#‘Crime against humanity Academy’ | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hamsterclaw · 1 month

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Yoongi’s a murder detective fighting burnout when he’s assigned the case that you and your former partner fucked up.

Paring: Yoongi x f! Reader

Genre: Detectives!Yoongi and reader

Rating: 18+

Word count: 6.6k

Warnings: Swearing, descriptions of murder, bloodshed and assault, sex, depression and burnout, mentions of guns

The flashing blue lights in Yoongi’s window are followed by the wail of sirens cutting through the early evening bustle.

Yoongi looks out the window. He’s three floors up from street level, there’s raindrops tracking along the dirty glass, the faint smell of mildew that accompanies any rainfall in this filthy city.

Under the table, his good leather shoes, the ones he saves for weddings and funerals, have rubbed a hole in the skin over his achilles. Yoongi had worn them for his disciplinary hearing today, the part of him that still wants to be a cop temporarily winning over the part of him that doesn’t.

He wonders if this is what burnout feels like.

His superior, Kim Namjoon, had called him into his office after the hearing to tell him he was on probation, to clean up his act because he wouldn’t be so lucky as to get off next time.

The truth is, Yoongi had known while he was pressing the suspect’s face into gravel with his booted foot that it would come back to bite him on the ass.

He’d done it anyway.

Yoongi’s never been kind to scum who exploit children, but his partner, Jung Hoseok, had seen something in Yoongi’s face that day that had made him report Yoongi.

Yoongi doesn’t blame him. Hoseok has been his partner on and off for five years and he’s as sterling as they come. His moral compass is as strong as it was the day they graduated from the academy, despite all the fucked up shit they’ve seen.

Unlike Yoongi.

Yoongi was never black and white to begin with and now he’s so far into the grey he scares himself sometimes. It’s never been his goal to be the kind of cop who metes out his own justice.

Only madness lies that way.

Anyway now Hoseok’s been reassigned temporarily to narcotics, supposedly a break from homicide, and Yoongi’s partnerless.

Probably not for long, there’s always some hungry rookie wanting the credibility of working homicide.

Yoongi sighs, closes the file he’d been skimming. It’s well past seven, there aren’t any open cases that need his immediate attention and he figures he might as well go home to his apartment and his cat, Kenzo.

The pavement’s slippery under the smooth soles of his good shoes, Yoongi pulls his coat tighter against the early autumn chill as he walks the five blocks to his apartment.

The smell of fried wontons fills his nostrils as he passes a conduit street in the back end of Little China, Yoongi’s tempted to stop and pick up dinner.

He’s tempted every time and succumbed yesterday so he soldiers on, not without a pang of regret. He regrets food choices because he’d rather that, than think about his actual regrets.

The bang of a gunshot when he’d been two minutes too late to what then became a crime scene.

Fucking some girl with a cute face because he hadn’t been man enough to treat Mara the way she deserved.

Choosing to stay in homicide even after it had become clear to him that he had plumbed the depths of human depravity. Scarring his psyche repeatedly because it’s easier than making the active choice to request a transfer.

Yoongi unlocks his door, toes his shoes off, hangs up his coat.

There’s a flicker of movement in the corner of his eye, a flash of grey fur as Kenzo skitters across the entryway, close but not touching him.

It’s the kind of greeting Yoongi can get behind.

He pours out a serving of dry food into Kenzo’s dish, heads to the fridge to reheat yesterday’s wontons.

Eats standing at the tiny kitchen island, cracks open a beer to wash it all down.

He catches sight of his face, pinched in the scowl it seems to fall into more often than not these days.

Jesus, is he getting old?

Yoongi avoids looking at his reflection again as he showers. Changes into the same t-shirt he’s been wearing for weeks, contemplates watching porn just to take the edge off, but decides he can’t be bothered.

He falls into sleep, deep and dreamless, wakes up with an almighty crick in his neck just before dawn from the way he’d been huddled in a tight ball under the covers.

He knows he’s not right, but he’s been not right for so long Yoongi wouldn’t even know where to start putting himself together again.

***

Redemption comes in odd packages, Yoongi thinks, as he looks up a case he worked on six months ago, a shady businessman on the fringe of organised crime who’d got high as a kite and beat a sex worker to death.

