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total-dxmure · 5 months

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✦ INVISIBLE STRING THEORY →【ELLIE WILLIAMS】→ CHAPTER ONE

pairings: modern!marine ellie x reader

summary: the marines didn’t ruin ellie. ellie ruined ellie. after being medically discharged she feels lost. being sent to live with joel is more of a last ditch effort to save her and less of a fun reunion for the father-daughter duo. jackson is worlds different than chicago, but the fresh air and sprawling countrysides are a welcome reprieve. ellie finds herself finding comfort in more than just the change in scenery though. after losing your girlfriend due to an accident you feel as though you’ll never find love again- but that was before meeting ellie williams. the two of you figure out that you have more in common than just the fact that she and your girlfriend were both marines though. tethered by some invisible string, the two of you meeting has to be fate. who would have known that you were the golden ticket to ellie’s recovery?

warnings: eventual smut! lots of tension building and mutual pining. ellie falls first and hard. small town girl meets a frightening, strong ex marine. TW: talk of panic attacks, ptsd episodes and death. come for the ellie smut and stay for the plot and fluff.

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“The fact that she’s military is the only thing saving her ass right now.”

Ellie kept her head bowed down low, her hands clasped in between her legs as she hunched over in the seat, making herself as small as possible. Her knuckles were bruised and scrapped to hell, the blood already dried and crusted. Most of the blood wasn’t hers, and if she thought about that fact for too long she’d probably have an episode. Either that or she’d throw up all over the sheriff’s office.

“Boss, I really appreciate you calling me instead of booking her. You have to understand that she’s in therapy and is on a shit ton of medications. Is the guy gonna press charges. . . ?” Hearing her best friend kiss up to his boss on her behalf had the vein in her forehead twitching.

“Technically the boy was shoplifting, so I doubt he’s gonna go forward with any sort’a legal action. I know she was trying to help, but she used excessive force. Beat the poor kid black and blue. . . I mean-” The officer lowered his voice, and Ellie could hear Jesse’s chair creak as he leaned forward. “His damn tooth was knocked out.” The sheriff whispered.

She closed her eyes tight, running a shaky hand over her face. She should own up to all of this and apologize. This was her fault, so why. . . why was she just sitting there? It was like she was glued to the chair, unable to move her head up. She couldn’t look Jesse in the eye. She was ashamed of herself.

Because she smelled like greasy, unwashed hair and cigarettes, was wearing the same pair of jeans she’d worn yesterday when he invited her over to his and Dina’s for dinner, and now he was having to pick her up at the police station for starting a fight.

A pack of beer. That’s what she’d pummeled the boy over.

He couldn’t have even been her age. He looked freshly legal, and something in her fucked up mind told her that it was okay to hurt him like that. The second that the nice elderly woman behind the counter had started screaming about a man stealing from her, some sort of switch had been flipped in her brain. Loud noises always made her feel anxious, but screaming like that? She couldn’t have stopped the meltdown even if she’d wanted to. So she dropped what she was holding and ran after him. What happened afterwards was. . . well, it was a blur. She squeezed her eyes shut tight and rubbed her temples, trying hard to remember.

Her therapist called them “PTSD episodes”. Random things triggered a breakdown: loud noises, gunshots, screams, flashes of light. . . they were unavoidable. She’d lose total track of time when it happened. One second the door to Ellie’s walk-in closet was closing behind her, plummeting her in darkness, and the next she’d be laying on her back in the middle of her room, balling her eyes out. Living like this was hell, but no matter how many mind-numbing pills she was prescribed, she still found it nearly impossible to function.

She didn’t want to scare her loved ones. When Joel called she just. . . lied. It made her feel dirty. It was wrong and she knew that, but it was better than the alternative. Being a liar was better than being a broken failure.

“Yeah, I’m doing great. My therapist is on to something, I think.”

“Come on, rambo. Let’s get you to bed.” Jesse placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, knowing better than to pat her on the back like he used to.

Ellie knew it hurt him to see her flinch under his touch. She swallowed back bile and stood up, practically having to drag herself out of the officers office. She couldn’t look at him. She couldn’t thank him or- or anything.

But then he did that thing. . . he thanked Ellie.

Ellie didn’t give a shit about the military discounts or the cheaper car insurance- she got a nice cushy check from the military every month just for breathing. She didn’t want pity or thanks simply because she didn’t deserve it.

“Thank you for your service, Williams.” The sheriff’s voice reminded her of Joel’s. For some reason that made it hurt even worse.

Still, her muscles tightened, and she worked hard to straighten her posture.

“It was my privilege.” It was a well rehearsed response. It didn’t even sound like her voice when she had said it though, and it scared her.

As she followed Jesse out to his truck, she tried to ascertain whether she was just beginning to disassociate or whether or not this was all just another strange side effect from her meds.

She blinked and suddenly she was already situated in the car, Jesse on the main road to get the both of them back home. He had the radio turned down to just a hum, his sleepy eyes glued to the road in front of him. The clock on his dashboard told her that it wasn’t just “late” anymore, but “morning” now. Ellie sat up suddenly, her heart pounding as she tried to map out exactly how many minutes she had just lost.

“Fuck.” She breathed, pressing her palms against her eyes.

She needed to call her therapist sometime today. She needed. . . She needed a lower dose of medication. There’s no way any of this was normal.

“Have you eaten?” Jesse asked, turning his head to finally look at her.

Ellie wished that he felt inconvenienced by her. Anger would be better than pity, but the look in his eyes was anything but annoyance. Jesse looked like he was close to tears. He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, and Ellie felt called to reach her hand out and place it on his shoulder. She wasn’t a very touchy person these days (and it’s not like she was to begin with), but he needed it.

“Not in a couple of hours.” Ellie answered him, letting her fingers dig into the soft fabric of his shirt.

He nodded and cleared his throat, sitting up a little straighter. When Ellie dropped her hand and turned to look out the passenger side window, she could have sworn he lifted his arm to hurriedly wipe at his eyes. She couldn’t be sure though. . . seeing as she was now legally blind in her left eye. The wonky eye and the thin scar that started in the middle of her forehead and ended on her brow bone were the only physical reminders that she had of the explosion.

It seemed so miniscule compared to all of the shit that was going on in her head. She’d much rather have a destroyed body than a brain that didn’t work right anymore.

“How about you sleep in the guest bedroom? Dina’s probably worried sick about the both of us. Let’s. . . let’s spend the day together. Yeah?” It sounded like he was pleading with her.

There was a brief moment of heavy silence. No matter how much of a burden she saw herself as, the thought of going home right now frightened her. Ellie was terrified that she was going to end up all alone in this world, but she couldn’t stop pushing everyone away. It’s almost as if. . . she knew that she was bound to self-destruct at some point. She didn’t want anyone to see her like that.

“She’s going to kill me.” Ellie groaned out, dramatically banging her head against the headrest.

Jesse’s lips twitched up into a smile, but he was quick to try and mask it. “Nah. Dina? Mad at you for getting arrested at one thirty in the morning? No way.” His tone was sarcastic, and Ellie appreciated the fact that Jesse could still joke under circumstances like this. It made things feel almost normal. Almost.

Ellie winced, dragging a battered and bruised hand over her face. She had no idea why she’d been at the gas station picking up a bag of pretzels and a pack of ding-dongs that late at night. A documentary about the recently discovered Exo-planet was on the Discovery channel, and she’d actually worked up an appetite after it was over. She missed acting her age. Maybe that’s why she ended up getting into her Jeep. She was tired of feeling nostalgic and actually wanted to do something for herself. As minuscule as grabbing snacks from the gas station down the street was, it still felt out of the ordinary for her. Special.

Dina was sitting on the couch when the pair slunk into the house, walking on their tip toes in the hopes that the creaking wooden floors wouldn’t wake up JJ. Ellie froze in the entryway, green eyes wide as she took in the female’s crossed arms and death-glare. She was in trouble, which meant that Jesse was in trouble as well by association.

“Do you know what time it is?” Dina whisper-yelled, throwing her arm in the direction of the clock on the wall.

Ellie squinted her one good eye, noting that it was now four in the morning. She’d lost three hours. She should have been passed out on her prescribed sleeping pills by now, plagued by vivid nightmares. Instead she was intruding on her two best friends, and for what? ‘A pack of beer’, she reminded herself. A god damn pack of fuckin’ beer.

Ellie’s mouth went dry, her lips moving but no words escaping her. How many times had she apologized to Dina since she’d gotten home after the accident? Still, her best friend’s anger was better than Jesse’s pity. The sleeves of Ellie’s flannel tightened around her biceps as she crossed her arms over her chest, mirroring Dina’s posture as if to protect herself. She slipped a hand up, covering her neck anxiously.

“I’m getting better, D. I’ll schedule an emergency meeting with my therapist and-” Ellie sounded pathetic, even to her own ears.

What she was doing couldn’t be called living. Ellie was simply existing and not doing a very good job at it either. She was tired of being tired. She blinked her misty eyes, turning to face the kitchen. She refused to cry. Once she started she couldn’t be sure that she’d be able to stop.

Jesse and Dina’s shoes were all neatly laid out by the front door and JJ’s baby bag was sitting on the dining room table. This was a family that she had just burdened. Her eyes snagged on JJ’s highchair, and then the guilt was building right back up in her chest.

Guilt and jealousy.

Ellie had once had hopes of starting her own family eventually. When did she lose her grasp on that? On her lifelong dreams and aspirations? She wanted to help people- save people- so when had she become the one that needed saving? The marines hadn’t ruined Ellie. Ellie had ruined Ellie.

“No, you’re not.” Dina said simply, her voice sounding thick with emotion. “Ellie, look at me.” Her voice was commanding despite her sadness.

Ellie’s eyes fell to the floor, but she turned her head to face Dina, green eyes flickering up to her face. Bottom lip quivering, brown eyes misty- Dina looked miserable.

“You’re not getting better.” She whispered to Ellie, shaking her head to drive the point home. It looked like the words physically hurt for her to say.

Every excuse that she could have given dissipated. Suddenly she felt naked, utterly exposed. Every nasty, jagged scar was on full display. How many times had she said that to the people that cared about her?

“I’m getting better.” “I actually feel a bit better today.” “You don’t have to worry about me. The meds are really working this time.” Ellie wasn’t sure when it happened but she had become a liar. A damn good one too. Dina was looking at her now though, really looking at her, and Ellie’s face crumpled.

“Fuck.” Ellie whispered to herself, moving her hands to cover her face.

Jesse stepped behind Ellie, wrapping his arms around her tightly, resting his cheek on the top of her head. A sob caught in Ellie’s chest and she strangled it before it could escape her. She couldn’t lose it. She couldn’t let her shoulders sag, couldn’t allow herself to feel everything in front of her best friends.

“I called Joel,” Dina finally said, leaning against the back of the couch, her knuckles going white with how hard she gripped the leather. “And he bought you a plane ticket. You’re flying out tomorrow.”

“No,” Ellie was already shaking her head before Dina had even finished her sentence. “How could you do this?” She felt the betrayal like a slap in the face. Her lips parted, eyes wide in silent desperation.

Please let this be a nightmare.

Her hand desperately flew to her arm, giving it a sharp pinch. The floor didn’t fall out from under her. She didn’t sit up sweating in her tangled sheets. This was actually happening. Actually real.

“You’re flailing, Ellie. We thought that eventually you’d level out,” Dina tried, taking a few steps towards Ellie and her husband. “But you’re only getting worse.”

“I’m getting better.” The well rehearsed line was the only thing she could think to utter. She prayed that eventually she could convince herself of that too. If she said the words enough times then maybe, eventually, they would become her reality. Perhaps she could somehow manifest her recovery.

“When was the last time you ate a solid meal? You barely touched your plate the other night. And I know you aren’t eating the food that Jesse drops off for you.” Dina was pointing out her flaws as if she didn’t see them all herself.

A full stomach meant nausea.

“When was the last time you showered?” The dark haired girl questioned.

Showering meant closing herself up into a tight space. It meant getting naked- seeing her scars. Remembering what happened to her and the rest of her unit.

“We know how this will end, Ellie. I don’t care if you hate me for the rest of my life for calling Joel. I refuse to lose you like this.” Dina’s voice quivered as she spoke, but her eyes hardened. She was resolute about her decision.

Jesse’s arms tightened around Ellie and suddenly they no longer felt like a comfort but a prison. She needed air. Needed to call Joel and apologize. Needed to tell him that she was fine. She was fine. She would be just fine.

“I can’t breathe.” Ellie managed to whisper out, knees buckling from underneath her. It felt like the world was finally swallowing her up whole.

She was a failure. She’d failed Jesse, Dina, JJ and Joel. Why couldn’t she just be normal again? Why couldn’t she just fucking breathe.

Jesse let go of Ellie as she began gasping for air, helping to sit her down on the cold hardwood floor. It felt like everything around her had slowed down to a crawl, but her mind- it had sped up to a breakneck pace. She couldn’t turn it off. Couldn’t turn off the thoughts and the images and the feelings.

She’d killed her unit. It was her fault that they all died. They had all been taken home in body bags, and what had Ellie gotten? A fucking government issued check every month that she blew on booze and a Purple Heart that collected dust.

“D, get the medication that’s in the cabinet and a glass of water.” Jesse called out to his wife. It sounded like they were underwater. She was drowning.

“She’s ripping her fucking hair out, Jesse.” Dina called out in panic, rifling through the medicine cabinet with shaky hands. Her best friend gripped her wrists, forcing them back down to her sides. Strands of Auburn hair were tangled up between her clammy fingers.

JJ must have woken up because of the comotion. She could hear him crying from the other room. Screaming for his mother.

Blood. So much blood. It’s coming out of her mouth, what do I do? What do I do about internal bleeding again? Wasn’t I trained for this? Breathe. She’s not breathing. Are there other landmines? Can I drag her to safety? Where is everyone else? H-How. . . How can I help?

“Swallow, Ellie.” Dina was crouched in front of her, forcing her lips open to slide a pill onto her tongue.

“It was my fault. I-I fucking,” She choked out, gagging at the taste of the pill that was beginning to dissolve on her tongue. “I led them out there. Oh, fuck.”

Dina was beginning to panic, pushing the plastic cup up to Ellie’s mouth in the hopes that she would drink. She did, choking back the water in deep gulps. The water helped to fill the aching pit that was beginning to grow in her stomach. Water poured down the sides of Ellie’s lips, but she kept drinking. Deep, thoughtful gulps of ice cold water.

“Should I call an ambulance?” Dina finally asked, her eyes flickering between Ellie and her husband.

“No. No hospital. Just go sit with JJ, alright? I’ve got her.” Jesse told her, letting go of Ellie’s hands so that he could wrap an arm around her waist, hugging her against his chest so that she couldn’t stand up.

Ellie blinked and Dina was gone, the sound of her bare feet jogging down the hall was the only reminder of her presence.

“Joel isn’t going to judge you, Ellie. We all just want to help. So let us, alright?” She knew he was telling the truth, but the thought of Joel seeing her as lesser-than killed her. She would crumble completely if Joel looked at her with the same sorrowful eyes that Jesse did.

Joel was newly retired though, and the last thing he needed was to put up with his PTSD-ridden adopted daughter. She was tired of feeling like a burden, but where had standing on her own two feet gotten her? Arrested on multiple occasions? So she relented. She surrendered to the idea of sleeping in her old bedroom and taking up space in Joel’s too-big ranch home.

“Okay.” Ellie croaked, feeling the medication kicking in. Sleep. All Ellie wanted to do was sleep.

“Okay?” Jesse repeated back to her, needing to know that she was serious. The last thing he probably wanted to do was wrestle Ellie onto the plane. He wasn’t entirely sure he could overpower her when it came down to it.

“Okay.”

Grief was an uphill battle. One minute you’re laughing with your friends and then the next you’re laid up in bed, tossing and turning with the realization that what could have been was now an impossibility. You missed Abby. You missed the life that you could have had with her. All of the memories and milestones you missed out on were soul crushing the second that the sun went down.

You were left in your empty house, laid up in the bed that the two of you once shared. Her scent had long since washed out of her pillow. All that was left were pictures and a gravesite that you still couldn’t bring yourself to visit. Life doesn’t stop when you lose somebody though. People eventually become less forgiving as the months pass by.

So you squeezed your eyes closed and hoped that sleep would come sooner rather than later. You had an early start tomorrow for work, and the last thing you wanted was to show up with puffy eyes.

Life was getting better though. The pain wasn't as debilitating as it had been months ago, and for that you were thankful.

