck, almost immediately you fell to the ground, your mind was black. “No.” you whispered again, then again and again. Soon you found yourself chanting ‘no’ in a whispered panic.

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid xyou #spencer reid #fanfic #x reader #spencer x reader #reid x reader #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds #spencer #reid

[repwinpril9y0a1]

The Benefits of Shooting in Auto Mode

I can still hear the words I was told when I bought my first DSLR ringing in my ears just as clearly as if I heard them this morning. “You have to learn to shoot in manual mode.” When I started to get serious about photography I had no idea what aperture, shutter, or ISO meant, and thought P meant Professional. I didn’t know what I was doing at all and because everyone seemed to say so, I dove right into YouTube tutorials and online articles about how to get away from the dreaded Auto Mode setting on my camera. After all, no serious photographer would be caught dead using Automatic…right?

Auto Mode – don’t knock it until you try it. And even then, maybe give it a second chance.

The truth, like most things in life, isn’t so black and white. Auto mode, while often derided by online commenters and popular YouTube photographers, is not the scourge upon modern photography that some people claim. While it might not be the best way to get exactly the picture you want, and learning to shoot in manual is, of course, a rewarding and hugely beneficial way to increase your skills as a photographer, there is nothing inherently wrong with using Auto.

In fact, there are some clear benefits to using Auto. So, I’d like to explore some of its advantages and offer a few reasons why you shouldn’t feel so bad if you set your expensive DSLR camera on that familiar green Auto setting.

It just works – usually

It is certainly true that you have a much better idea of the picture you are trying to take than your camera does. However, it’s also true that you may not know how to (or care) make your camera do what you want it to do, in order to get the picture you want. Photographers sometimes talk about

Photographers sometimes talk about the decisive moment, which was a term used by Henri Cartier-Bresson to describe that instant in which all the elements within the frame come together to form the perfect photographic opportunity. Unfortunately, many amateur photographers will wistfully watch that moment pass by because they are fiddling with aperture controls and thinking about shutter speeds.

I’m all for learning more about how to use your camera (I write for DPS and that’s what we do!) but sometimes it’s nice to just put your camera in Auto mode and let it do all the grunt work for you.

The trade-off

Modern cameras are filled to the brim with all sorts of high-tech enhancements compared to their counterparts from days gone by, and along with this has been a string of steady improvements to their built-in Auto mode. For the most part, shooting in Auto will give you a well-exposed picture that will probably suit your needs. The downside is that your camera might make different choices than you prefer when it comes to selecting an aperture, shutter speed, or ISO value, and if there is not enough light you will likely see the pop-up flash rear its ugly head.

This is when you may start thinking about learning to use some of the other modes on your camera. But, if you don’t mind the creative decisions your camera makes or just don’t feel like learning the complexities of the Exposure Triangle, then, by all means, go ahead and shoot in Auto Mude. After all, it’s about the picture, and if you’re happy with the results then why not keep using it?

Auto lets you focus on other things too

When you take your camera out to record a moment, memory, or special event, there is usually a lot going on around you and that little black box in your hand. There may be people, kids, music, animals, wind, rain, or a combination of all that, plus much more.

An experienced photographer will know exactly how to set her camera to get the kind of pictures she is looking for and will know just what settings to tweak and change in order to get the right images. However, even experienced photographers can get a bit overwhelmed when there is so much going on, and for casual photographers, it is even worse. It’s times like these when Auto mode can be your best friend. You should not only not feel embarrassed about using it, but my advice is to openly embrace that comfortable little green setting.

Missing the shot due to not knowing the settings

One of the worst times for a photographer is that sinking feeling when you realize you just missed the shot. Even photographic veterans have been known to leave the lens cap on from time to time. If you are just getting started with photography or trying to improve your skills, then fiddling with aperture controls or trying to figure out the right metering mode for a particular scene is enough to make you want to toss your camera out the window in frustration. Many a photographer has missed the opportunity to take a picture because they were wrestling with camera settings and trying to get things just right before clicking the shutter.