He’d been killed on the way to serving out his sentence in the cushy prison in Busan his fancy lawyer had managed to negotiate, crushed in the back of the transport vehicle when it had been t-boned by a lorry.

Apparently a freak accident, Yoongi doubts it but he’s also not going to look too closely, it’s out of his jurisdiction and he’s too jaded to mourn the loss of another brutal asshole. They’d had to identify the sex worker by her dental records and DNA, her face had been unrecognisable.

There’s a knock on the frosted glass panel on his office door, Yoongi looks up as Kim Namjoon walks in, followed by the latest hungry rookie angling for a stint in homicide.

‘Min Yoongi, this is Y/N L/N,’ Namjoon says. ‘She’s a new transfer in from the Seoul branch.’

Yoongi doesn’t have to fake his disinterest as he nods politely at you.

‘What’s the case?’ he asks.

Namjoon looks pointedly at the crime scene photo blown up on Yoongi’s screen.

Yoongi waits.

He can feel your gaze on him, but he’ll get to that later.

The anticipation of a new case never gets old, he’s been in homicide since he graduated off the beat ten years ago and he no longer thinks it’s sick of him to get excited about another murder.

It’s the thrill of the hunt that he lives for, the translation of nebulous facts and witness statements into a puzzle that he can solve.

Yoongi’s damn good at his job. It almost makes the sacrifices in the rest of his so-called life worth it.

Namjoon hands Yoongi a case file, crisp, sharp edges waiting to razor his fingertips open. Flat.

Inside, the standard cover page, then a note that makes Yoongi sit up straight out of his slouch.

He looks at Namjoon to find Namjoon’s already looking at him.

‘The reaper of Seoul?’

Yoongi realises as he says the words out loud how it sounds.

The capture and subsequent conviction of the serial killer who’d terrorised the citizens of Seoul for three years had made headlines nationwide.

Last year.

‘Yeah,’ Namjoon says, the tension in his jaw evident now that Yoongi’s looking at him properly.

Namjoon glances at you. ‘It would seem he never left.’

You shift your weight and your eyes meet Yoongi’s.

‘My partner and I broke the case,’ you say. There’s a brittle smoothness to your voice that Yoongi recognises as a paper thin facade over the hauntedness underneath. ‘Turns out we didn’t.’

***

The note in the case file is a single sheet of letter paper, lined in blue.

The handwriting is precise, neat between the lines.

Oh dear.

Better luck this time?

Best regards from your neighbourhood Reaper.

Yoongi looks at you, sitting across the room at the desk Hoseok’s temporarily vacated.

You’re staring at your screen, face backlit in blue, expression unreadable. You’re in black, nondescript knitwear, your hair pushed back from your face, eyes narrowed.

He clears his throat. ‘You worked the case with your partner.’

It’s a statement you answer to like a question.

‘It was the first case I picked up when I joined homicide,’ you say, turning to Yoongi. ‘It started with -‘

‘Kim Seulgi,’ Yoongi says.

You nod, almost grimacing at the name of the Seoul Reaper’s first high profile victim.

‘Her family wanted answers.’

Kim Seulgi had been born of Seoul’s elite, an architect with her grandfather’s firm who had picked up a number of accolades for her work on the National Opera House.

She’d been engaged to an equally accomplished classical pianist, Jeong Minho, and had been the only offspring of her wealthy parents.

She’d disappeared three days before her wedding, only to turn up on her wedding day, floating in the Hangang, dressed in the clothes she’d disappeared in.

You say, ‘She was an ambitious first target.’

‘Was she the first?’ Yoongi asks.

The flicker in your eyes tells him this isn’t the first time you’ve considered this.

‘My partner Kiho.’ There’s strain in your voice. You start again. ‘My partner, Kiho, and I thought he’d killed before.’

You shrug. ‘The captain felt we were wasting time looking back into his early years.’

Yoongi says, neutral, ‘Budgets are limited, your case must have passed the thresholds for plausible deniability.’

‘It seemed to fit,’ you agree.

Your eyes meet again. ‘Not all of it, though.’