One step at a time, one day at a time.

You were still breathing, which was exactly what Abby would have wanted for you. The overwhelming grief hadn't killed you, no matter how many times you'd secretly prayed that it would. You were still here and that was good enough.

For now, at least.

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drdemonprince · 6 months

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have you defined the meaning of “white woman brain” anywhere and if not, can you? /gen

Many Black and brown feminist writers have discussed this phenomenon and I encourage you to seek out a lot of writing about this subject, because there are a variety of perspectives, but to distill it, white woman fragility brain is a phenomenon that is not exclusive to either white people or to women, but is especially common among those who can weaponize white womanhood, and it consists of the following qualities:

A view of oneself as a helpless victim that is constantly in threat of being attacked, especially by strangers (even though statistically, this is not the case).

A refusal to consider oneself as capable of doing harm to others, especially a lack of consideration toward others' body autonomy or consent. (even while being highly concerned about one's own autonomy and consent).

A generally passive or passive-aggressive orientation toward the world: seeing oneself as a romantic or sexual object to be approached, but never wanting to initiate (or feeling that one never can), never feeling comfortable directly communicating displeasure or one's desires, believing that others instead must guess at it. (and then resenting people when they don't, but never expressing it).

A tendency to cry, excessively berate oneself, complain about being made to feel "unsafe," or give up when criticized or challenged, especially when challenged by people of color.

A tendency to associate a person's body type with how much of a threat they are. For example, feeling unsafe around people with penises and expecting a social space to accommodate that fear to cater to you, a fear of people who come from cultures where it's common to speak loudly, a fear of those who are large, assertive, and/or darker-skinned.

Instinctive fawning-type responses to stress, and a pattern of feigning happiness, agreeability, and ease when one is not genuinely feeling it, and expecting all other people (but especially other women) to feign happiness as well, paired with a deep-seated resentment of anyone who violates this illusion and expresses any negativity (being especially punitive toward women of color).

Instinctively "smoothing over" conflict between other people before it even begins, even when healthy conflict is necessary and not at all your business-- often performed by gossiping behind other people's backs, triangulating information when it is not yours to share, asking people to alter their behavior in order to avoid a reaction from somebody else, presenting your concerns as if they were somebody else's ("what will people think!"), tone-policing the airing of grievances, derailing hard conversations with more light-hearted topics, and excluding people who are known to be candid and assertive.

Here are some articles on elements of the phenomenon and why it is so dangerous:

Now, I single white cis women out a lot when I am describing this phenomenon, because they have the most to gain from exhibiting these qualities, but make no mistake: this is a pattern that many types of people can and do use. I have seen white trans women use white women's tears to silence critique. I have witnessed women of color being passive-aggressively derailed and silenced by a Black manager who was in a position of institutional power over them. Multiple of the women who sexually harassed me in the story linked above were not white. And LORD knows I see plenty of t boys falling back on this shit, as well as cis men from wealthy backgrounds. It's a mindset that has deep colonial roots and we all must be on the look out for it in ourselves and others, and we must be vigilant in uprooting it.

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luveline · 8 months

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jade if I’m not too late and requests are still open, can you write bombshell!reader and spence’s first kiss? secretly I think it would be funny if the team saw a hickey on her neck or something that she didn’t expect but oh how I love how soft she is for spence

ty for your request ♡ fem, 1.2k

"It's classic, comfortable anger-excitation," you say, hitting the flat of your ballpoint pen against your fingertip, a repetitive tap. "But his geographical profile is everywhere. No one place is untouched, but if he's as practised as we think he is, he'd kill away from home."

"Then he's not practised, he's an expert," Hotch says in the seat beside you. "He knows to divert our attention."

Your tapping increases. Spencer takes a few steps back and puts his hand over yours. You glance up at him. He mimes a deep breath for you to copy. You do it without complaint.

You're so focused on being perfect that sometimes you forget to breathe. You're very good at being perfect, in Spencer's opinion, perfect hair, perfect face, perfect frenetic hands. And you're doubly perfect at whatever this is, smiling at him with an unquantifiable emotion in what's probably the prettiest set of eyes on planet Earth.

Spencer puts your pen on your notebook and goes back to his board. The locations of each murder are tacked into a map. You weren't kidding when you said everywhere.

You're in one of the poorest places in America, and the police station reflects that. There's no conference room for you guys to work undisturbed, and the beat cops and deputy alike can hear and see everything you're doing. Most have the manners to leave you alone, but you're you; you tend to draw attention.

You've taken up the pen again, clicking and unclicking incessantly. It's an annoying sound but you're not aware that you're doing it, too determined on cracking the case before anything worse happens. Your team knows to ignore you, or even to disarm you. Emily snags the pen from your hand with a friendly laugh. "Jesus, you're tightly wound today."

"Mm," you murmur, struggling to pull yourself from your notes. A few more seconds and you look up with a blinding smile, "That's because Spencer skimped on my neck massage last night."

"Come on, pretty boy," Morgan says, though his heart isn't truly in it, "I thought you knew better."

Spencer shakes his head. You and Spencer had very separate hotel rooms and no sensual touching occurred, but he loves how happy this running joke makes you, so he stays quiet.

"He knows everything," you say, backtracking, "That's why he's gonna make me a cup of coffee. He knows exactly how I like it."

He leaves to make you a cup of coffee, but he was heading that way anyway for his own. He's thinking to himself that coffee is a bad idea and that he wishes he was better at saying no to you when you follow him in, your arms already open as you close the two or three steps to his chest and hug him over the shoulders.

"You didn't say anything when you left," you worry, your embrace overwhelming, sweet and soft and with a loving squeeze to round it off. "I wasn't being bossy, was I?"

You can be, but not this time. "Shut up, you know I'll make you a cup of coffee whenever you want it."

"That so?" you ask.

There's an excess energy you haven't managed to kick today racing through you. He can see the restlessness in your smile, no matter how glitzy.

"Are you okay?" he asks.

Spencer's poorly kept secret is that he's obsessed with you. You dote on him, you tease him, you torture him, but Spencer wants all of it and more. He likes being the centre of your attention, loves how your fond flirtation has changed to plain affection, and he would do anything you asked him to if it meant you were gonna kiss his cheek at the end. He thinks you're beautiful and electric and a thousand yards out of his league, and he thinks you're the nicest woman they ever made under all your bravado because not once have you encouraged that line of thought —you like him for him. You don't want him to change. You don't need anything from him he can't give to you.

His simple question transforms you, your glossy lips perking immediately into a smile. "Why wouldn't I be okay?"

"You seem tense. I've never given a massage before, but I can actually try," he offers.

Your hand cups his cheek, your voice aglow with a saccharine quality, "You're lovely, that's why. Maybe I'll take you up on it later–"

"It's not like–"

You'd been attempting a sweet thank you, and Spencer was brushing it off, but somewhere in the middle of it you'd gone up on tiptoes to kiss his cheek. Spencer —idiot, uncoordinated, inexperienced, is going to hate himself later Spencer— turned away from your touch to argue with you, directing your lips against his.

Soft, sticky, pretty lips pressed to his.

You set back on your heels quickly. Your eyes are wide, beautiful but flared in shock, a sheepishness tugging your brows together as you say, "I'm so sorry."

"It's my fault," he says quickly, braceleting your wrist in his hand, "I'm sorry–"

You both lean back in for a second kiss at the same time. Spencer's head angled down and your chin tipped ever so slightly upward, you close your eyes as he closes his, completely silent. It's not often you're quiet. Spencer doesn't mean to, but he kisses too hard, too much, forcing your hand from his cheek as he grabs you either side of the head to keep you in his reach.

Your breath comes out in a huff that lights his nerve endings on fire, the barest hint of your voice tacked to it like a sigh of relief, like you're taking the edge off in the circle of his arms. Spencer's hand slides behind your head to hook you in, your lips parting at the seam from the pressure. You feel the heat of him and respond with vigour, your hand a nagging demand at the small of his back, pulling him closer, closer, as his other hand trails down your arm.

Your elbow bumps the coffee mugs, it really is his fault, and you spring away from him like you think you've been caught. Smiling, a kid with her hand in the cookie jar, you throw your gaze around the room to check you're still alone before stepping forward to laugh against his mouth.

That's a good sound. A great reaction. You have more patience than Spencer, dotting kisses thick with lip gloss up into his top lip, your mouth just open enough for him to feel faint.

"It was really an accident," he says between shorter, kinder kisses.

"I know," you murmur, words smushed. You steal a last rather frantic one before you stop, breathing funny, hands smoothing down the hair you'd mussed initially with sorry tenderness. "Was that okay?"

He puts his hand on your hip, refusing to gratify what feels like a silly question with a response when you can't not know he's been wanting to kiss you for weeks. Maybe months. "Are you sure you're fine?"

You smile at him like you know something he doesn't. "I'm sure, Spence. I think I just needed to do that."

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader

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secretmellowblog · 7 months

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Another reason I dislike Les Mis adaptations that make Jean Valjean constantly openly angry/violent is because they miss that Jean Valjean is not allowed to be angry. The fact he is forbidden from expressing anger is, I argue, actually a very important part of his character in the novel!

One of the subtler political messages of the story is that some people are given freedom to express anger, while others are forced to be excessively meek and conciliatory in order to survive.

Wealthy conservatives like Monsieur Gillenormand can “fly into rages” every five minutes and have it treated as an endearing quirk. Poor characters like Fantine or Jean Valjean must be constantly polite and ingratiating to “their superiors” at all times, even in the face of mockery and violence, or else they will be subjected to punishment. If Gillenormand beats his child with a stick, it’s a silly quirk; if Fantine beats a man harassing her, she is sentenced to months in prison.

(Thenardier and Javert are interesting examples of this too. Thenardier acts superficially polite and ingratiating to his wealthy “superiors” while insulting them behind their backs. Javert, meanwhile, is completely earnest in his mindless bootlicking. But I could write an entire other post on this.)

The point is that….Jean Valjean has to be submissive and self-effacing, or he puts himself in danger. He can’t afford to be angry and make scenes, or he will be punished. The only barrier between himself and prison is his ability to be so “courteous” that no one bothers to pry into his past.

Jean Valjean is excessively polite to people, in the way that you’re excessively polite to an armed cop who pulls you over for speeding when you secretly have a few illegal grams of marijuana in the your car trunk. XD It’s politeness built on fear, is what I mean. It’s politeness built on a desperation to make a powerful person avoid looking too closely at you.

It’s politeness at gunpoint.

Jean Valjean has also spent nineteen years living in an environment where any expression of anger could be punished with severe violence. That trauma is reflected in the overly cautious reserved way he often speaks with people (even people who are kind and would never actually hurt him.)

So adaptations that have Jean Valjean boldly having shouting matches with people in public and beating cops half to death without worrying about the repercussions just make go like “???”

Because that’s part of what’s fascinating about Jean Valjean to me? On one hand, he is a genuinely kind compassionate person, who cares deeply about other people and behaves kindly out of altruism. But on the other hand, he was also “beaten into submission” by prison, and forced into adopting conciliatory bootlicking behaviors in order to survive. And it can sometimes be hard to tell when he is being kind vs. when he is being “polite” — when he is speaking and acting out of earnest compassion vs. when he is speaking and acting out of fear.

The TL;DR is that I think it’s important that even though Jean Valjean is very (justifiably) angry about the injustice that was inflicted on him, his anger is harshly policed at all times— by other people, and by himself. He has been told his anger is wrong/selfish so often that he believes it. His anger takes weirder more unhealthy forms because he has no safe outlet for it. His rage at society becomes a possessiveness towards Cosette and silent hatred of Marius, but primarily it becomes useless self-destructive constant hatred of himself. And while I might be phrasing this wrong, I think that’s what’s interesting about Jean Valjean’s relationship with anger— the way his justified fury at his own mistreatment gets warped into more and more unhealthy forms by the way he’s forced to constantly repress it.

#les mis #les mis letters #jean valjean #don’t mind me just Valjeanposting #you know I’m doing okay when I’m Valjeanposting #but yeah I can’t remember the first person who started talking about this concept with me #(it was years ago)#but now I think about it constantly #when you read the book looking through that lens #of certain charcaters being forced to act conciliatory and polite ‘under threat of violence’#you notice it constantly #it’s such a running Thing #and you could write tons of posts about it on www.tumblr.com

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copperbadge · 1 year

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Hey Sam! Since it's currently AO3 donation time, I'm wondering what your thoughts are on it? I'm asking because you've written RPF and it's one of many "anti-AO3/anti-AO3 donations" people's favourite things to bring up when they're complaining about AO3 getting so many donations that it continuously obtains an excess of its donation goal whenever donation time rolls around? (Wow, how many times can I say "donation" in an ask?) Sorry if this question bothers you! I don't mean to offend or annoy.

Hey anon! Sorry it took a while to get to this, I don't even know if the drive is still going on, but the question came in while I was traveling and I didn't really have the time for stuff that wasn't travel-related. In any case, let's dig in! (I am not offended, no worries.)

So really there are two issues here and as much as some people who are critical of AO3 want to conflate them, they are different. While some criticism of AO3 may be valid, rhetoric against AO3 tends to misinterpret both in separate ways.

First there's the issue of what AO3 hosts -- RPF, yes, but more broadly, varied content that some people find distasteful or think should be illegal, which is a misunderstanding of the purpose of the archive and more broadly a dangerous attitude towards the concept of freedom of expression.

Second, there's the issue of AO3 generally outpacing its fundraising goals while not allowing monetization, which is a misunderstanding of the legal status of AO3 and to an extent a misunderstanding of philanthropy as a whole.

The longer I watch debates about content go on, the more I come to the conclusion that I was fortunate to have a teacher who really wanted to instill in us an understanding of free speech not as a policy but as an ongoing dialogue. It's not only that freedom of expression "protects you from the government, not the Justin" as the meme goes, but also that freedom of expression is not a static thing. It's an ongoing process of identifying what we find harmful in society and what we want to do about it.

Should the freedom to shout "Fire!" in a crowded theater be restricted? Should the freedom to yell slurs at drag performers? Should the freedom to teach prepubescent kids about gender, sexuality, and/or safe sex? Should the freedom to wear a leather puppy hood at Pride? Who gets to say, and why?

I was nine when my teacher did a unit on freedom of speech and the intersection of "harm prevention" and "censorship", which is (and should be) a discussion, not a set of ironclad rules. This ambiguity has thus been with me for over thirty years, and I'm comfortable with the ambiguity, with the process; I'm not sure a lot of people critical of AO3's content truly are. Perhaps some can't be, especially those affected by hate speech, but RPF is not hate speech. It's just fiction. Or is fiction "just fiction"? This is a question society as a whole is grappling with, although fandom seems to be a little out ahead of society in terms of how explicitly we discuss it.

The idea that prose can incite violence or cause harm is both valid to examine (witness the rise of fascism on the radio in the 20s, on Facebook and Twitter in the past ten years; they're very similar processes) and a very slippery slope. Because again: who decides what harm is, and what causes it, and what we do about it? Our values align us with certain beliefs, but those are only our values, not universal truths. So AO3 is part of the ongoing question of harm and benefit both to society and individuals.

AO3 itself, however, has a fairly defined policy that it is not meant to police content; it is an archive, not a bookstore or a school board. AO3 refines its TOS and policies as necessary, but the goal is always open access and as much freedom of expression as possible, and if that's uncomfortable for some people then that's a discussion we have to have; ignoring it won't make it go away. But it has to be a discussion, it can't be a unilateral change to the archive's TOS or a series of snaps and clapbacks, and I don't see a lot of people ready to move beyond flinging insults. Perhaps because they were taught a much more binary view of freedom of expression than I was.

So, self-evidently, I support AO3 and I don't have a problem with RPF. Whether other people do is something we're going to have to get to grips with, and that's likely to be a process that is still going on when most of us are dust. I'd rather have a century of ambiguity than a wrong answer tomorrow, anyway.

But whether AO3 hosts RPF is truly a separate issue from its donation drives, because it's a criticism some people level at the site which exists whether it's fundraising or not. So people can criticize AO3's open policy and they can give it as a reason not to support the site, but it's just one aspect of the archive and the fundraising as a whole should be examined separately.

I think AO3's fundraisers are deeply misunderstood (sometimes on purpose) because even people who are anticapitalist get a little crazy when money gets involved, and this is, to fandom, a lot of money -- a few hundred thousand, reliably, every fundraiser. To me, a fundraiser that pulls in three hundred grand is almost quaint; my current nonprofit pulls in better than ten million a year and my previous employer had an endowment of several billion dollars. At my old job I didn't even bother researching people who couldn't give us a hundred grand.