By contrast, using Auto can free you up to take pictures while also taking in the rest of the experience around you. Instead of worrying about the ISO, trying to figure out what shutter speed to use, or wondering if you need to use the flash, Auto mode will just take care of these for you. The trade-off is that the results might not be exactly what you wanted (maybe you were going for a shallower depth of field, or would have preferred to not use the flash). But at least you’ll walk away with some pictures while also having the freedom to talk to other people, take in the scene, and be present in the moment. That is unless you accidentally leave your lens cap on!

Auto can help you understand your camera

One of the biggest barriers to entry for people who want to learn more about cameras and photography is all the technical details inherent in the art form. Understanding the basic elements of exposure is enough to make your head swim. On top of that, there are all sorts of other considerations like white balance, focal length, megapixels, etc. The list goes on and it often seems like a cruel and unforgiving proposition that is more alienating than inviting.

Fortunately shooting in Auto mode is a great way to dip your toes into the more complex aspects of photography, provided you don’t mind doing a little bit of legwork on your own.

Embedded in the metadata of every single picture, whether taken on an iPhone or a high-end DSLR, is a whole slew of information known as EXIF data. Most image editing programs, even basic ones like Apple Photos or online solutions like Flickr and Google Photos, let you peek inside the EXIF data to find out more about the technical underpinnings of a photo.

What Auto mode can show you

If you take pictures using Auto mode all the details such aperture, shutter speed, and ISO are saved in the EXIF data along with a slew of additional information like your camera model, whether the flash fired, what type of metering mode was used, even the location of the picture if your camera has GPS capability. Looking at the EXIF data of your photos, and other photos you see online is a fantastic way to learn about the technical aspects of photography so you can get a better sense of how the picture was taken. It’s almost like getting a movie on DVD or Blu-Ray and watching the behind-the-scenes bonus features or listening to the director’s commentary, in that you can get a good idea of what creative decisions were made in order to get the final result.

If you have ever wanted to get more serious about shooting in Manual or one of the semi-automatic modes on your camera, try shooting in Auto and then using the EXIF data to replicate that same shot in Manual mode. Then tweak the settings like aperture or shutter speed and you will start to see how changing these values affects the final image. But be careful – doing this can open you up to a much larger world of photography by helping you learn to creatively control your camera in ways you might have never thought possible!

Conclusion

There’s some kind of a stigma attached to Auto mode, where people sometimes think you are less of a photographer if that’s all you use. I liken this to people who get into arguments about Ford versus Chevy, Android versus iPhone, or any of the other sorts of silly things over which people tend to squabble. If you use Auto and you like it,

If you use Auto Mode and you like it, then by all means, keep using it! Certainly, it’s nice to have more control over your camera, but some people find that by giving up control and just using Auto they are free to focus on other things that matter more to them. If that sounds like you, then by golly (as my dad would say) put your camera mode dial to the green square and click away.

The post The Benefits of Shooting in Auto Mode by Simon Ringsmuth appeared first on Digital Photography School.

from DIYS http://ift.tt/2kIfqL3

#DIYS

[joya34blanco]

The Benefits of Shooting in Auto Mode

I can still hear the words I was told when I bought my first DSLR ringing in my ears just as clearly as if I heard them this morning. “You have to learn to shoot in manual mode.” When I started to get serious about photography I had no idea what aperture, shutter, or ISO meant, and thought P meant Professional. I didn’t know what I was doing at all and because everyone seemed to say so, I dove right into YouTube tutorials and online articles about how to get away from the dreaded Auto Mode setting on my camera. After all, no serious photographer would be caught dead using Automatic…right?

Auto Mode – don’t knock it until you try it. And even then, maybe give it a second chance.

The truth, like most things in life, isn’t so black and white. Auto mode, while often derided by online commenters and popular YouTube photographers, is not the scourge upon modern photography that some people claim. While it might not be the best way to get exactly the picture you want, and learning to shoot in manual is, of course, a rewarding and hugely beneficial way to increase your skills as a photographer, there is nothing inherently wrong with using Auto.