Yoongi knows, intimately, what it’s like to not be certain. Sometimes all you have is your instinct. It’s one thing to build a case no reasonable person would doubt, but you’re also betting on your gut. You’re betting on being a good enough detective to know that the pieces fit, without forcing them to fit.

You’re betting on being honest with yourself, and Yoongi knows more than anyone how tempting the lies can be.

Now you’re the one watching him, taking the measure of him.

His email pings.

‘That’s the link to the full case file,’ you say.

You get up, carry a stack of notebooks to his desk.

‘Our notebooks,’ you say.

Yoongi looks at the stack.

Every cop’s got their own collection of notebooks, raw data and impressions that don’t always make it into official reports.

The equivalent of dirty underwear when you’re not expecting company versus lingerie when you’re down to fuck.

This close, he can smell your shampoo, bright and faintly floral.

You blink at him.

‘I need to sort something with human resources,’ you say. ‘I’ll see you later.’

In actual fact it’s 36 hours later when he next sees you, at 4am, at a crime scene.

***

The rain falling is more than a drizzle, enough that the tent around the victim is the first priority.

There’s an imprint of violence in the air, Yoongi knows you feel it too by the way your lips tighten as you duck under the yellow tape to join him.

You nod at him in greeting, then there’s silence as you enter the tent.

The victim’s on her front, face turned to the right, hand tucked under her cheek.

She hasn’t been dead long enough for livedo to set in, she would almost look asleep if it weren’t for the purple of her lips, the greyness to her complexion.

The bath of blood she’s lying in.

Yoongi can just see the edge of the gaping wound on her neck.

You wait until forensics turns her body over.

The top three buttons of her silk blouse are undone, her chest slick with blood.

Yoongi’s reading the crime scene like he’s reading you, and he knows what you’re going to say before you say it.

‘It’s him,’ you breathe. The devastation in your eyes makes it difficult for him to look at you. ‘Fuck, it’s him.’

***

You’re shivering visibly despite the hot coffee Yoongi’s poured you, despite the fact that he’s turned the heating in his ancient Hyundai up as far as it’ll go.

There are droplets of water in your hair, sparkling incongruously in the gloom.

You’re waiting till first light to knock on neighbourhood doors, the victim was found in a quiet cul-de-sac.

Two minutes from her own front door.

Not much chills Yoongi these days but that fact does make him pause.

The audacity of it.

He says, ‘I have a blanket in the trunk.’

You’re protesting but Yoongi gets back out in the rain anyway, grabs the blanket and gets back in.

Hands it to you, takes your cup as you drape the blanket around yourself.

‘It gets colder here than Seoul,’ Yoongi offers, handing you your coffee back.

‘We fucked it up,’ you say, and Yoongi knows that’s what you’ve been thinking since you saw the body.

He’s just been waiting for you to be ready to say it.

‘So make it right,’ he says, simple.

��An innocent man’s in prison because Kiho and I fucked up,’ you say.

Yoongi doesn’t want to minimise it but he doubts the man you put away was completely innocent.

‘I read your notebooks,’ he says. ‘Who’s Jeon Bogyeol?’

There had been twelve murders before the arrest. All women in their late twenties to mid thirties, all living alone.

They’d all lived in the same part of Seoul, but apart from that there was nothing to link them that he could find.

You look at him warily. ‘He was a night watchman at the apartments of seven of the women.’

Yoongi waits.

‘We cross-referenced staff at all the addresses, and his name kept coming up. Like Jang Daeseong.’

You flinch at the name of the man convicted of the murders, as though it didn’t fall from your own lips.

You keep talking, though, your voice never faltering. ‘We never found any links between Jeon Bogyeol and the other five women.’

‘Did he have a history?’ Yoongi asks. He’s looking out the window at the first rays of sunrise, muted orange through the rain. His shoulder aches, an old injury he doesn’t think about except when he’s tired, and cold.

‘There was a neighbour,’ you say. You’re chewing on your bottom lip, a tell Yoongi’s noticed for the first time tonight.

‘She called the police once saying she’d seen Bogyeol taking a woman into his apartment against her will.’

You’re frowning. ‘The beat cops who responded to the call out said there was no sign of anyone else in his apartment. The neighbour moved away.’

‘Moved away?’ Yoongi asks, and you glance at him, understanding the sharpness in his tone.