On the other hand, AO3 is an extreme and astounding outlier in the nonprofit world, because basically it's the only one of its kind to work the way it does. It is entirely volunteer-run on the operational side (ie: tag wranglers, coders, lawyers, etc) and has no fundraising staff (gift officers, researchers, outreach officers) as far as I'm aware. To pull in three hundred grand from individual one-time donations, without any paid staff and without even a volunteer fundraising officer? That's insane. That doesn't happen. Except at AO3.

What people misunderstand, however, is the basic status of a nonprofit, which is a legal status, not simply a social one. (I'm adding in some corrections here since it gets complicated and the terminology can be important!) The Organization for Transformative Works, the parent of AO3, is a nonprofit, which indicates how it was incorporated as an organization; additionally it is registered federally as tax-exempt, which carries certain perks, like not paying sales tax, and certain duties, like making their financials transparent to a certain extent. (Religious nonprofits are exempt from the transparency requirement.) If you're interested in more about nonprofits and tax-exempt status a reader dropped a great article here.

Nonprofits, unlike for-profit companies, cannot pay a share of their income to stakeholders. Nonprofits don't have financial stakeholders, only donors. They can have employees and pay them a salary -- that's me, for example -- but if a nonprofit pulls in $10M in donations, my salary is paid from that, I don't get a percentage and nobody else does either. That's what it means to be a nonprofit -- the money above operational costs goes back into the organization. The donations we (and AO3) receive must be plowed under and used for outreach, server maintenance, further fundraising, services expansion, et cetera. You can see this in the 990 forms on Guidestar or ProPublica, or in their more accessible breakdowns on Charity Navigator. Nonprofits that do not put the majority of their income towards service provision tend to get audited and lose their nonprofit status. So nobody's getting paid from all that money, and the overage that isn't spent goes into what is basically a savings account in the name of the nonprofit. (I'm vastly simplifying but that's the gist.) Using that money for personal purposes is illegal. It's called "private inurement" and there's a good article here about it. The money belongs to the OTW as a concept, not to anyone in or of the OTW.

So the biggest misunderstanding that I see in people who are mad at AO3 fundraisers is that "they" are getting all this money (who "they" are is never clearly stated but I'm pretty sure people think @astolat has a special wifi router that runs on burning hundred dollar bills) while "we" can't monetize our fanfic. But "they" get nothing -- nobody even earns a salary from AO3 -- and you can easily prove that by looking at the 990 forms they file with the government, which are required to be made public. You can see the most recently available 990, from 2020, here at Guidestar. Page seven will show you the "highest compensated" employees, all of whom are earning zero dollars or nonmonetary perks (that's the three columns on the right).

Either AO3 is entirely volunteer-run or someone's Doing A Real Fraud. The money the OTW spends is documented (that's page 10 and 11 primarily) and while they may pay for, say, the travel and lodging expenses of a lawyer going to DC to defend a freedom-of-expression case, they don't pay the lawyer for their time, or give them a cut of the income.

Despite what you've read, the reason "we" can't monetize our fanfics on AO3 has nothing to do with the site being the product of volunteer handiwork or AO3 having it in their terms of service or it being considered gauche by some to do so; it's because

IT'S ILLEGAL.

I cannot say this loudly enough: It is against the law for a nonprofit to be used by its staff, volunteers, or beneficiaries to earn direct profit from the services provided by the nonprofit.

You can be paid to work at one, but you cannot side-hustle by selling your handmade friendship bracelets for personal gain on the nonprofit's website. If the nonprofit knowingly allows monetization of its services, it can lose nonprofit status, be fined, be hit with back taxes, and a lot of other unpleasant bullshit can go down, including prosecution of those involved for fraud. If you put a ko-fi link on your fanfic, you are breaking the law, and if AO3 allows it, they are too.

Okay, that was a sidebar, but in some ways not, because it gets to the heart of the real complaints about AO3 fundraising, which is that people in fandom are sick or unhoused or in some form of need and other people in fandom are giving to AO3, a fan site that is financially stable, instead of giving to peoples' gofundmes or dropping money in their Ko-Fi or Paypal. And while it is a legitimate grievance that there are people who are in such desperate need while we live in an era of unprecedented abundance, that's not AO3's fault. AO3 doesn't solicit actively, there's no unasked-for mailings or calls from a gift officer. They just put a banner up on their website, and people give. (Again, this is incredibly outlier behavior in the nonprofit world, I'd do a case study on it but the conclusion would just be "shit's real, yo.") You might as well be mad that people give to their local food bank instead of someone's ko-fi.

You cannot lay at AO3's feet the fact that people want to give to AO3 instead of to your fundraiser. That's a choice individuals have made, and while you can engage with them in terms of why they made the philanthropic choices they did, to blame an organization they supported rather than the person who made the choice to give is not only incorrect but futile, and unlikely to win anyone over to supporting you. We know from research that guilt is not a tremendous motivator of philanthropy.

It is also not necessarily a binary choice; just because AO3 gets a hundred grand in $5 donations doesn't mean most of the people giving don't also give $5 elsewhere. I support the OTW on occasion, and I also fundraise for UNICEF and the Chicago Parks Foundation and BAGLY and others, in addition to giving monthly to several nonprofits that I have longterm relationships with -- my alma mater, the animal rescue where I got the Cryptids, my shul. And I give, occasionally and anonymously, to fundraisers that pass through Radio Free Monday, which are mainly individuals in need, because I was once in need and now I pay it forward. These are the choices I have made. Nobody twisted my arm. I respond poorly to someone making the attempt to do so by attacking places I've given.

I think the upshot is, after all of this that I've written, that we cannot begin to come to grips with questions of institutional inequality in philanthropy, or freedom of expression and censorship, until people actually understand what's going on, and too few do. So all I can do is try and explain, and hopefully create a forum for people to learn and grow when it comes to charitable giving.

Archive Of Our Own and the Organization for Transformative Works are products of our community and as that community changes, we will necessarily continue to re-evaluate what aspects of it mean and how AO3/OTW express the community sentiment. I hope that the ongoing discussion of support for AO3 also leads to people learning more about their philanthropic options. But criticizing AO3 for fundraising by attacking it for fulfilling one of its stated purposes is silly, and attempting to guilt people into giving in the ways one thinks they should give rather than how they do give is just going to make one extremely unlikable.

As members of this community, we have to be a part of the push and pull, but it's difficult to do that competently in ignorance. So, I do my best to be knowledgeable and to educate my readers, and I hope others will do the same.

#ao3 #otw #nonprofit #fundraisers #ao3 nonprofit #that's my new tag for posts like this #if anyone has any of the earlier posts I've done drop a comment in them so I see the post and can tag it #archive

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starwrighter · 1 year

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DpxDc angst prompt for April go!

The standard Danny gets de-aged and thrown into the DC universe au but with a little flare™

Danny is thrown by clockwork face first into the DC universe after a nasty encounter with the Giw he is freshly reformed and confused. Clockwork whips up a false identity for Danny and shoves the halfa through a portal to heal.

Clockwork didn't say much of anything to Danny except "Find the birds,". Danny, who is now 4yo, with mixed up traumatic memories, and in a universe he doesn't recognize doesn't know what the heck that means.

Danny ends up staying ghost and staying very invisible while watching the local crow population for a few days. He only drops his invisibility a couple of times for a brief couple of seconds before before he decides that's not a good idea. People looked unnerved when they saw him; one person even called the police on him!!!!! >:(

What 4yo Danny fails to realize is that ghosts like him or anyone from the ghost zone don't exist here so the DC universe's hoard of excess ectoplasm was very eager to warp the appearance of his ghost half.

People were right to be afraid. Danny looked awful! He was still in the hazmat suit he died in loose on his now tiny body and peeling off where the Giw had sliced into him. His cheeks were sunken, his body littered with bruises and cuts from fighting. His eyes were a milky-blue glossed over and lifeless. Overall he was a horrifying sight to see even to most Gothamites

Danny was lucky the bats didn't find him (he was looking for birds not bats dang it!) There was a brief Investigation on the sightings but since Danny showed up soon after a fear gas attack it was dismissed. It's only when he can hear the bats talking on their coms that Danny realizes that Robin's were a bird!!

Danny gets really excited. The next day he follows Tim to school still invisible at this point because Tim is still a living person and Danny thinks people are scary. Danny wants to talk to Tim but he is also nervous so he does the obvious thing and tries to write him a note.

Only...

He doesn't have a pen but, oh! He could make this work!

In other news, Tim opens his locker to find a page of his notebook has a message scrawled in the blood that matches that of a recently murdered four-year-old.

"Hi birdy,"

#dpxdc #dcxdp #dp x dc #Danny thinks he's being resourceful #but the bats are angry and panicked #Because the dead toddler obviously couldn't write this note even if it looked like it was written by a 5yo #They come to the conclusion that the murderer knows their identitys and is taunting them #they are wrong Clockwork just gave Danny an obituary with his new identity :)#i'll add to this later

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odinsblog · 2 years

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Studying at Tehran University in 1977: While many women were already in higher education at the time of the revolution, the subsequent years saw a marked increase in the number attending university. This was in part because the authorities managed to convince conservative families living in rural areas to allow their daughters to study away from home.

"They tried to stop women from attending university, but there was such a backlash they had to allow them to return," says Baroness Haleh Afshar, a professor of women's studies at the University of York who grew up in Iran in the 1960s.

"Some educated people left Iran, and the authorities realised in order to run the country they needed to educate both men and women."

Window shopping in Tehran in 1976: Before the revolution, the hijab was already widely worn but many women also chose to don Western-style clothes, including tight-fitting jeans, miniskirts and short-sleeved tops. "The shoes haven't changed - and the passion for shoes is in all of us! Women in Iran are no different from women the world over, and going shopping is just a means for women to get away from every day stress," says Prof Afshar.

Friday picnic in Tehran in 1976: Families and friends tend to get together on Fridays, which are weekend days in Iran. "Picnics are an important part of Iranian culture and are very popular amongst the middle classes. This has not changed since the revolution. The difference is, nowadays, men and women sitting together are much more self-aware and show more restraint in their interactions," says Prof Afshar.

Hair salon in Tehran in 1977: "This is a scene you would no longer expect to see in Iran - but even after the Islamic Revolution, hairdressers continued to exist," says Prof Afshar. "Nowadays you wouldn't see a man inside the hairdressers - and women would know to cover up their hair as soon as they walked out the door. Some people may also operate secret salons in their own homes where men and women can mix."

Bodyguards surround the shah in 1971: A young woman approaches Shah Mohammad Reza Pahlavi (far right) at a huge party marking the 2,500th anniversary of the Persian monarchy - the extravagance of the event was widely condemned by his left-wing and clerical opponents. "By this time, the shah was already very much disliked and some believe this image of excess and indulgence may have contributed to events leading up to the revolution eight years later," Prof Afshar explains.

Walking down a snowy street in Tehran in 1976: "You cannot stop women walking in the streets of Iran, but you wouldn't see this today - her earrings and make up so clearly on show," Prof Afshar says. "There is this concept of 'decency' in Iran - so nowadays women walking in the streets are likely to wear a coat down to her knees and a scarf."

Women rally against the hijab in 1979: Soon after taking power, Iran's new Supreme Leader Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini decreed that all women had to wear the veil - regardless of religion or nationality. On 8 March - International Women's Day - thousands of women from all walks of life turned out to protest against the law.

Walking in Tehran in 2005: Not all women in Iran opt to wear the black chador, a cloak that covers the body from head to toe and only leaves the face exposed. Many prefer to wear loosely fitted headscarves and coats. "The real question is how far back do you push your scarf? Women have their own small acts of resistance and often try as far as possible to push their scarves back," says Prof Afshar.

Watching football from a Tehran shopping centre in 2008: Though women were never officially banned from watching men's football matches in Iran, they are often refused entry to stadiums and some of those who have tried have been detained. Before the revolution, women were allowed to attend sporting events.

SEPTEMBER 2022: Protests, after the Morality Police beat, arrested and then murdered Mahsa Amini — for the “crime” of improperly wearing her hijab (source) (source)

#mahsa amini #jini emini #jini amini #iran #hijab #morality police #politics #islamic revolution #tehran #protests #bodily autonomy #womens rights #feminism #womanism #war on women #patriarchy #jhina emini

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holylulusworld · 3 months

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Indecent Proposal (12.2)

Summary: Your boyfriend wants to be part of their empire. You are the pawn he’s willing to sacrifice.

Pairing: Mobster!Stucky x fem!Reader

Warnings: sexy mobsters, fluff, established Stucky, angst, implied smut, caring mobsters

Indecent Proposal (12)

Indecent Proposal masterlist

Since Rumlow brought you to the police station, you refuse to leave your home. Steve and Bucky tried anything to get you to go for a walk, but you are scared the cops will grab you again.

“Doll, this is unhealthy,” Bucky tuts. He kneels in front of your bed and tries to get you to follow him outside. “Let’s go outside and eat ice cream or go for a walk in the park.”

“What if he’s out there, waiting for me to show my face?” You murmur. “I don’t want that cop to grab me again. He’s obsessed with you and Steve. I’m going to end up as collateral damage.”

“Collateral what?” Bucky grunts. “Y/N, we won’t let anything happen to you.” He kisses your cheek. “You’re our missing piece, and the one giving us a baby one day.”

“Okay, that is enough,” Steve walks back inside your bedroom. “If she’s scared of Rumlow, we need to make sure she’s safe. You don’t need the apartment any longer. We brought all of your belongings to our place weeks ago.”

“Steve is right, baby doll. You spend most of your time at our place. Let’s bring you home. You’re our girl now, and we are your men.”

Bucky tries to sweet-talk you into leaving not only the bed but your apartment too.

You sniff and look away. “How do you wanna get me out of bed? It’s all I got left of my old home, and I won’t leave it!”

“Baby doll, don’t be a brat,” Steve clicks his tongue. “I’ll throw you over my shoulder and carry you out of the apartment if you do not get out of bed right fucking now!”

“No!” You squeak and crawl away when Steve tries to grab you. “Get your hands off me! No…” You giggle and try to wiggle out of Steve’s grip.

“Y/N, don’t make Stevie mad. He’ll edge you all night long if you mess with him. Stevie is a strict punisher,” Bucky smirks when you stiffen at his words.

“No,” you crawl toward Steve to cup his crotch. “You can’t edge me.” You pout and look up at Steve. “I came here to hide from Rumlow. He…”

“He scared you,” Steve gently pats your head. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of to be scared, doll. Rumlow has been after us for years. He won’t harm you. I swear we’ll protect you.”

“You promise,” grabbing Steve’s hand you place it on your heart. “Cross your heart and swear it, Stevie.”

“How about he gropes your chest and swears it,” Bucky purrs in your ear. For a man his size, he’s like a stealthy cat. He kneels behind you to nip at your neck. “We can ruin this bed too.”

“Buck, we should bring her home,” Steve groans as you already tug at his shirt again. “You are both insatiable. How can a man resist you two?”

“We are needy because you made us your loyal sex slaves,” Bucky snickers and crawls toward his husband. “Come on, take your pants off…”

Bucky walks back inside the living room, Alpine tugged under his arm. “How are you?”

“Better,” you snuggle back into the warm blanket and stare at the fireplace. “I’m a little calmer now.”

“Alpine, go and help Y/N relax,” Bucky places the white furball on your lap. “Let him work his magic. Alpine is a master in calming pretty girls and hot hunks.”

You giggle as Steve rolls his eyes behind Bucky’s back. “He believes his cat is a saint or something. That furball is nothing but a hairy beast stealing my socks.”

“He steals your socks because you always nag,” Bucky grunts. “Alpine is the best cat ever, and I love him. Live with it.”

“Guys, look,” you sniffle. Alpine is excessively rubbing his cheek into your belly. He purrs and meows as you stare at him. “What is he doing?”

“I think he has a thing for you,” Bucky grins. “Like father, like son.”

“Uh-“ Steve watches the cat. He hums and rubs his chin. “Cats have a very good instinct. I think he knows our pretty doll has a secret…”

Part 13

Tags in reblog.