In fact, there are some clear benefits to using Auto. So, I’d like to explore some of its advantages and offer a few reasons why you shouldn’t feel so bad if you set your expensive DSLR camera on that familiar green Auto setting.

It just works – usually

It is certainly true that you have a much better idea of the picture you are trying to take than your camera does. However, it’s also true that you may not know how to (or care) make your camera do what you want it to do, in order to get the picture you want. Photographers sometimes talk about

Photographers sometimes talk about the decisive moment, which was a term used by Henri Cartier-Bresson to describe that instant in which all the elements within the frame come together to form the perfect photographic opportunity. Unfortunately, many amateur photographers will wistfully watch that moment pass by because they are fiddling with aperture controls and thinking about shutter speeds.

I’m all for learning more about how to use your camera (I write for DPS and that’s what we do!) but sometimes it’s nice to just put your camera in Auto mode and let it do all the grunt work for you.

The trade-off

Modern cameras are filled to the brim with all sorts of high-tech enhancements compared to their counterparts from days gone by, and along with this has been a string of steady improvements to their built-in Auto mode. For the most part, shooting in Auto will give you a well-exposed picture that will probably suit your needs. The downside is that your camera might make different choices than you prefer when it comes to selecting an aperture, shutter speed, or ISO value, and if there is not enough light you will likely see the pop-up flash rear its ugly head.

This is when you may start thinking about learning to use some of the other modes on your camera. But, if you don’t mind the creative decisions your camera makes or just don’t feel like learning the complexities of the Exposure Triangle,��then, by all means, go ahead and shoot in Auto Mude. After all, it’s about the picture, and if you’re happy with the results then why not keep using it?

Auto lets you focus on other things too

When you take your camera out to record a moment, memory, or special event, there is usually a lot going on around you and that little black box in your hand. There may be people, kids, music, animals, wind, rain, or a combination of all that, plus much more.

An experienced photographer will know exactly how to set her camera to get the kind of pictures she is looking for and will know just what settings to tweak and change in order to get the right images. However, even experienced photographers can get a bit overwhelmed when there is so much going on, and for casual photographers, it is even worse. It’s times like these when Auto mode can be your best friend. You should not only not feel embarrassed about using it, but my advice is to openly embrace that comfortable little green setting.

Missing the shot due to not knowing the settings

One of the worst times for a photographer is that sinking feeling when you realize you just missed the shot. Even photographic veterans have been known to leave the lens cap on from time to time. If you are just getting started with photography or trying to improve your skills, then fiddling with aperture controls or trying to figure out the right metering mode for a particular scene is enough to make you want to toss your camera out the window in frustration. Many a photographer has missed the opportunity to take a picture because they were wrestling with camera settings and trying to get things just right before clicking the shutter.

By contrast, using Auto can free you up to take pictures while also taking in the rest of the experience around you. Instead of worrying about the ISO, trying to figure out what shutter speed to use, or wondering if you need to use the flash, Auto mode will just take care of these for you. The trade-off is that the results might not be exactly what you wanted (maybe you were going for a shallower depth of field, or would have preferred to not use the flash). But at least you’ll walk away with some pictures while also having the freedom to talk to other people, take in the scene, and be present in the moment. That is unless you accidentally leave your lens cap on!

Auto can help you understand your camera

One of the biggest barriers to entry for people who want to learn more about cameras and photography is all the technical details inherent in the art form. Understanding the basic elements of exposure is enough to make your head swim. On top of that, there are all sorts of other considerations like white balance, focal length, megapixels, etc. The list goes on and it often seems like a cruel and unforgiving proposition that is more alienating than inviting.

Fortunately shooting in Auto mode is a great way to dip your toes into the more complex aspects of photography, provided you don’t mind doing a little bit of legwork on your own.

Embedded in the metadata of every single picture, whether taken on an iPhone or a high-end DSLR, is a whole slew of information known as EXIF data. Most image editing programs, even basic ones like Apple Photos or online solutions like Flickr and Google Photos, let you peek inside the EXIF data to find out more about the technical underpinnings of a photo.

What Auto mode can show you

If you take pictures using Auto mode all the details such aperture, shutter speed, and ISO are saved in the EXIF data along with a slew of additional information like your camera model, whether the flash fired, what type of metering mode was used, even the location of the picture if your camera has GPS capability. Looking at the EXIF data of your photos, and other photos you see online is a fantastic way to learn about the technical aspects of photography so you can get a better sense of how the picture was taken. It’s almost like getting a movie on DVD or Blu-Ray and watching the behind-the-scenes bonus features or listening to the director’s commentary, in that you can get a good idea of what creative decisions were made in order to get the final result.

If you have ever wanted to get more serious about shooting in Manual or one of the semi-automatic modes on your camera, try shooting in Auto and then using the EXIF data to replicate that same shot in Manual mode. Then tweak the settings like aperture or shutter speed and you will start to see how changing these values affects the final image. But be careful – doing this can open you up to a much larger world of photography by helping you learn to creatively control your camera in ways you might have never thought possible!

Conclusion

There’s some kind of a stigma attached to Auto mode, where people sometimes think you are less of a photographer if that’s all you use. I liken this to people who get into arguments about Ford versus Chevy, Android versus iPhone, or any of the other sorts of silly things over which people tend to squabble. If you use Auto and you like it,

If you use Auto Mode and you like it, then by all means, keep using it! Certainly, it’s nice to have more control over your camera, but some people find that by giving up control and just using Auto they are free to focus on other things that matter more to them. If that sounds like you, then by golly (as my dad would say) put your camera mode dial to the green square and click away.

googletag.cmd.push(function() { tablet_slots.push( googletag.defineSlot( “/1005424/_dPSv4_tab-all-article-bottom_(300×250)”, [300, 250], “pb-ad-78623” ).addService( googletag.pubads() ) ); } );

googletag.cmd.push(function() { mobile_slots.push( googletag.defineSlot( “/1005424/_dPSv4_mob-all-article-bottom_(300×250)”, [300, 250], “pb-ad-78158” ).addService( googletag.pubads() ) ); } );

The post The Benefits of Shooting in Auto Mode by Simon Ringsmuth appeared first on Digital Photography School.

from Digital Photography School https://digital-photography-school.com/benefits-shooting-auto-mode/

[childlifer]

    One week post-election, I found myself bound for Mexico City, ready to teach and learn in alongside my adventure colleague, Maria Busqueta. Marifer, (as I call her) hosted me in her home town, where she is a child life specialist, psychologist and educator. It was a whirlwind couple of days, as we visited the General de la Raza Hospital, learned about the Ayudarme a Sonreir ante el Cancer Foundation, The Vuela Foundation, taught a class on play techniques for adolescents, and attended a two-day conference on palliative care. Phew!

My first impressions of Mexico City and Marifer’s neighborhood: Unexpectedly cold and wet. Lovely hills rising up from the urban center. Cypress trees in plenty and Bougainvillea in bright, fuscea explosions amongst the trees and spilling down high stone retaining walls. Hilly, winding roads with speed bumps everywhere instead of stop signs. Heavy and erratic traffic. Cold mornings and nights. Marifer’s house has many levels to it, all encased in gingerbread auburn ceramic tiles. Like my home, the kitchen and living room are on the upper level, with bedrooms below. Marifer’s jaunty beagle, Duncan, lords over the front yard and threatens escape with each coming and going of a human being through the iron gate. Marifer’s mother cooks for us several times a day, filling me with homestyle Mexican fare. It is mere moments before I feel like family.

We are up bright and early my first full day there, ready to pay a visit to the Hospital Raza. Lisette Garcia Urenda, the founder of the Ayudarme a Sonreir ante el Cancer Foundation (which translates as “We help you smile after cancer”), is hosting us, and we meet her outside of the largest and oldest public hospital in all of Mexico. The sidewalks surrounding the building team with merchants hawking their wares, everything from pork roasting in a cauldron to magazines and fruit. We weave past the stalls and in through the back emergency entrance to the hospital. As we enter the foyer, several pediatric cancer patients and their families are exiting the hospital, bundled up for discharge and eager to be home. But they stop to hug, kiss and chat with Lisette. They shake our hands and offer “mucho gusto” as Lisette introduces us.