#steve rogers #bucky barnes #stucky #stucky x reader #stucky x you #female reader #polyamory #Indecent Proposal (12.2)#stucky x y/n #pregnancy

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enmi-land · 2 months

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✶ৎ OUR UNIVERSE

──── 𝗐𝖾’𝗅𝗅 𝖻𝖾 𝗍𝗈𝗀𝖾𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗂𝗇 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝗎𝗇𝗂𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗌𝖾

AU pairing. poly!ot7엔하 x fem!member oc cw. kms jokes, mentions of murder and violence, not completely lorea accurate (some changes made to og universes - don’t kill me) note. happy birthday to mila! 🎂 this chapter was inspired by ree’s connect, and the universes used in this fic belong to their creators respectively! 🤍 ❨ go back to LIBRARY ?! ❩

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY OUR MILA, happy birthday to you...”

Mila smiled as a cake was set before her, the flames of the candles flickering slightly with the movement of her members around the table, all watching her with adoration in their eyes. The sounds of their voice in harmony as they sang the birthday song slowly came to silence as they reached the end, and a hand found itself on the back of her head, patting it softly.

“Make a wish,” Kiara said gently, her hand on the phone to record the moment her dongsaeng would become another year older, another year away from the young girl she was when they first met.

Mila looked around the room, taking in the sight of her boyfriend's and their love-filled gazes. Just what did one wish for, when they already had everything they could possible want or need? She felt like there was nothing that could possibly make her happier.

Well, except for one.

Mila shut her eyes, her hands linked in front of her, as she wordlessly recited her wish inside her head.

I wish that— no matter where we are—we'll always find a way to be together.

#01. XO KITTY

“THERE’S NO SUN IN THE BUILDING, what’s with these?” Mila swiped the pair of Louis Vuitton sunglasses from Minho’s face using her superior height. She inspected them under the light of the corridor, raising an eyebrow with an impressed hum. “These are pretty cute.”

“Naturally,” Minho replied, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned against the lockers next to Mila’s. He watched with a smile as she tried the glasses on, looking in the mirror on the inside of her locker door, which was surrounded by Polaroids and cute stickers.

Sharpay Evans, much? were the first words he said about her. He saw her on the first day of KISS Academy, bedazzling her locker with an excessive amount of pink and whispered it under his breath in Korean as he passed by her, not expecting her reaction.

Mila simply turned to him, flipping her long (and enviably silky, though Minho would never admit to out loud) black hair over her shoulder, before giving him a distasteful look from head to toe. And in flawless Korean, she had retorted, Last season Vogue magazine cover, much?

Yeah, Minho had decided, right then and there, despite being stunned into shock. I like this girl.

He had even forgone his usual tradition of pretending not to speak English on the first meeting. (Although, that was because she had an unusual talent for his mother language, despite being from China and supposedly never setting foot on South Korean soil before. To this day, Minho considered her excellency at languages to be an eighth wonder of the world.)

Mila suddenly gasped before hiding behind her locker door, shoving her face so far into the locker one would think she was an ostrich trying to bury her head in sand. Minho raised an eyebrow at her sudden movement. “The police finally caught up to you, have they?” he drawled, ready to list all the felonies she had committed since moving to Korea.

This included, but was not limited to: being way too pretty, way too cute, and way too lovable for her own damn good– not that Minho was keeping track, or anything. That would be ridiculous. He was simply tired of hearing it all the time from his peers.

Mila looked at him with those same wide, doe eyes that had wrapped so many boys and girls around her finger without knowing it. “Worse,” Mila hissed. “It’s them.”

Minho looked up at the end of the hallway, his mouth parting in understanding when he spotted a group of seven familiar boys gathered in a group around the locker of his (self-proclaimed) rival. Minho eyed the Korean-American’s outfit, disdained when he noticed the boy wearing a new pair of shoes that were only just released recently in the new fall collection for Prada. “There’s no way Park Jeongseong is wearing the new shoes I’ve been waiting weeks to order! Oh my god, I’m going to lose it– I’m going to throw up– where’s the bin?”

Mila slapped the boy on the shoulder. “Now’s not the time, Minho! This is a matter of my pride at stake here– I can’t let them see me!”

Minho rubbed his arm, marvelling internally at the amount of strength the girl in front of him held in her body. “Why can’t they see you again?”

“Because they made a total fool of me? And I look like a mess right now– I can’t let them think they’re the reason I’ve been lacking beauty sleep these days.” Mila suddenly got right up to Minho’s face, pulling down his sunglasses from the bridge of her nose. “Have you seen my eyebags recently? They’re horrendous!”

Minho blinked, his face calm as he stared into the abyss known as Mila’s eyes. If he were completely honest, there was nothing in this world that would possibly make Mila unattractive– least of all towards the seven boys she was so scared of making eye contact with. But he didn’t blame her for being insecure. It wasn’t as if they gave her reason to believe that they could feel anything for her… Not when the reason they approached her in the first place and acted so sweetly toward her was because of a bet.

“Why did Kiara and Kitty have to be away today of all days?” Mila whispered under her breath with a pout. “I need girl power, I need validation, I need support– all the things you’re not giving me!”

Minho was affronted when Mila suddenly pointed a manicured finger (My Melody themed acrylics? Really?) at his face. “Hey, it’s not my fault you don’t know how to apply concealer over your dark circles properly.”

Mila shot him a watery glare. “Jerk.”

She aggressively grabbed a bunch of books from her locker, and– Wait, Is that Russian? Minho squinted at one of the titles of the ridiculously thick books in her arms, wondering when Mila had even learnt that language. The eighth wonder, this girl and her brain. I swear.

“If I don’t show up to economics later today, it’s because I buried myself out of humiliation and no longer wish to be on the face of the earth.”

Without another word, Mila scurried her way down the hall like a mouse fleeing before a cat. But she neglected to notice the seven pairs of remorseful eyes following her.

“She’s still avoiding us,” Jungwon noted with a frown, dimples all too prominent in his disappointment. A disappointment reflected across the faces of all seven members of his friend group.

There was an unspoken, lingering regret hanging over them like a guillotine. It had been a week since they were last able to see her smile directed at them, the way her eyes lit up like Seoul at night, galaxies and city lights reflected in the dark depths of her irises. But this was what they deserved. After the way they betrayed her trust, they knew better than to hope that they would be able to be with her like they did before.

To think all of this was because of a stupid bet they made to satisfy their own egos.

Did you hear? Sunoo looked up from his phone to look at the rest of his friends on that fateful night before the beginning of the new school year. They were gathered around a campfire lit in the backyard of Heeseung’s family’s holiday estate, which they spent their summer break in together. Apparently we’re getting a new transfer student this year.

I heard that, Jake said, bringing a bottle of beer to his lips. The daughter of some supermodel from China. My mum keeps talking about how she wished she would model for our agency.

Won’t know until I see her face, Sunghoon replied. It was just like him: Jay always did give him grievances for his lack of awareness when it come to the fashion industry, despite his own stepmother being a designer herself.

To this, Jay turned his phone on before typing something into search. When he was done he held his phone out for his childhood best friend to see the images that appeared. Riki, who was beside Sunghoon, also leaned in to take a closer look. She’s been going viral ever since she went to the Versace anniversary event with her mum.

Riki smiled as he looked at the photo of the young girl, not much older than him. It was a candid shot that captured her delicate features in a soft smile as she observed the models on the runway with her mother whispering something into her ear. He couldn’t help but think she was the one who was most suited to be modelling the clothes, and yet she was simply a spectator.

Pretty, Riki said, before leaning back in his seat. And he wasn’t the only one to think it. I should get her number.

Too bad for you, she doesn’t go for younger guys, Heeseung said with a smirk. She did a Vogue interview, and she said she prefers older guys… So if you think about it, I’m the one with the highest chance of getting close.

That’s what you think, Sunghoon said, his inner competitiveness coming out to play. Wanna bet?

Looking back now, that was the single most foolish thing they’d ever done. To this girl, who treated them with nothing but kindness and genuine care since meeting them, did nothing to deserve being treated like a prize to be won. And yet, that was exactly what they did.

You’re real pieces of work, Mila said, as she stormed into Heeseung’s dorm rooms— the one he had given her access to for less than pure intentions. She didn’t even look angry, nor was she sad: her face was stone cold, nothing at all like the warm girl they came to know her as. I hope you had fun playing me, but too bad for you, none of you are going to win the bet. I won’t be seeing any of you again.

And with that, Mila had thrown the necklace from her neck — the one the seven of them had bought together for her birthday — onto the floor before Sunghoon’s feet, before storming out before any of the boys could make a move to stop her.

“We should have told her sooner,” Riki said, his fist clenching by his side.

Sunoo shook his head. “No. We just shouldn’t have made that stupid bet in the first place.”

They had made the bet to win her heart, thinking it would be all fun and games. But little did they know that like the way, they would be the ones losing their hearts to her — and by the time they realised it, she had already gotten to far for them to reach, leaving them defeated and yearning for something out of reach.

“Do you think she’ll ever forgive us?” Jake asked quietly.

The group fell silent.

“Well don’t you guys look positively miserable.”

Sunghoon rolled his eyes at the familiar voice fork behind him. Minho always did annoy him— but he had to admit, he couldn’t help but be jealous of how close the other boy was to Mila. The fact that he could still tease the girl and see her cute reactions, the same way he used to before everything went south.

“What do you want?” Heeseung asked diplomatically. (He wasn’t fooling anyone, though— everyone could see the way his fist clenched at his side.) “It’s not as if we’re friends.”

Minho smirked. “You’re right. We’re not. But you know who is? Mila and I.”

Jay clenched his jaw, resisting the urge to walk past the cocky male and bump his shoulder, he couldn’t give the other satisfaction at knowing he got on his nerves.

“I can see you still haven’t changed,” Jungwon said, jumping to his friend’s defence.

He narrowed his feline-like eyes, trying to read Minho’s body language. But he genuinely seemed unintimidated by the seven of them, not caring for a second that he was outnumbered. (Because he knew there was nothing the seven of them could do to him, Jungwon’s inner voice reasoned, though he desperately tried to ignore it. Because he knew if they raised a hand against him, Mila would only hate them more.)

“You always did try to one up Jay-hyung at everything,” Jungwon continued. “Too bad you never could.”

“Except when it comes to treating your girl right, you mean?” Minho taunted. At this, Riki lunged towards the male, all too ready to talk with his fists instead. But Sunoo was quick to intervene, holding the younger by the shoulder.

Minho put his hands up in surrender seeing the deadly look in the Japanese male’s eyes. “Hey. No need to get angry. I didn’t come to start a fight, believe it or not.” He fixed his blazer jacket before looking at the eldest of the boys. “Listen… I don’t like you guys, and frankly I don’t think I ever will— especially with that shit you pulled with Mila.”

Minho got closer to Heeseung, causing the latter to cross his arms and raise his chin in defiance. Minho narrowed his eyes.

“But here’s the thing… If you feel sorry at all for breaking her heart, you’re going to make it up to her properly like men instead of hiding like a bunch of cowards. She deserves that much.”

The group was silent as they witnessed the uncharacteristic seriousness of the usually nonchalant boy, and even more so at his words. But before they could say anything, Minho was already stepping away from Heeseung, before getting ready to leave.

“There’s gonna be a party at Kiara’s place later this week for Mila before she flies back home—“

“Mila’s flying back home?!” Sunghoon said in shock, his cold facade melted in place of his heated desperation.

Minho hummed. “She’s going to be leaving for the summer break… But who knows if she’ll be back?” He shrugged. "Anyway, I've done my bit. Whatever you do with that information... Well, that's none of my business."

Minho turned to leave, but was stopped by a hand on his wrist.

“How do we get into the party?” Jake asked desperately. This would be their only chance to meet with Mila if they could pull it off— their last chance to make things right before she left on the plane to China. They couldn't leave things as they were. Not when there were so many thing they had to say.

At that moment, all seven boys were thinking the same thing: They needed to show her that despite the fraudulent circumstances that brought them together, the boys’ feelings for her were true.

#02. JUJUTSU KAISEN

THERE WAS NOTHING NORMAL about two teenagers swinging weapons at each other in the lawn of a high school. But Seoul Jujutsu Technical College was no ordinary institution; nor were their students any ordinary teenagers. For this was the trianing grounds for a generation of future Jujutsu Sorcerers – protectors of society against sentient manifestations of negative emotions known as Curses.

The sound of steel clashing with steel rang throughout the air as Riki and Sunghoon continued to swing at each other, the former wielding dual blades and the latter wielding one. They sparred like they were mirror reflections of a choreographed dance: attacking in time for one of them to deflect, and lunging when the other withdrew. Each blow came in the span of seconds — barely enough time for the average human to register.

But their spectators were anything but average.

“Did your parents mention it already?” Kiara asked her childhood best friend — and only other fourth year at the school — beside her, not once taking her eyes of her sparring juniors. Heeseung wordlessly quirked a brow in response to her question, prompting her to continue. “The main clans in China have been in a mess recently.”

“Ah, that,” Heeseung said, resting his chin on his palm. “The thing about the Bai Clan, right?”

It was a hot topic amongst Jujutsu Sorcerers in South-East Asia, where news between the different countries — especially Japan, China and South Korea, the so-called Big Three of the East for their production of top tier sorcerers — often travelled fast due to their close connections with one another, dating back to ancient wars fought between allied forces of Jujutsu Sorcerers from the respective countries against legendary Curses.

One of the strongest clans in China, the Bai Clan from Shanghai, had a history of powerful sorcerers since the Ming Dynasty. But lately, the Bai clan has been at the centre of controversy: their most dangerous and treasured artefact, the Emperor Jade, had recently gone missing — stolen right beneath their noses.

“Apparently they suspect the Zenin clan… but it seems pretty far-fetched to me.”

Kiara couldn’t care less about the matters of the Bai or Zenin clan. She hated them almost as much they hated each other, as the both of them harboured a tradition of misogynistic treatment of women born in their clans. But this was a matter of safety of innocent lives that could be harmed in the crossfire of their feud if the rumours were true, so she had no choice but to feel concerned.

“It is far-fetched.” Jake leaned forward from his seat on the stair above Heeseung and Kiara, intrigue laced in his voice. “Because I did some sneaking around and overheard my dad talking to someone yesterday… Apparently, it’s here in Korea right now.”

The two eldest students looked up to Jake with curious expressions. “Here?”

They knew they could trust any intel gathered from Jake and his family. Despite being based in Korea, they were also known for having roots planted all over the globe through intermarriage with foreign clans, making them a spider web catching all sorts of information.

Jay, who tuned into their conversation, nodded in agreement. “It makes sense. The Bai clan requested to send out some of their Sorcerers here for a ‘diplomatic’ event — but it seems a little suspicious, especially given the timing. Why would they send their best sorcerers away from their home, when they should be focusing on finding their lost Object first?”

“At any rate, I doubt the thief is gonna get far with it,” Sunoo chimed in from where he sat, on the stair closest to the lawn where Sunghoon and Riki were starting to reach the end of their battle — the younger being backed into a corner.

Heeseung hummed. “I’m more interested in how they stole it— and for what reason.”

“Everyone, gather around.”

The students all stood at attention hearing the sound of their teacher, Rain, who stood at the top of the staircase, overlooking the eight of them below. But what caught their attention wasn’t necessarily the man himself. It was the girl who stood beside him, one they’ve never met before, and who was wearing their uniform: a black military blazer with a pleated skirt and knee high stockings.

“Teach,” Riki greeted. He and the students gathered around the teacher, all curious about the sudden appearance of this stranger.

“Who’s this?” Sunoo asked, eyes scanning the girl up and down.

She was pretty, was the first observation he made. She had long blonde hair (dyed, he concluded) and looked like a princess out of a fairytale, with the way she stood with her hands folded neatly in front of her. The way she carried herself was too poised, too proper to match the average teenager. Sunoo couldn’t put his finger on it, but something about her just seemed… other.

“This is Mila,” Rain introduced, “your new classmate.”

“New classmate?” Jay asked with a quirked brow.

It wasn’t as if he was opposed to the idea, but it was rather sudden. Still, he couldn’t say anything to question the choice before the girl bowed, as if on cue, smiling in a way that had her eyes crinkling endearingly. “Nice to meet you all,” she said. “Please take care of me.”

For as long as Mila survived, anyway.

Mila already knew she wouldn’t be able to last long before her clan finally found her. Running from them was the most reckless choice she could have made. But just once in her life, she wanted to rebel against them — to pay them back for all the times they belittled her, casted her aside simply for the fact that they couldn’t accept the sole heir to their clan after the passing of the previous head was a girl.

Just like the clan took away everything that was precious to her — her freedom, her autonomy, and most of all, her mother — she too had stolen the one thing most precious to them. The green jade ornament that hung from her neck like the yoke of an ox. The Emperor Jade.

She hadn’t expected to be spared by the Korean sorcerers who found her. Instead of releasing her from this mortal life which was both woeful and wonderful, they integrated her in their society and promised to hide her as best as they could from her clan. But she supposed it was only natural: She had a weapon that could be of great use to them, especially with their growing rates of suicide and declining mental health that attributed to their abnormally high levels of Curses on a global scale. It was better to keep her close than to give her away.

Whatever the reason, though, she fully intended on embracing this new chance at life she was given.

“So…”

Jungwon glanced awkwardly at Mila. He was just absolutely adorable, his round face and dimpled cheeks making it nearly impossible for Mila not to reach over and pinch his cheek. His shyer personality only made him all the more endearing to her. And for once, she thought she might be smitten for a boy she just met.

“You’re Rain-seonsangnim’s niece?” the redhead asked.

Mila resisted the urge to frown. It was true in a sense: her aunty, who had left the clan years ago with her older cousin, ended up remarrying, with Jung ‘Rain’ Jihoon as her husband. Still, the man was a stranger to Mila until yesterday. Calling him ‘uncle’ was more difficult than she would like to admit. But she had to, since it was part of her cover story on why she suddenly appeared out of nowhere.

“Yeah,” she said with a small smile. She changed the subject in case anyone asked any questions of why she didn’t go to their school until now. “Uncle Jihoon told me about how you were the new student before I joined… So I guess that makes you my senior.”

“Eyyyy, that can’t be right!” Sunoo denied with a laugh. Mila really liked the sound of it, and the way it wrapped her in a similar warmth to the sun that shone above them. “We’re the same age, so you can’t let the younger ones be casual with you, otherwise they might do the same to me.”

Mila giggled. “Really? Okay. But since I’m not really your senior…” Mila hummed before smiling at Jungwon. “Instead of ‘sunbaenim’, you can call me ‘noona,’ instead.”

Jungwon’s face burned, his face now the same shade of red as his strawberry-coloured hair. “O-okay.”

So cute! Mila internallly cooed.

“How good are you with weapons?” Riki, the youngest student at the school, asked curiously.

He was a cutie too, even if he towered over Mila with his insane height. One would usually use the word ‘cool’ to describe someone like him, but for some reason, Mila had the urge to pat his head — a very odd feeling for her, considering she wasn’t the affectionate type.

“I’m decent,” she said vaguely, not giving the younger the satisfaction of a straightforward answer. “I’m better without them, though.”

Jake, who had the looks and aura of a typical Hollywood heartthrob, flashed a captivating grin. From the moment they met, Mila could tell he was a flirt — and she wouldn’t be lying if she said he was a good one, at that. “Oh, so you’re good with your hands, are you?”

Mila almost choked on her spit. Both because of the comment, and the way the only other female student, Kiara, had slapped the boy on the back of his head with a resounding echo that made the other guys cringe in second-hand pain. (Or was it embarrassment? Judging from the side eye coming from Sunoo, it was probably the latter.)

“Well,” Riki cut in once again. “If you’re that confident, you wouldn’t mind giving us a demo, right?”

Jay sighed, bringing a hand up to massage his forehead. It was amusing that he had such a macho appearance, and yet he was the most well-mannered among the boys as far as Mila could tell. It was unfair how he was just her type: not only was he drop-dead gorgeous, he was a gentleman too.

“She’s literally just started her first day, and you’re already trying to make her a training dummy.”

Mila pouted at the insinuation that she would be lose. “What makes you think he wouldn’t end being my training dummy?”

Beside Jay, Heeseung chuckled, his voice causing Mila to blush despite herself. “That’s not what Jay meant,” Heeseung assured the girl, a warm smile on his face that would melt any girl on the spot. “Riki just has a bad record of starting fights whenever he meets new people.”

Mila laughed when Riki looked affronted. “What? I’m just trying to get to know our new classmate better?” He turned to Sunghoon behind him, who had been standing a bit more distantly from them than the others. “What do you think, hyung?”

Sunghoon crossed his arms over his chest, Mila’s eyes drifting slightly to the way the black shirt he wore for training outlined his muscles perfectly. He cocked his head to the side, a glint in his eyes. “Riki’s right,” he said coolly.

“See!” Riki said with a smug smirk while Sunoo rolled his eyes. “Besides, we have the Goodwill Event coming up with the sister schools in Japan. We need to make sure everyone’s in shape, right?”

“Well you don’t need to worry about me,” Mila said, mirroring Sunghoon’s pose with his arms across his chest. “I’m perfectly in shape, thanks.”

“Definitely,” Jake muttered under his breath after giving her an appreciation once-over, earning yet another slap from Kiara.

Sunghoon smirked, sensing the challenge in Mila’s tone. The girl swallowed thickly, unable to deny his attractiveness. She almost didn’t catch the blade that was being tossed in her direction – but she had spent too much of her childhood learning to evade assassinations and attacks to have missed it.

“If that’s the case,” Sunghoon said, after tossing her the weapon with a cocky grin on his face. “Prove it.”

The air was silent as eight pairs of eyes fell on Mila. She bit back a laugh, the corners of her lips turning up in amusement.

She had a feeling she would like it here.

#03. AVENGERS

ALMOST A YEAR NOW. That was how long Mila spent wandering the globe with her head low, her guard up against any enemies who may one day attack her when she least expected it. Or so that was how she justified it.

Mila stopped before the television screens in the display window of the media store, her eyes trained on nine familiar figures being portrayed in the news. Her eyes traced over each and every one of them, blocking out the words of the news reporters. All she heard were the words: ‘Avengers,’ ‘missing,’ and the name she was given when she made her first appearance in public wrapped in the embrace of red magic. ‘Scarlet Witch.’

She missed them so much it physically hurt. But this was for them. The whole reason she ran from them in the first place, without so much as a word except a letter she wrote in a haste to get away.

It was selfish. She knew this. But she wasn’t a hero like they were – she was just a lab experiment who lost everything she ever loved, before they came into her life and gave her another chance at life. She wasn’t selfless, wasn’t humble, and she definitely wasn’t good. But if protecting the people she loved was a bad thing… then she would accept the role of a villain, if she had to.

“Long time no see.”

Mila gasped as she whipped around, long strands of hair whipping around in the wind. Her eyes widened at the familiar face staring back at her.

“Eonnie,” she breathed out in shock.

Black Widow smiled, that same maternal look in her eyes as when Mila last saw her. “It’s been a while.”

Mila gaped, her eyes blinked as she looked around the street. They were alone. She let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. At least it wasn’t one of the boys. Kiara, at least, could be reasoned with – but she knew she wouldn’t be so fortunate if it was anyone else who found her tonight.

“I thought we agreed to keep in contact,” Kiara said with a scolding tone as she pulled Mila into a nearby alleyway.

Mila sighed. The night she decided to run away, she coincidentally ran straight into Kiara, who immediately connected the dots seeing the bag on Mila’s shoulder and the cap covering her head. A single call to SHIELD would have had every agent on sight, ready to stop Mila from taking even one step out of their sight. But Kiara let her go. And Mila owed her for that.

“I know,” Mila said. “But I’ve been getting visions, and—!”

“Visions?” Kiara repeated incredulously. “That’s even more reason for you to keep in contact! You said the Mind Stone was fine the last time we spoke— which was a month ago.”

Mila lowered her head, looking like a wet puppy in the rain. “I know… And I’m sorry but I just— I just didn’t want to worry you…”

Kiara sighed before bringing a hand up to her head. “Well I am worried, okay? Worried because even though I agreed to let you do this, that doesn’t mean I like it. Every day I wonder if I did the right thing by letting you go that night…”

Mila gasped. A feeling of dread pooled in the pit of her stomach. “Eonnie… Please.”

Kiara shook her head. “I’m sorry Mila, but I can’t let you do this alone anymore.”

Shit.

Mila needed to get out of here. Fast.

Without letting Kiara say another word, she wrapped herself in a cocoon of crimson light, her eyes glowing the same shade of red as she took to the air, ready to flee the sight as soon as she could. But it was too late. Before she could turn — somewhere, anywhere — she was stopped by a wall of iron. A startled gasp left her lips as a familiar suit of armour rushed towards her in a flurry of red and gold.

In her shock, she didn’t even register that she had been swept right out of the air and into a pair of arms.

“Jay?!” Mila blurted. She stared wide-eyed at his mask as if she could see his face through it — his angular features, contrasted by the soft look on his eyes. She wondered what expression he was wearing now, if he hated her for what she did to keep him and the others safe.

He carried bridal style as he flew through the air at the speed of a fighter jet plane, her hair whipping around in all directions as she grasped onto him for dear life. She could push him away, if she wanted to. She could overpower him easily with her powers and fly away to a corner of a world where no one could ever find her.

But she didn’t. She missed him too much — she missed them too much — to stay away when they were near. And they took full advantage of it to corner her and bring her right back, using Kiara as bait.

“Wait, where are you going?!” Mila asked, her voice muffled as a hand pressed her head closer to his neck, where her arms had wrapped around subconsciously. “Let’s talk about this, okay?! Just stop for a second—?”

“I can’t do that, Angel.” Mila froze at the familiar pet name, a warmth filling her stomach at the sound of his tone. Even though his mask, it held so much emotion in it, amplified only by the desperation with which he held her. “I’m not giving you another chance to get away. Never again.”

Mila’s breath caught in her chest. Damn it. They really were her weakness… For better or for worse.

Mila didn’t even register when she was on solid ground again. But before she knew it, she found herself on the landing platform of SHIELD base in the middle of the Yellow Sea, held to Jay’s chest as he landed in the middle of rows of airships.

Mila bit her lip as Iron Man’s mask retreated, allowing Mila to see the face she so missed seeing when she woke up in the morning. She swallowed thickly at the intense look in his eyes as they traced her every feature, so full of love she didn’t even know if she alone was enough to hold it all.

“You can put me down now,” Mila whispered weakly.

“And if I don’t?” Jay asked, his voice low.

“Then I’ll make you.”

Mila and Jay both turned in the direction of the new voice. Mila’s lips parted as Sunoo came into view from the shadows, a quiver of bows strapped to his back and black uniform shrouding his figure like a phantom as he appeared before Mila. His hair was a new shade of wine red that she hadn’t seen on him before, making his foxy features even more harsh as he stared at her without emotion.

Mila felt cold as Jay reluctantly let her down from his hold, her legs weak as she stood on her own two feet.

“You have a lot of guts walking away with the Mind Stone like that,” Sunoo said with narrowed eyes. “If you were anyone else… I would have shot you down without a second thought.”

Mila pursed her lips. Of course. She knew as well as anyone that even if he didn’t have any powers, Sunoo was not one to be underestimated. His arrows could hit an apple from a mile away — least of all a 5’8 girl walking away without soaring a single look over her shoulder.

She deserved his coldness, she thought. She didn’t deserve the smiles he would share with her and they visited her favourite cafe, trying all the sweets to see which one was the best. She didn’t deserve his warmth, or his loving smiles. But that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

“Cut it out, Sunoo.” Mila’s wide eyes turned to look behind her. His mechanic falcon wings were spread out behind him as he landed behind Jay. He spared a nod to the man before his eyes landed on Mila, a conflicted look on his face. He clenched his jaw, which Mila could remember tracing loving kisses along whenever he would fly up to her apartment window in the middle of the night. “So you’re back now…”

Mila swallowed the lump in her throat. “Yeah.”

Jake nodded, his eyes slowly trailing down her body, as if trying to figure out whether or not she was real. If it was actually her in front of him. “Yeah?” he asked uncertainly.

Mila nodded. And before she could say a word, she was being pulled away from Jay’s protective hand on her waist, and right into Jake’s chest, his head burying itself into her neck and his hands holding her lower back and her head to him, trying to feel her as closely as possible.

“I missed you so fucking much,” he whispered into her ear. She raised her hands to return his embrace, just in time to hear his next words, which burned themselves into her skin. “But you’re in so much trouble when we’re alone, you hear me?”

Mila didn’t even have time to register the Falcon’s words before she was pulling away by the hips. One second she was looking at Jake’s annoyed expression, and the next she was staring straight into Riki’s eyes before his lips crashed into hers.

“Brat,” Sunoo said from behind the tall boy, his foxy eyes narrowing on him.

But Mila barely heard a thing. She was shutting her eyes and letting herself fall into the familiar pattern of her lips moving against his, their chests pressed against each other. The feeling of her hands threading their way through his hair in a desperate act to keep his mouth on hers. Just like the first time they kissed, that day he thought he lost her for good when she fell from the top of the Tokyo tower.

“You better not do that ever again,” Riki said as he leaned her forehead against hers, his breath heavy as he stared into her eyes with a sense of desperation just like that day. And Mila felt guilt eat away again for making him relive that same fear again. “I’ll never forgive you.”

“And neither will I.”

There was a flash of green before Jungwon appeared before them, the Time Stone hanging around his neck and his sentient cape lifting a corner and giving a small wave at Mila’s direction. Mila smiled. It reminded her of all the times Mila would pretend to run from his kisses, only for his cape to chase her and pull her right back into his arms again.

The only time Mila escaped its grasp was the night she ran away…

“Jungwon.” Mila sighed as the younger looked down at her, his eyes firm in their disapproval.

“I have a lot to say to you,” Jungown said. “But that can wait until later. We have more important things to do.” Mila cringed internally, but didn’t disagree. “Heeseung is probably waiting for you in his office… I trust you have the Mind Stone with you?”

Mila lowered her head. “I do.”

“Good.” Jungwon turned on his heels without another word. The corner of his cape lifting to look back and forth between Jungwon’s leaving figure and Mila’s crestfallen expression, before expressing a sigh.

A flash of lighting appeared in the night sky, and Mila shivered. She looked up towards the sky. “Where’s Sunghoon?”

“Don’t know.” Sunoo shrugged. “He hasn’t been here for a while.”

Mila sighed. Riki lay a hand on Mila’s back. “Come on,” he said. “You can’t delay it any longer.”

Like that, Mila walked into Heeseung’s office to see him leaning against his desk with hands in his pockets. The space felt crowded as Mila and her men (were they still hers, though?) gathered in the room.

“It’s been a while,” Heeseung lulled, his expression not betraying a single thought. His eyes scanned her in a similar way to Jake. “You look well.”

Surely not, Mila thought. She felt anything but well.

Heeseung looked towards the others. “You guys can leave now.”

They exchanged looks. But none of them disobeyed the orders given to them, and they slowly exited the room one by one, some of them giving her pecks before they left, and others not sparing a single glance. But in the end, Heeseung was the only thing on Mila’s mind. Especially when he marched up to her the second the door closed, before lifting her like she weighed nothing and placing her on the tabling in the middle of the room, his lips devouring hers like they were her last meal on Earth.

Mila gasped as he pushed her down onto the table, her back laying on scattered paperwork as he hovered over her, his figure cocooning her like he was trying to hide his favourite doll form the world, to keep anyone from seeing or ever going near her. And really? Mila liked it. She always did. She loved the fact that she was the only one who could make him snap like this, lose all his composure.

She didn’t know how long she was lying like that before Heeseung was pulling away, his silver hair shining under the light of the full moon.

“Do you remember?” Heeseung asked all of a sudden, not even giving Mila a chance to catch her breath.

“Remember what?”

“Remember when I told you, I wouldn’t let anyone take you away from me.” Mila bit her lip, nodding at the declaration he had made when he and the others first rescued her from the scientists experimenting on ner. “If I knew you were the one that would make you leave…”

“I’m sorry,” Mila whispered.

Heeseung closed his eyes before leaning his chin on Mila’s shoulder. “You should be. I missed you so much, baby…” He brushed a kiss to her cheek, before nipping at her earlobe, causing Mila to whine. “Don’t ever leave me like that again. Whatever the reason for it was, we’ll figure it out.” He moved away and brushed a strand from Mila’s face. “That being said, we have to talk about—”

Before Heeseung could even finish his sentence, there was a series of shouts from the other side of the door. Neither Mila or Heeseung had time to register what was happening before the door flew open to reveal an absolutely pissed Sunghoon.

All of a sudden, Mila was reminded of the first time they got into an argument, and Mila ended up giving him the cold shoulder for a week before he blew it and dragged her back to her place where he sat her down and stared at her for five seconds straight with those piercing eyes of his before she crumbled and gave in. Those same eyes landed on Mila and Heeseung now, before narrowing on the former. Mila blushed at the fact she was caught in this position, but realised that there were more important things to worry about.