It is clear that the children and their caregivers adore Lisette. And it is easy to see why – she is all brightness, high energy and love. One teenage boy jokes for me to take him back to the United States with him. The younger children glance at us shyly.

There are three events planned for the day, two presentations to patients and a therapeutic art activity to be conducted on the inpatient ward. The foundation grants wishes for pediatric cancer patients, and families have gathered to witness Lisette’s presentation of a wish to a young girl. They sit in tiny, child-sized plastic chairs around the parameter of an open roofed waiting area. The children sport face masks, bald heads, hats, and winter coats with good reason. It is cold.

The child is brought to the center of the room, and Lisette introduces her to everyone. I am regretting in the moment that I don’t understood more Spanish, but it seems that she is telling them how well the girl is doing post bone marrow transplant. With great flourish, Lisette hands the girl a large present. The child opens it with excitement and beams at its contents, an “alien” doll that  is apparently quite the rage. It’s hard not to note what a child with cancer might have in common with the toy. Both are bald; both might need to be isolated because of threatening germs in a hostile environment; both may need to be fed through a tube in the stomach. And, any child who has such a diagnosis may often feel like a misunderstood species hovering over the more typical lives of healthy peers.

The child hugs Lisette. The onlookers clap, and I wonder if they are envious of her.  Lisette explains to me that most of them will have a wish granted at some point, so that no child feels left out. Later, the child’s mother is crying in the hallway, sharing bad news with her social worker. Her daughter has relapsed. The bone marrow transplant didn’t take.

Lisette says that many of these children die, and that in order to do her work, she must get lots of therapy and continually study and obtain higher degrees. This is why she is a current student of Marifer’s. She does the work because when her father-in-law died, he told her that she must work for the forgotten children. She says that many of these children don’t have electricity in their homes.

The next planned event is the presentation of a natural hair wig made from five individual donations of hair. The recipient is a six-year-old girl. She is very shy and quiet. We are in a hall outside of the infusion clinic. The floors are buckled and seams of cement overflow the protruding tile. I wonder if this is from an earthquake. Nurses wear white and institutional green uniforms, donning plastic nursing caps in the same colors. I feel like I have stepped back into the 1950’s, except for the fact that they are all taking photos on their cell phones as Lisette presents the wig to the child.

Lisette speaks with the girl for quite some time. She reassures her that she needn’t speak if she doesn’t wish to, that they can communicate with their eyes. Lisette tells the child about the beauty of her heart, that the wig is just an accessory, that her beauty is not dependent on whether or not she has hair.

You must say to yourself every day in the mirror: “I am beautiful!”

The child tries on the wig and looks in a mirror provided by Lisette. Everyone poses for photos with her. In the end, her mother repacks the wig carefully in the box, and they are on their way.

Lisette leads us through a chaotic and crowded hallway to a packed elevator that carries us to the inpatient  pediatric oncology unit. In the hallway between two separate wings (one designated for solid tumors, the other for liquid), is a small but well equipped playroom. Siblings and patients mingle at child-sized tables. There are floor to ceiling shelves laden with cause and effect toys, a toy hospital, dollhouse, action figures (“for boys” says the playroom coordinator), blocks, puzzles, games and art materials. There is a large dollhouse in a corner, a kitchen play set, and several large bookcases overflowing with books. Lisette’s foundation supplies the  DVD lending library. One child sits with an adult working on a puzzle. Another plays with the dollhouse. A mothers group meets in the waiting room next door. The only thing I feel is missing is a medical play corner and sensory play materials. A flatscreen tv plays a Disney movie overhead.

Lisette has plans for an expressive arts activity. She brings us to the liquid tumor wing, into a room with six beds. Five children between the ages of two and fourteen seem excited to see Lisette and very open to our visit. The six-year-old boy is talkative and funny. After some quipping back and forth, Lisette hands out art paper to the children with a body outline on it.  But before she can begin to explain the instructions, the two year-old’s mother leaves the room, and the toddler begins to cry loudly and  inconsolably . She sits in her cage-like crib, crying desperately, reaching both arms up as if asking her absent mother to pick her up. Either that, or she is imploring the Gods to bring her mother back!