Heeseung lifted himself off of Mila to address the man. “Sunghoon.”

He didn't get a reply. Instead of greeting him back, Sunghoon was brushing past Heeseung and storming straight towards Mila before grabbing her arm and hauling her off the desk, wrapping an arm around her waist to bring him to his firm chest.

“Wait, Sunghoon,” Heeseung said placating as he realised what was happening. “Let’s talk about this.”

Mila’s eyes widened when Sunghoon began to swing his hammer in his hand. “Stay out of it,” Sunghoon said. “I need to talk to my girlfriend.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Mila protested, “I don’t want to hurt you, Oppa, so let’s talk this ou— Agh!”

Heeseung was left to stand there with a tired expression as Sunghoon’s hammer carried him out the window, breaking the glass as he escaped into the horizon with his girlfriend in his arms. Heeseung dropped his head when the rest of the boys flooded into the room, all in equal disbelief.

“We just got her back, and already she’s been kidnapped?!” Riki asked.

Heeseung sighed. They didn’t have time for this. Thanos was on his search for the infinity stones, and he wasn’t going to let his girlfriend get away alone with one of them ever again — not if it meant leaving her vulnerable. And the others agreed on the same thing. For just ws much as she wanted to keep them safe from leaving them, they wanted to keep her safe by keeping her by her side.

So it went without saying, they as soon as Kiara caught up with them, he was suiting up, ready to lead the mission to retrieve his — their — girl from Sunghoon.

“Avengers… Assemble.”

#04. HARRY POTTER

AMORTENTIA. The potion of love.

Mila didn’t think she would ever need such a thing — nor did she want it, either. It was a fact that the effects caused by Amortentia were closer to lust or obsession more than anything else, and for that, Mila wished to stay well away from it. But as it happened, today’s Potions class happened to be brewing that exact potion.

Hooray, Mila mentally noted as she stirred a pot of pink boiling liquid, being sure to stand at arm’s length, with a hand on her nose, least her yellow Hufflepuff robes would smell of a very interesting combination of mint chocolate, bungeoppang, tiramisu, ramyeon, corn and… strawberries with chocolate?

Mila tilted her head at the scent profile. What was that about? She knew that the scent of Amortentia changed according to who smelled it, and served as an indication of the person one felt attracted to… But wasn’t this combination a bit too odd?

“If you lean back any further, your hair is going to become another ingredient in my potion.” Mila whipped her head around to stare blankly at the Slytherin behind her. She gathered her hair and threw it over her shoulder with a glare. “Happy?”

Park Sunghoon rolled his eyes, before looking down at his potion again. Mila didn’t know when it started, but for as long as she could remember, she and Sunghoon had always been at each other’s throats — exchanging short and clipped remarks, bumping into each other’s shoulders when they passed each other in the hallway, and glaring whenever they made eye contact.

She really didn’t know why he disliked her so much. But well, it wasn’t as if she cared…

Sunghoon took a sniff, before his thick eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Mila didn’t bother to ask about it, before turning to face his potion again. It was none of her business what it smelt like — everyone knew what type of girl he liked, anyway. A pretty, popular girl like Jang Wonyoung, who seemed to be the only one he ever smiled at.

Not that Mila was keeping track, or anything. But Mila pouted at the thought. Because, seriously, why did he hate her so much? (But perhaps, if she didn’t turn away so quickly, she would be able to see the way Sunghoon’s eyes lingered on her back after smelling his potion.)

“How’s your potion going?” Mila snapped to attention when Jake, her seatmate, leaned over to check her cauldron. Briefly, Mila could catch the scent of grass and rain, attributed to the fact that the boy was on the Hufflepuff Quidditch team.

“It’s going okay?” Mila asked. “I mean… it does smell pretty funny, though.”

Jake tilted his head, looking like a confused puppy. “What do you mean?”

Mila laughed, shaking her head. “That the person I’m attracted to has a lot of different tastes in food.”

Jake laughed. “Yeah?” His smile softened as he watched Mila stir the cauldron, eyes holding an unbridled amount of affection that everyone except her seemed to see. “Well mine happens to really like chocolate — Lindt, specifically.”

Mila hummed pleasantly. “Really? What a coincidence! So do I!”

Internally, Mila despaired. She couldn’t tell why, but it really bothered her to know about the girl who stole his heart. It wasn’t her right to be, and yet she couldn’t control her feeling of disappointment. He had been telling her for a while now about a girl that he had his eyes set on, since the first day of school. And Mila didn’t know how to react when she found out, because she could have sworn that he seemed so much more affectionate around her than others, with the way he always had a hand around her shoulder or how he would lean closer to her when they were speaking…

But maybe she was imagining it.

Jake laughed, shaking his head in fond exasperation. It made more sense the more he knew her, the reason she wasn’t in Ravenclaw — as smart as she was, she missed some of the most obvious signs around her. And yet, it only made her more endearing to him…

“I think I need some more flasks,” Mila said, as she looked at her bench. “I’ll be right back.”

Mila skipped towards the table at the back of the room to grab a glass flask before turning to head back to her desk… only to bump straight into a firm chest. Startled, Mila jumped backwards, only for an arm to grab her by the bicep to steady her before she fell over. She looked up in bewilderment, to meet Jay’s concerned eyes.

She couldn’t say anything except, “Oh.”

Because no way the Park Jongseong was holding her by the arm right now, his face only centimetres away from her. Her face flushed a similar pink as her love potion, before she cleared her throat and stapled away from the boy’s touch, despite her body screaming not to.

She always had somewhat of a puppy crush on Jay since they first met. She was lost and couldn’t find her next class, and he, being a Prefect for Slytherin, offered to help her find her find her way.

“Sorry,” she apologised.

Jay chuckled. “It’s okay.” The boy resumed grabbing his ingredients from the table, allowing Mila to turn around and calm her beating heart. All of a sudden, it started racing again when Jay called her again. “By the way… Your potion…”

Mila blinked at the handsome boy. “Yeah?”

“Just wondering how it smelled, that’s all,” Jay said. Contrary to his usual mannerisms, he wasn’t facing her, his back instead turned as he checked the labels of several bottles on the table. Mila spotted a twinge of red on his ears, and wondered if he usually got embarrassed when talking about affairs of the heart.

Mila smiled. “Hmmm… There was quite a few distinct scents… But I do remember there being something like corn in there? Which was really random.”

Jay froze, his back rigid like stone. “Really?”

Mila hummed. “Yep! So I guess I have to give my future boyfriend some corn when I ask him out, huh?”

Jay didn’t say anything afterwards, so Mila took it as a cue to end the conversation there. She bid the boy farewell before making her way back to her desk. She was completely obvious to the crisis he had put him in with her words, as Jay stood there for the next five minutes replaying what she said to him like a broken record.

Shit, Jay cursed mentally, when he couldn’t contain the smile on his face. I’m down bad…

But to be fair, he wasn’t the only one.

When class finished and it was time to go, Mila found herself walking side by side with her best friend Sunoo who, as always, took the books from her arms and carried them in her own, looking like the textbook Ravenclaw that he was.

It was strange. When they first met, he was a library part-timer scolding her for folding the spine of her books while she looked like a child who had just been caught doing something they shouldn’t have. Who would have guessed that from that day onwards, they would form a lasting friendship?

How did your potion go?”

Mila hummed. “It was okay. Don’t know how well it would work… but it had a interesting smell.”

“Like what?” Sunoo asked, a little too eager. Since they didn’t sit at the table together (because of assigned seat mates) they didn’t know what the other was up to in class.

“Yeah, like what?”

Mila jumped in surprise when an arm flung itself over her shoulder. She looked up and groaned when she made eye contact with Riki, the resident prankster. To this day, she still hadn’t forgiven him for putting pink hair dye into her shampoo, thinking it belonged to her roommate — who also happened to be Riki’s sister.

At that moment she noticed who was beside him and smiled brightly. “Wonie! How are you?”

The younger boy smiled, his dimples poking from his cheeks. And it was so hard to believe that he — a Prefect for Gryffindoor — would be friends with a troublemaker Slytherin like Riki.

“You didn’t answer the question,” Sunoo said impatiently.

“Oh right,” Mila said. “Hmmm, well, it smelled like a lot of different things…”

Sunoo pouted at the vague answer but didn’t get to press the girl before Riki was steering her towards the Mess Hall and changing the subject. “Let’s have lunch together today.”

“We’re in different houses,” Mila pointed out. “We sit at different tables, remember?”

Riki shrugged. “So? We can just sit with you — it’s not like you have any friends.”

Jungwon discretely elbowed Riki in the ribs. He for one wouldn’t let the tall boy get away with teasing Mila too much. Riki cringed in pain, before glaring at the boy, but neither Mila nor Sunoo noticed it had happened — after all, who would expect sweet and adorable Jungwon of doing any harm. As Mila said when Riki accused the boy, “That’s funny. Your best joke yet.”

Riki pouted as he followed the girl to her seat, despite his protests, planted himself beside her. Sunoo followed his example and took the next seat over, while Jungwon sat across from the girl so that he would be able to look at her when they spoke. People around them began to stare at the combination of colours before happening along each other, causing Mila to giggle.

“I can’t believe you guys are actually sitting here,” she muttered. She then looked at Jungwon. “Are you really approving this?”

Jungwon shrugged. “There are no rules saying we can’t sit at another house’s table.”

Mila shook her head. At that moment she felt a hand on her head. She looked up in surprise, when she saw Heeseung staining above her, his handsome face smiling warmly at her. She then noticed Jay, Sunghoon, and Jake with him, and remembered that they were close friends with each other

“Then in that case, it should be alright if we join you, right?” Heeseung asked.

Riki glared. Why were there so many boys around Mila? “Actually—”

Before Riki could say anything, Mila delivered a elbow right into the same spot that Jungwon had. “Of course you can!” Mila said eagerly.

The older boy was actually one of the first that Mila got to meet here at Hogwarts. It was on the very first day of school, when she saw him charming origami paper cranes in the courtyard. She complimented him with sincere awe, and he gifted her one of them in return. Somehow, Mila always found herself smiling at him whenever they crossed paths.

Heeseung smiled, patting the girl’s head. “Thank you.”

Jungwon scrunched his nose at the adoration in the older boy’s tone because was he seriously baby-talking her? Sunoo had the same thought, and eyed him with disdain as he took a seat next to Riki, while Jay sat next to Sunoo, and Sunghoon and Jake joined Jungwon.

The eight of them became the centre of attention as whispers began to float among the Mess Hall, scandalised by the prospect of students from different houses sitting together. But Mila couldn’t care less. She found that being with them, she was more at ease than she ever was alone.

“Hey, hey, what’s going on over here?” Mila watched as Kiara, her older sister figure, appeared with a glint in her eye. “Is this a Mila’s fan club meeting or something?”

Mila didn’t know why, but she was shooting out of her chair like a rocket, her face a bright pink as she shushed the Slytherin girl. “What do you mean? We’re just hanging out.”

Riki smirked at her reaction. “Then what has you so flustered then?”

Mila looked around the table and saw the same amused looks on all the boys’ faces. She cleared her throat before slowly sitting back down again. “I don’t know what you’re talking about…”

And yet, Mila’s heart skipped a bit when the boys laughed at her expense. The sound of their laughs overlapping each other, bouncing off the walls of the Mess Hall like a chorus in a church… It was nice. Being with them was nice.

And when Kiara found herself joking later on that Mila must have caught a few crushes during lunch that day… She didn’t deny her.

She didn’t know what it was, but something about them together felt right — and somehow, she had a feeling that they felt the same way too.

NOTE. finally the au chapter has come 😭 dark moon ended up being left out bc well we kinda already know what enha would be like in that au… ☀️ but anyway! funny story, my planni for this fic was so bad- i was supposed to write one au each day starting on Monday so I could post this first thing today…. but procrastinated so I needed to just writing around 7k words in or day 😭 it’s now 9:27pm tho so at least it’s out before mila’s bday ends 🥹 anyway! hope you liked it! yhank you guys for a wonderful year with mila and enha, and hope to continue to celebrate more milestones to come — dia 🌸🩷

#◌ 🌸 ˴ milana bai . ˚◞ ★̶̲ ꒱#enhypen 8th member #enhypen female member #enhypen fem oc #enhypen added member #enhypen extra member #enhypen eight member #enhypen female oc #enhypen x oc #enhypen female addition #enhypen addition #enhypen oc #enhypen poly

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temporarynameiwillchange · 11 months

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The Oceangate Incident. Any schoolchild could tell you about it. The fall of the old order; twenty years of billionaire hubris come together in a single sort of newsworthy event. The maiden voyage of a submarine to the Titanic, vanished without a trace. For minutes it had been old Stockton Rush’s passion project, his long-sought legacy: shoot a depressurised metal tube through the ocean, cut the excess oxygen supply from three months to three days. All the tests had been ignored with quite liberal bribes, and the submarine was deemed safe. And what a submarine it was: built of scrap metal and bolted from the outside. Five high-up, well-to-do, nose-turning billionaire hobnobs were on that first trip, or risk Rush's displeasure. So when it didn’t come out the other side, who's left to rule?

In the chaos that ensued, no one really had a chance to see what happened to the submarine itself. And that’s where I come in, Inspector 2nd class Lyfrassir Edda, New Midgard Transport Police. Because the Titan has finally arrived at the Titanic, 80 years late. There's nothing left, except the twisted ruin of the xbox controller and a couple of warped skeletons. And the black box. It’s as much a history project as a crime scene at this point, but combing through the data still comes down to me.

#submarine #titanic #the mechanisms #the bifrost incident #196 #temporaryname originals

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decolonize-the-left · 2 months

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GENERAL STRIKE TIME BABEY. READ THE WHOLE POST.

While we're all mad at government sending money to Israel that police budgets are so inflated because of how often they pay settlements.

And also that it's a verified fact that our police train with Israeli soldiers. Remember when they were black bagging people in PDX? It reminded me of this ex-Israeli soldier talking about how they'd do the same thing to innocent Palestinians just to terrorize them and their neighbors. It was intentional terrorism when they did it.

Police budgets pay for all that.

Correction, we pay.

To put it more bluntly,

We pay for them to kill and terrorize people.

Just as our taxes pay for the deaths of Black and Brown people all over the world from Turtle Island to Sudan and Palestine.

In Dec. 2022, Louisville Metro Government agreed to pay Walker $2 million to settle lawsuits against the city. Metro government previously paid a $12 million settlement to Taylor’s family in Sept. 2020

We paid for Breonna Taylor's death.

And her murderers were never arrested btw. Not that there aren't still people trying to arrest them of course. But our money paid for their lawyers and wouldn't you know it, no charges have stuck.

Four years to the day after Breonna Taylor’s death, federal prosecutors are moving forward with a re-trial of one of the officers involved in the botched raid that ended her life. At a status conference Wednesday, U.S. District Court Judge Rebecca Grady Jennings scheduled Brett Hankison’s final pre-trial hearing for September 13th. His re-trial is scheduled to begin on Oct. 15. In November of last year, Hankinson was tried for violating the Constitutional rights of Breonna Taylor, her boyfriend, and three neighbors when he fired through two covered windows during the raid. Prosecutors argued he used excessive force when he shot into the apartment complex blindly. Taylor’s boyfriend, Kenneth Walker, had fired at officers executing the search, claiming he thought they were intruders.

And Myles Cosgrove?

Yeah we're paying him to terrorize more people. He got a job as a fucking sheriff's deputy.

Myles Cosgrove, the former Louisville police officer, who was fired for fatally shooting Breonna Taylor in a botched 2020 police raid and hired earlier this year as a sheriff’s deputy in Carroll County, rammed a resident’s truck with his cruiser Monday and then pointed a gun at the owner and several bystanders, witnesses said.

Witnesses told The Courier Journal that Cosgrove barreled into Happy Hollow Private Resort Park trailer park at a high rate of speed without his emergency lights on, then struck William Joshua Short’s pickup truck with such force that it sent the vehicle flying into a building, breaking off two cinder blocks.

And Johnathan Mattingly wrote a fucking book about it to make money off of his role in her murder. $15 on Amazon.

He also wanted to sue Kenneth Walker, Breonna's boyfriend. You know why? For damages and injuries he sustained while killing Breonna Taylor.

WE PAID FOR ALL THAT. ALL OF IT.