Lisette approaches with kind words, but the toddler is having none of it. She screams louder. Lisette offers her crayons and a “Frozen” coloring book. The child cries “No!” and turns away. Lisette is unperturbed. Using the surroundings, she jumps quickly into a bit of improv. The room has been newly decorated with a brightly colored mural on all four walls, ceiling to floor. It is a nature and farm scene. Near the girl’s bed, close to the floor, a mother duck swims with her three ducklings on a bright blue pond. Lisette launches into a conversation with the ducklings, turning her back on the toddler, lessening the child’s stranger anxiety by ceasing direct eye contact. She engages everyone in the room in asking the names of the ducks. She suggests the proffered names, and the little girl shakes her head in protest at each one. But she has stopped wailing and is watching Lisette intently. Lisette blocks the child’s view of the mother duck and tells a tale of the ducklings searching for their mother. She reassures the girl that her mommy will always return. We all sing the song “Five Little Ducks”. Lisette offers the coloring book again, asking, “May I put it on your bed?” The child accepts and begins to color.

Lisette conducts the art activity with success. She speaks to the children about the variety of emotions we all have. She says they will play a coloring game based on a game called “Basta!” (enough). She takes turns calling out emotions, and each time they must grab a crayon and color within the body outline to represent where and how much of that emotion they have until Lisette yells, “Basta!” Lisette is very lively and whips the kids up into a coloring frenzy. She begins with the emotions of fear, anger, and sadness, and ends with love and joy. I am sitting with the toddler, who is methodically drawing many tiny, blue circles on each page of her coloring book, while she listens and glances at the other children. She watches closely as a nurse enters the room and approaches the six-year-old. The boy grins and says, “It’s good that you are here. My IV is backing up.” The nurse adjusts his IV, then moves over to the toddler, preparing medicine in a syringe without a needle. The toddler opens her mouth complacently to receive it without complaint.

The fourteen-year-old has gone for a walk. I had noticed when I entered the room that she didn’t appear physically ill. She has all of her hair, and is not connected to an IV. She wore a contented, cheerful expression while she chatted on her cell phone. Soon, it is time for us to move on. The teen has returned to her bed. We all pose for photos. All the children except the toddler smile. She still appears a bit somber.  I am the first to leave the room, and the teen’s caregiver follows me and grabs my arm in the hallway. She asks if I understand Spanish and begins to pour out a story to me that even with my broken Spanish, I can piece together. She is not the teen’s mother, but her aunt.

Two weeks prior, she, her two sisters and family members were traveling by car in a caravan. There was a horrible crash. The teen’s mother and father were killed. Her brother lies in critical condition in the ICU. Although the teen was unharmed, the tests she underwent at the hospital revealed that she has cancer. She had only just learned of her parents’ deaths the day before. I struggle to match that news with the image of the calm, smiling teen I’d met. Was she in shock? Denial?

The aunt shows me photos on her phone of her family, as well as a video about a teen whose mother dies. She says she is a Jehovah’s Witness and believes that we will all see our loved ones again after death. I tell her that I will carry her family in my heart.  I think about how much good healthcare in hospitals involves helping patients and families to tell their stories. This seems true in every country I visit. And in every country thus far, families don’t hesitate to share their stories with a stranger. Perhaps it is easier to tell a stranger. But it is more than that. This woman, and others I have met, seem compelled to share their narratives, as if we couldn’t stop them if we tried.

Leaving the hospital, I am sad, exhausted and hopeful in equal measures. Lisette’s work makes a mark. Listening makes a difference. The children won’t be forgotten by us. Shared stories tear down cultural walls.

Building Bridges Instead of Walls – Teaching & Learning in Mexico City One week post-election, I found myself bound for Mexico City, ready to teach and learn in alongside my adventure colleague, …

#cancer #culture #hospital play #medical narrative #Mexican wall #Mexico #narrative #pediatrics #Wall #wish granting