Our power is in our dollar.

American politics and officials don't care for our lives. It's why they're content to watch us protest for months. Because we're still going to work. We are the worker ants simply fulfilling our duty, receiving the bare minimum to survive for our labor.

We're still building their bombs. Paying our taxes, so much that hardly any of us could afford more than rent.

We are just drones fulfilling our purpose to the upper class who doesn't give a shit about us beyond what we do for them and how little we will do it for.

If we want change we're gonna have to stop working. We're going to have to deprive them of products they sell, of our taxes, of our low cost labor.

And the strike that UAW is planning in May 2028 has inspired a lot of others to start looking at the opportunity to join in.

If you haven't heard of it yet, a strike is when workers organize and stop showing up for work. And a general strike is a mass strike across various industries around similar demands or bargaining positions.

There have been multiple calls for a general strike since then, predominantly from individuals and groups on social media, which has often resulted in confusion about what a general strike would actually look like. To be clear, a general strike is not a protest or a rally, a single picket line, or a boycott. It is, as I’ve previously defined, “a labor action in which a significant number of workers from a number of different industries who comprise a majority of the total labor force within a particular city, region, or country come together to take collective action.”

Throughout history, workers have used this tactic as a nuclear option to shut down entire cities when needed, including Philadelphia in 1835, Seattle in 1919, and beyond.[...]

If even four or five of the unions representing the workers mentioned above banded together in a nationwide general strike, the entire country would grind to a halt. When Shawn Fain asks his fellow unions to set the timer for May 2028, what he’s really saying is, get ready to shut sh*t down and level the playing field between bosses and workers once and for all.

JOIN A UNION. AND TALK ABOUT THIS.

And make one of the demands out to be an end of American support to countries participating in apartheid and genocide.

End the taxes for police budgets and settlements. If they want police departments so bad then they should FIND funding for themselves like the government makes USPS do.

One of the biggest pushbacks we hear is that there is never any official backing for calls to a general strike. Well here it is! Make sure you tell EVERYONE

This could be a global strike if other countries choose to participate on the same date

No, I don't think Palestine has 3 years so in the mean time join a union, keep protesting, start rioting, answer Every call to action coming from a Palestine and Sudan and the DRC and sign this strike card

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toournextadventure · 11 months

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movie night pt.v

Summary: Sam doesn't distrust you quite as much and Tara scares you. Guess that means it's time for them to meet the family.

Word Count: 6.4k Warnings: Excessive swearing, suggestive themes, Scream levels of violence/mentions of violence Pairing: Tara Carpenter x Reader (pt.i) (pt.ii) (pt.iii) (pt.iv) (pt.v) (pt.vi) (pt.vii) (pt.viii)

“One more attack and I’m takin’ you to Mercy,” Aunt Sherry said as she finished cleaning the dried blood on your neck. “Conscious or not.”

“I understand,” you said quietly. You supposed after another 17 stitches, you couldn’t really argue with her.

“Your Ma never wanted this life for you,” she said, her hand resting on your shoulder.

You knew she meant well, but this conversation wasn’t helping. Clearly Ma never wanted this for you, she hadn’t even wanted it for herself and Pop. Trouble was always quick to follow your family, and you were more than adept at figuring out how to navigate it. This was a different obstacle, sure, but you were clever, you could make it work.

None of you had been taught how to keep others out of trouble, though.

“I’ll see you at Mass,” you said with a smile before hopping out of the ambulance for the second time in 24 hours.

Anika had already been rushed to the hospital. As far as you knew, they were confident she would pull through. Damn, she was one tough sonofabitch. You would need to make sure you sent flowers or chocolates or something. What would she even like? Maybe you should ask Mindy.

“Who knows where you live?” Sam asked once you shuffled your way to the group. All these Ghostface attacks were giving you major deja vu.

“No one,” you said when you stopped beside Tony. “Did you tell anyone?”

“Course not,” he scoffed, “I know the family rules.”

“Well he found out somehow,” Chad said.

“Well it wasn’t from us, smart guy,” Tony said defensively. “We don’t tell nobody where we live.”

“Only ones who know are Garret and the lot of you,” you said. “And I only called Tara.”

“And where is Garret?” Mindy asked as she held her now-bandaged arm.

“His dad’s house up in the Hamptons,” you said with a shrug. “Not gettin’ back till next weekend.”

“And you’re sure he’s up there?” Tara asked.

“Yes I’m sure, now quit with the interrogation,” you huffed. “Got enough of a headache as it is.”

Tara didn’t say anything but reached down and grabbed your hand, slotting her fingers between yours. You gave her hand a gentle squeeze. It was starting to become abundantly clear why she had kept her distance. Was this going to happen to anyone that got close to the Woodsboro gang? Because that was enough to have anyone on edge.

“So what now?” Tara asked.

“Chad and I are going to the hospital with Anika,” Mindy said softly, her eyes hazy.

“Quinn is already being escorted to the police station,” Sam said.

A phone rang.

Everyone’s eyes darted to Tony, who was already digging in his pocket for his phone. He pulled it out and showed you the screen, and you gulped. Oh god, this was so bad. You couldn’t do this again, you were barely holding it together as it was.

“Is it him?” Tara asked.

“Worse,” Tony said as he handed you the phone.

You watched it ring two more times before closing your eyes and answering it. The moment you held it up to your ear, you heard the static on the other end. It didn’t matter how tough you were, you weren’t prepared. Hell, nothing could have prepared you for it.

“Hey, Ma,” you said in the sweetest voice you could muster.

“If the two ‘a youse don’t get your sorry asses over here in the next 20 minutes, I’m chainin’ your ankles and throwin’ ya in the Hudson.”

“Just calm down-”

“-don’t you dare tell me to calm down, you don’t even call me to tell me about this bastard?”

You sighed. “No I don’t because you start actin’ like a wise guy!”

“Get your asses over here, Y/N.”

“Ma-”

“-Now.”

You exhaled through your nose and looked over at Tony. He mouthed a “sorry” before he shrugged. Lot of good he was. Sam and Tara were still looking at you with a mix of concern and… were they laughing?

“Can we bring two visitors?” You finally asked.

There was a bit of silence.

“Only if you follow the rules.”

“We will,” you said.

“Then yes.” A beat of silence. “And hurry.”

“Yes ma’am,” you said. “We’ll see you soon-”

-the call hung up and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. Well, that went well. On the other hand, you had been on the receiving end of worse calls from your Ma. This honestly wasn’t all that bad, at least she didn’t curse your bloodline. Well, not that time.

“You threw me under the bus,” you mumbled as you handed the phone back to Tony.

“I ain’t puttin’ up with her rage,” he said even as he slid the phone back into his back pocket.

“What’s going on?” Sam asked.

“We’re goin’ somewhere safe,” you said. “Well. Safe for you.”

“She’s gonna kill ya,” Tony mumbled.

“Shut up, I know,” you mumbled back as you placed your hand on Tara’s lower back and started guiding her down the streets.

“Shouldn’t you make sure the police don’t need anything?” Tara asked, looking back at your crime-scene of an apartment building.

“Absolutely not,” you said, “they let this happen, they can do it on their own.”

You all bid goodbye to Chad and Mindy before everyone went silent as you and Tony led them through the streets of New York. It was late, the lights were blinding, and the grating sounds of sirens faded into the usual chaos. There was something comforting about it; you didn’t think you’d ever be able to live somewhere that was quiet. How Tara had managed to live in Woodsboro forever was beyond you.

But that didn’t mean you weren’t keeping an eye out for suspicious characters. Namely a certain motherfucker who had quickly moved to the top of your shit list. Oh if he just gave you the chance, you were going to make him pay. No way on God’s green earth were you going to let him get away with any of this bullshit.

“Where exactly are we going?” Sam asked when you took them into an unassuming bakery in the Bronx.

“Can’t tell you,” Tony said.

You made sure to wave at Chris when you walked by the counter and guided everyone through a back door. It was a bit suspicious, you wouldn’t lie. Come to think of it, you didn’t think your family had invited anyone over since… well, since Dicky had brought Carol over a few years ago, actually. Oh man, maybe you all needed to reconsider your rules.

“It’s not as sketchy as it seems,” you said when you turned to look at them. “But I need you both to close your eyes.”

“Excuse me?” Tara asked.

“I said it’s not as sketchy as it seems,” you huffed.

“I’m not letting you lead us into some back room,” Sam said with crossed arms.

“If you don’t close your eyes, I can’t take you in,” you said. “It’s family rules.”

“Really?” Tara asked.

“Yes,” you said with a nod. They both looked at you in silence. “I know how it sounds.”

“If we close our eyes will you quit floundering?” Tara asked. “You’re going to catch flies.”

“Shut up,” you grumbled. “Please just follow the rules, I’m tired of just standing here like a psycho.”

Sam and Tara shared a look, opposite of the one you shared with Tony. You both knew it was a bit sketchy, you knew. But when Ma and Pop made the rules, they made the rules. How were you supposed to argue? You weren’t, that’s how. Besides, if Ma and Pop found out you were breaking the rules they would have your heads.

“Fine,” Sam said with a sigh before closing her eyes. Tara quickly followed suit.

Both you and Tony shared a sigh before guiding the two girls through the back door. You each held on to them to make sure they didn’t trip over something as you took them down through a cellar and into one of the underground tunnels. Most people didn’t know about the tunnels under New York City, but your family had memorised them as if your lives depended on it.

Which, sometimes they did.

You took them through a dizzying amount of turns until you got to the door that led up to your house. If the family was smart, they would’ve locked it. And unfortunately for you, it was locked. Damn, you had hoped they would’ve lost their mind for a few seconds, you weren’t in the mood to dig around for the new location of the spare key.

The tip of your ear started to throb when you bent down to look for the key under the crate of bootleg whiskey.

“Found you,” you mumbled to yourself when your fingers brushed against the ridiculously oversized skeleton key.

“Can we open our eyes now?” Tara asked.

“No,” you said without hesitation. “We gotta get you inside first.”

“This is how people die in horror movies,” she continued while you shoved the skeleton key into the similarly oversized keyhole. “You know that, right?”

“Yes, Tara, I know that,” you bit back, finally pushing the door open. “Now come on.”

You held Tara’s hand tightly as you helped her up the stairs to your house. Well, it was your parents’ house, but that didn’t really matter. Only once you and Tony had brought both girls up to the living room did you finally pull them to a stop. The blood rushed in your ears. You hadn’t ever brought anyone home.

“Okay, you can open ‘em,” Tony said before you found your voice again.

Both girls opened their eyes slowly; you almost wanted to laugh at how wide they got when they looked around. Sure, maybe the brownstone was a bit extravagant. All the exploits of the past were on display; trophies, if you would. From the old paintings, to old newspaper clippings of heists, to the Tommy gun your great grandfather had owned before he passed down the mantle. You supposed it was a bit of a shock to the average person.

“Are you…” Sam trailed off before looking back at you. “Are you-”

“-yeah,” you said with a nod. “We’re Italian.”

“Y/N Vitale, you be nice to those girls.”

“Oh shit,” Tony said as the four of you turned around quickly.

Your eyes went wide - much like Sam’s and Tara’s - when you saw your Ma walking towards you with violence in her step. Oh, you were in trouble. You were in deep shit and no one was going to be able to save you. Maybe you should’ve just taken your chances with Ghostface; he scared you less than your mother.

“Hey Ma-”

-you were cut off by her harshly gripping your jaw and pulling you down until you were eye level with her. She twisted your head and looked at the injured ear you were sporting. Everyone flinched when your neck popped. What was one more injury in the long list of injuries you were starting to get?

She turned your head again until you could look her in the eyes. As much as you feared your Ma - respectfully, of course - you knew concern when you saw it. It never came off the way normal people did, but you knew it. It was in the crinkles around her eyes as they checked every inch of your skin.

“Are you ladies hurt?” Ma asked as she let go of your face. You rubbed your jaw as you straightened back up.

“No- um, no ma’am,” Sam stammered.

“We’re okay,” Tara followed.

“Good,” Ma said, turning to look at them and putting on her motherly smile that you certainly never got to see. “Then welcome home.”

“How come they get a welcome and I get a once-over?” You asked.

“Because they stayed safe and responsible and you didn’t,” Ma shot back. Tara snickered while Sam turned her head to hide a smile.

“As if that’s my fault,” you grumbled.

“And what did I say about tracking blood into my house?” Ma asked, raising her brows at you.

“I didn’t!” You argued. “But I’m sorry, they don’t let you grab clean clothes out of an active crime scene, Ma.”

“I’m talkin’ about your feet,” she said with a gesture down.

All five of you looked down at your feet, and you flinched when you saw the tracks you had left in the house. Adrenaline was one hell of a drug, you hadn’t even noticed you hadn’t grabbed shoes. But as you lifted one of your feet and checked the bottom, all the pain you had ignored came rushing to the surface.

Glass, dirt, and who knew what else was embedded in the skin. When you looked back, it seemed you had been leaving bloody footprints for who knew how long. Part of you figured you hadn’t tracked them through the Bronx, but you had most definitely tracked them through the tunnel. Damn. Pop was going to make you clean it all up.

“I put some spare clothes in the bathroom,” Ma said. “So get your raggedy ass upstairs and clean up before dinner.”

“Yes ma’am,” you muttered as your shoulders fell.

You ignored Tara’s barely-concealed laughter as you pushed past her to head upstairs to your bathroom. Well, you supposed technically it wasn’t your bathroom anymore, it was Ma’s, but she could suck your dick. The nerve of that woman, to call you raggedy. You were the perfect gentleman, it wasn’t your fault some psycho had decided to target you.

Just as Ma had said, she had left a folded set of clothes on the bathroom counter for you. It looked a little too formal if you were being honest, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. And you certainly couldn’t afford to be a chooser. Ma would have your head if she found out you had even thought about different clothes.

The stitches of your ever increasing wounds pulled tight, leaving a throbbing sensation around the jagged skin. Aunt Sherry had done a wonderful job, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. In the end, you grabbed a pair of hair scissors and just cut your shirt off. It was old, torn, and blood soaked; you could get a new one.

You couldn’t take your eyes off the shirt as you managed to wriggle out of your sweats. Not all of that blood had been yours. Some of it had been Mindy’s, and a lot of it had been Anika’s. Your friends’ blood was soaked into your shirt. Each breath you took felt laboured as you wallowed in the thought that the very thing that kept your friends alive was staining your shirt.

With a shake of your head, you put the thoughts aside. This wasn’t new, you had seen blood before, you were fine. One step at a time. Finish getting out of your clothes, start the shower, wash your feet. And the rest of the dried blood that was becoming itchy. Oh, Ma was gonna kill you for dirtying up her shower.

The water was steaming by the time you finally stepped in. You let out a hiss when it hit your skin, creating more than just a throb in your wounds. It stung, bad. But surely it would clean you right up, right? Sanitisation, yeah, that’s what it would be. You get clean and fight infection; two birds, one stone.

By the time you were down to your feet, you were sitting on the edge of the tub while the water fell on your back. Your hair dripped into your eyes and you were constantly trying to push it back so you could see. The pair of tweezers in your hands was slick from water and you just needed to get a few more pieces of glass out so you could finish up.

You weren’t looking at the door when you heard it open.

“I told your sorry ass I’d be out in a minute, this is delicate work,” you called out.

A small hand appeared in front of your face and, without lifting your head, you looked up to see Tara standing in front of you. She, too, had been given a spare set of clothing that looked a little too big. Whose shirt was she wearing anyway? Her hand never moved until you sighed and placed the tweezers on her palm.

“You’re shit at this,” she said as she knelt down and started looking for the few remaining pieces of glass.

“Don’t have to be good, just have to be effici- ouch.” She swatted your hand away when you went to stop her from hurting you again. “You’re so rough,” you grumbled.

“Don’t have to be gentle,” she said as she looked up at you, “just have to be efficient.”

“You’re so mean,” you whispered even as you shifted your position to ease a certain… uncomfortable feeling.

Maybe you liked when she was mean. Maybe you liked it a little too much. Oh god, your family was going to see how whipped you were for a girl you hadn’t even properly been on a date with. Bringing Tara to the house maybe wasn’t such a smart idea on your part.

“Do you have gauze?” She asked, setting the tweezers down in the sink so more blood than necessary wouldn’t get on the floor.

“Underneath the sink,” you said with a gesture of your head. “Got a whole first aid kit.”

You watched her as she got up and checked under the sink. It only took a moment, it was a giant metal kit, no one could miss it. In fact, when she brought it out it was almost bigger than she was. You bit the inside of your cheek so you wouldn’t laugh at her. If your body wasn’t at her mercy, you wouldn’t have been so polite.

She quickly dug around and got to work finding everything she needed before getting started. Her hands moved expertly as she started cleaning and bandaging your feet. If you hadn’t known any better, you would’ve guessed she had been a nurse in a past life. Unfortunately you did know better, and the scar on her hand just reminded you of how she knew so much.

“I never said thank you,” she said after she finished wrapping your left foot.

“For what?” You asked as you leaned back to turn the water off; you weren’t going to need it anymore.

“For saving Mindy and Anika,” she continued.

She wasn’t looking up at you. Quite the contrary, it was almost like she was avoiding your eyes. Why would she thank you for such a thing? It wasn’t like you were going to leave them behind to die. You weren’t always the sharpest tool in the shed - Ma made sure to remind you of that every now and then - but you weren’t that selfish.

“You don’t gotta thank me for that,” you said softly.

“I just did,” she said as she finished wrapping your right foot. “You’re done.”

You placed your feet on the ground and stood up slowly, easing your feet back into holding your weight. It hurt, ached even, but at least they were clean. How you hadn’t noticed the injuries before Ma, you had no idea. But quite frankly, Tara did a phenomenal job of wrapping them securely.

“Hurry up and get dressed,” Tara ordered, and you looked up just in time to catch the towel she had thrown in your direction. “Your mom is torturing Sam by giving her a lecture on street safety.”

“You should’ve listened to it too,” you said, but you quickly started drying off. “You hippies can’t handle these streets.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” you said through gritted teeth as you pulled your pants up. It hurt your feet to be moving on them so much. “Notice your bunch weren’t even here for a few months before getting attacked.”

“And you know so much about street safety?” Tara asked. “The one who got shot at a protest?”

You hesitated. “Yeah, I do.”

You were facing the mirror as you started buttoning up your shirt, and you could see Tara staring at you with furrowed brows. Maybe you should’ve just kept your big trap shut. It wasn’t exactly the greatest time to be getting into backstory now, was it? No, it most certainly wasn’t.

“You didn’t get shot at a protest,” she said slowly. “Did you?”

You turned around as you finished tucking your shirt into your pants. “Sorry, doll,” you said with a smile, “only girlfriends get to know that information.” With a wink, you gently pushed past her and exited the bathroom.

“Oh you dick,” you heard her say even as she followed after you.

You waited at the bottom of the stairs before placing your hand on her lower back and guiding her through the brownstone to the dining room. Everyone’s obscenely loud voices reverberated off the brick walls. Seemed the whole family was invited for dinner. A little unusual considering it was a Thursday night, but given the circumstances it could be forgiven.

A wide variety of “hello”s deafened you when you and Tara walked into the dining room. Everyone was dressed well - the same dress shirt and pants as you, which was typical - and they had pulled out a few extra seats for Sam and Tara. Gale was sitting beside your Pop; she gave you a smile and a small wave, which you returned.

“Oy, Street Rat,” Mitch called, “be a good pup and show your girl to her seat.”

“Shut up,” you shot back, but nonetheless led Tara to one of the two empty seats next to each other.

Out of pure mercy, you let her sit between you and Sam so she wasn’t having to deal with any of the other family members. The others heckled you when you helped push her seat in. You could feel your cheeks heating up while you grumbled and plopped down in your own seat, refusing to look up at any of them.

“Quiet,” Pop said, and the room immediately fell silent. “Who’s gonna say grace?”

“Can’t be me,” Joel said with a shrug. “He clearly don’t listen cause Y/N is still here.”

“You really wanna be a wise guy tonight?” You asked. “Cause I still got a lot of pent up anger.”

“Enough,” Ma said quietly, but you all listened. “I’ll say grace.”

"Yes, Ma," everyone said in unison.

"Bow your heads," she said, and everyone slowly did as instructed.

You cheated a little bit. While Ma was saying grace, blessing the food and yours and the Carpenters' lives, you looked at Tara out of the corner of your eye. If you looked a little harder you almost thought you could see a flush on her cheeks. For what, you had no idea, but you made the split decision to reach over and take her hand.

She linked her fingers with yours right before Ma finished.

"Amen," each person said before all normal talk resumed.

You helped Tara and Sam get their food, making sure everyone behaved. They did, they all knew the family rules, but the Carpenters didn't and you knew the lot of you could be… a little chaotic. Eight kids, two parents, sometimes the spouses and nieces and nephews. Lucky for the girls, it was only the immediate family.

"Oy, show me the ear," Dicky said right as you tried to start eating.

"So you can point and laugh?" You asked. "No way."

"I just wanna see," he said.

"I got it," Alfie said around a mouthful of food.

The look on Tara's and Sam's faces was comical when Alfie reached across the table, gripped your jaw, and turned your head. You did your best to smile at the two of them to let them know it was normal, but they didn't seem to believe you. If anything, it almost made Tara look a little frustrated. Maybe even angry.

"That's it?" Dicky asked when you snapped at Alfie and he let you go. "All that hubbub for that?"

"What do you mean?" You asked. "I got a notch outta my ear, I was gonna get that part pierced."

"All he's sayin' is you took on Ghostface twice, and that's what you walk away with?" Joel butted in. "Pass the salt, wouldya?"

"It's more than you ever walked away with," Martha defended you. "Don't listen to a word he says."

"The two 'a youse walk away with any cool scars?" Mitch asked, turning to look at Sam and Tara.

You could see them squirm in their seats.

"Watch it-"

"-fuck off-"

"-none of your business." Martha, you, and Mercy all said at the same time.

You felt Tara squeeze your hand once.

“Hey Street Rat, you down to make a run for me?” Dicky asked.

You didn’t bother swallowing before you answered. “I’m kinda in the middle of somethin’ this week.”

“I didn’t mean this second, jackass.”

You glared at him and swiped your tongue over your bottom teeth. “Sure,” you finally said with a shrug, “just give me a week and I’ll be back in action.”

"So," Sam started, wiping her mouth off on the napkin before looking around the table. “What do you all do for a living?”

“Accounting,” every single one of you said at the same time. Pop squeezed the bridge of his eyes as you all looked at each other sheepishly.

“All of you?” Sam asked.

“Mercy’s a doctor,” Tony chimed in.

“Accounting’s a family business,” Dicky said with a gentle nod.

“Right,” Sam said with her own nod and a polite smile. Something told you she didn’t exactly believe him.

Conversation continued as normal, with everyone talking over each other. Thankfully, they all started asking Sam and Tara normal questions, and you could visibly see them start to relax. You wondered when the last time was that they had a family dinner. Not including Chad and Mindy; they were family, but they weren’t family. There was a bit of a difference.

“Ladies,” Pop said once Ma had brought out the cannoli. Everyone froze, only their eyes moving between him and the Carpenters. “It’s been a pleasure to have you, but there’s something I need to talk to you about.”

The girls stiffened in their seats, and Tara squeezed your hand again. You tried to give Pop a look that said to calm down, but he wasn’t even looking at you. His eyes were trained on Sam and Tara, and you couldn’t blame him. Hell, you didn’t know when non-family had been over last. Hopefully he was going to behave.

“You might not understand the gravity of this statement, but Vitale blood has been spilled for you two,” he said as he leaned back in his chair, his hands folded in front of him on the table.

“Oh brother,” you whispered.

Tara looked at you and you shook your head lightly and rolled your eyes. This was going to be ridiculous.

“One of us,” everyone looked at you, “felt you were worth dyin’ for.” You sighed. “We don’t take that lightly.”

“We greatly appreciate it-”

“-we have a family rule,” he interrupted Sam. “If one of us voluntarily spills blood for someone, we all follow suit.” He leaned forward on the table and waited until both Sam and Tara were looking him in the eye. “We’ll put that Ghostface character at the bottom of the Hudson.”

“Tone it down a smidge,” you whispered and gestured down with your hand.

Pop opened his mouth and closed it once. “We’ll, uh, protect you with our lives.” You gestured again. “Welcome… to the family?”

“Better,” you whispered with a scrunch of your nose that was followed by a gentle smile.

“We really do appreciate it,” Tara said.

“It’s nice to know we have, um,” Sam inhaled deeply and looked around, “Italians on our side.”

“Atta girl,” Mercy said.

“You catch on quick,” Martha agreed.

Dinner finished soon after, and everyone went about collecting the dishes and cleaning. Martha, in all her pregnant glory, kept Sam and Tara at the table, talking their ears off. At one point, you took the still-full coffee cups from in front of them and heard her talking about… something. You weren’t entirely sure, you just knew the word “family” was being thrown around a lot.

Tara looked at you and mouthed “help me.” You just smiled, shook your head, and mouthed “no” in return. The glare she gave you… it was no question she and Sam were related, they both had killer eyes. Tara’s were particularly beautiful at that moment though, did she know that? They almost reminded you of a warm hazelnut-

“-You’d best keep movin’,” Martha said. She was watching you with a ridiculous smirk. “She’s got a look that could kill.”

“Would you like some tiramisu?” You asked. Tara’s eyes softened, and you couldn’t help but smile back.

“Yes please,” she said.

“I’ll go get it.”

“You’re whipped!” Dicky called from the kitchen before you could even stand up straight.

“Give it a few days, Dick,” Joel said as he leaned on the doorframe. “Tara’ll have ‘em on a leash.”

“Shut up,” you shot back as you pushed past them to get into the kitchen. “It’s called bein’ polite.” You carefully plated the tiramisu. “Somethin’ you clearly know nothin’ about.”

“Seems our little Street Rat’s turnin’ into a Guard Dog,” Mitch chimed in, seemingly coming out of nowhere. Your family really came out of the woodworks, they did.

“Next time Ghostface calls, I’m givin’ him your address,” you said as you walked back into the dining room and placed the plate down in front of Tara. And Sam, you had made her a plate too.

Maybe you were whipped.

“Do it,” Dicky said. “Matter ‘a fact, give him my phone number too, he and I need to have a talk.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t tolerate that shit on my turf.”

“That’s enough,” Pop said, and everyone quickly shut up. “Go home, the lot of ya.” He looked down at Sam and Tara. “We’ve got beds made up for the both of you.”

“Thank you,” they both said with polite smiles.

“Gale stayin’ tonight too?” You asked.

And just like that, she came in at the mention of her name. Speak of the devil.

“Yes I am,” she said with a smile. “I have something I want to show you three tomorrow when it’s day time.”

“What did you find?” Tara asked quickly.

“We’ll have more time tomorrow,” Gale answered. You watched as Tara slumped back in her seat in defeat.

Everyone finished cleaning up their stuff and started leaving the brownstone. You could see the gears turning in Tara’s head when they all left through the front door, but you shook your head at her. It wasn’t something she needed to know at the moment. It was late, dark, and everyone just needed to get some sleep. If she really wanted to know more later, you would tell her.

Probably.

“She gonna have you in a muzzle next time I see you?” Joel asked as he blocked the doorway.

“Keep movin’,” Tony said as he pushed Joel out. “Call me if ya need somethin’,” he said to you with a smile.

“You got it,” you answered. “Now get out, I’m exhausted.”

Mercy gave you a kiss on the cheek and Martha gave Sam and Tara hugs, but then everyone was gone. You were left with the Carpenters, Gale, and your parents. It was… disturbingly quiet, if you were being honest. You almost missed the chaos of having everyone over. Well, you would see them all at Mass, it would be fine.

“All of you get upstairs and get to bed,” Ma said with a gentle nod of her head. “It’s late and I know you all must be tired.”

“Come on, Sam,” Gale said with a gesture, “I’ll show you to your room.”

“Good night,” Sam said with a polite smile and wave. A chorus of “good nights” followed her as she similarly followed Gale upstairs.

“Tara sweetie, you can sleep in Y/N’s bed,” Ma said before looking at you. “I made you a pallet on your floor.”

“Thanks, Ma,” you said, leaning in to leave a kiss on her cheek. “Good night, you two.” You leaned over to give Pop a kiss on the cheek as well.

“Good night,” Tara said with her own small wave.

You placed your hand on Tara’s lower back as you gently pushed her in front of you up the stairs. Unfortunately for you, your room was right beside the two guest rooms that everyone else was staying in. Not that you necessarily had anything planned, but even if you did, you wouldn’t dare risk Sam or Gale hearing you.

Sometimes life was rather cruel.

“She left you some pyjamas on the bed,” you said once you showed Tara into your room. “Bathroom is down the hall, we’ve got spare toothbrushes in the top left drawer.”

“Thanks,” Tara said softly.

You watched as she grabbed the pyjamas and promptly exited the room, leaving you alone for the first time since your shower. And now that you were alone, you could feel all the wear and tear of the past two days weighing heavy on you. Anika was still in the hospital. Was she even alive? Surely she was, someone would have let you know, right? Or they at least would have let Sam or Tara know.

And what about Quinn? She would be safe at the police station, you knew that much. They didn’t care for anyone else in the city, but they did care for their own. There was no way in hell they would let anything happen to a Detective’s daughter, especially when that daughter was Quinn. No, Quinn was safe.

Chad and Mindy were safe at the hospital with Anika. There was no doubt about it. Your family had people up there, and Pop had already said he told them to stay close and keep their eyes out. They would die before they let anything happen to those three, so they were actually safer than any of you.

When Tara came back into the room, looking mighty adorable in the oversized t-shirt and sleep pants, you gave her a smile and made your own way to the bathroom. You needed to get out of those clothes pronto before you lost your goddamn mind. The clothes were comfortable, but you were starting to feel constricted.

You left your toothbrush hanging out of the side of your mouth as you unbuttoned the shirt. Each inch lower revealed still-forming bruises and the few bouts of stitches. With a grimace, you finally let the shirt fall to the floor. You didn’t mind scars, really you didn’t, but you hadn’t wanted to get them this way.

Maybe that’s how Tara feels too, you thought with a frown as you finished brushing your teeth and cleaning up. You hadn’t entirely planned for it, but you had known it was a possibility. But Tara? She hadn’t had any idea. And it had all been done by her girlfriend’s hand. What kind of havoc did that wreak on a person’s mind?

You were still thinking about Tara and Amber when you walked back into your room. Tara was already on the bed, her back to you. The door closed with a soft *click* and you turned the light off before plodding over to the pallet. There was an art to pallet making, and your family had perfected it. But as you laid down on the floor and tried to pull the blanket up to your chin, your injuries started to throb and sting.

It wasn’t going to be the floor that kept you awake all night.

There was no way you could lay on your right side, you had that cut on your hip and your right ear was missing a piece. But you couldn’t lay on your left side either because you had that cut on your bicep. Maybe if you tried to lay on your front- nope, not that either. If you had to sleep sitting up, so help you god, you were going to snap-

-something shuffled on your bed, and you quickly stilled yourself. Shit, you hadn’t meant to wake Tara. You were practically holding your breath as the shuffling continued, but then you heard the creak of the bed and someone walking across the room. It was dark, but you didn’t have to use anything more than common sense to know it was Tara who was lifting your blanket and crawling into the pallet with you.

“Not a word,” she said softly as she carefully wrapped an arm around your waist and rested her head on your shoulder.

It hurt. You would rather die than tell her that. Instead, you just pulled her closer and tried not to shift when her fingers rubbed the skin on your hip. It was obsessive, incessant, and it was almost becoming uncomfortable. But you weren’t going to tell her to stop, not when something was clearly on her mind.

“I’m sorry you got dragged into all of this,” Tara said softly.

“I’ve been dragged into worse situations,” you said flippantly. “And never by a pretty girl.”

“Don’t get yourself killed,” she said, almost as if she hadn’t heard what you had just said.

“I don’t plan on it, sweetheart,” you chuckled.

Her hand left your hip and you felt her grab your chin and turn your head. You couldn’t really see her, not properly at least, but you knew she was looking at you. Studying you for something; you wouldn’t pretend to know what. It strained your neck, but you kept your mouth shut.

You felt her pull your face down until her lips were on yours. Soft but firm. It wasn’t a kiss that was going to lead anywhere, she wasn’t trying to move any further. But judging by the way her bottom lip quivered, you knew it was important. You held her tighter to you until she pulled back and let go of your jaw, resting her head back on your shoulder.

“That didn’t mean anything,” Tara said softly.

“I know,” you said with a nod of your head that no one could see.

You both knew she was lying; you still fell asleep easily.

#tara carpenter x reader #tara x reader #tara carpenter #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega

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