‘I was going to look into it when the Chief shut us down,’ you say. It’s stated simply, like a fact, no sign of defensiveness.

Yoongi offers you more coffee from his flask.

‘Where’s Bogyeol now?’

‘When the new letter came in I looked him up,’ you say. The steam rising from your cup obscures part of your expression for a moment, but Yoongi can hear the tremor in your voice.

‘He’s less than fifty miles east of here.’

Dawn’s breaking, the rain’s finally starting to peter out, but Yoongi’s chilled anyway.

***

The morning sun is high in the sky by the time Yoongi and you finish interviewing the neighbours and the new victim’s friends and family.

Yoongi’s phone rings. It’s Namjoon.

‘Can you talk?’ Namjoon asks.

Yoongi mouths ‘Namjoon’ in response to your inquiring expression, puts some distance between you and him.

‘Yeah,’ he answers.

‘The post-mortem results are back, and the preliminary tox screen is negative. The ME’s put the cause of death as exsanguination.’

Yoongi processes this. ‘It’s the same MO as the previous Seoul reaper victims,’ he says.

Namjoon sighs. ‘Has anything new come out of your interviews?’

‘No,’ Yoongi says. The victim had been well-liked, none of the neighbours had seen or heard anything, and on the surface of it there were no conflicts he could see. Her boyfriend of two years had been away on a work trip, his location confirmed around the window of the crime.

Yoongi’s looking at you as you wait against the car, and when your name comes out of Namjoon’s mouth he’s already got an inkling of what Namjoon wants to know.

‘I reviewed the case,’ Namjoon says. ‘There are no obvious flaws or errors in their investigation.’

Yoongi grunts. ‘There was a lead that they didn’t follow up on.’

He fills Namjoon in.

‘I’ll follow it up.’

Namjoon says, thoughtfully, ‘I wonder where her partner’s working now.’

Yoongi’s surprised Namjoon doesn’t already know, to be honest, he’s always two steps ahead of Yoongi.

He flicks his gaze to you again. You’re still waiting against the car, and there’s a loneliness to your posture, a fatigued downturn to your mouth that makes him say, ‘Hey Joon, I’ll call you back, ok?’

He ends the call, unlocks the car.

‘We should get back and compare notes,’ Yoongi says. His voice has dropped the way it does when he’s tired, and shit, he is tired. He hasn’t slept well for a while.

‘Let me drive,’ you offer. You take his keys, and your fingers brush his for an instant.

The contact, brief though it is, makes Yoongi’s skin tingle.

He wonders if you notice his reaction, but you’re already sliding in, adjusting the seat, starting up the car.

***

Yoongi wakes when you’re parking the car, sits up, a little embarrassed.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says, looking to gauge your reaction.

‘Don’t be,’ you reply. ‘I would have done the same if you’d driven.’

There’s a hint of mischief in the curve of your half-smile.

‘You mumble in your sleep.’

Yoongi rubs a hand over his face. ‘What’d I say?’

‘I couldn’t make out any words,’ you tell him, but there’s a twinkle in your eye that makes him wonder if that’s really true.

Mara is the only person who’s shared his bed in recent years, and she’d never mentioned anything.

You swipe your ID to get into the station, hit the lifts.

In the dire grey lighting you look almost as tired as he does.

‘Coffee?’ Yoongi offers, when you pass the vending machine on the way to the office.

‘Yeah,’ you say. You’re on your phone, frowning over a text.

Yoongi passes you a cup.

‘Problem?’ he asks.

‘Kiho,’ you say. You look at him. ‘My old partner. He wants to meet up.’

‘It’d be useful to talk through the case with him,’ Yoongi agrees.

Your expression is difficult to read. ‘He’s in a retreat a couple hours drive from here. He took time off after we closed the case.’

Yoongi gulps his coffee. ‘There isn’t anything else we can do here anyway, we’re waiting on leads.’

He reaches out his hand for the car keys. ‘I can drive.’

***

The retreat Kiho is staying in is set amongst the foothills of a mountain, rolling grounds all around, a view of the cliffs overlooking the sea.

It seems to Yoongi like a place only the very rich or the very damaged would live.

Unless you get better pay packets in Seoul he’s apprehensive about meeting Kiho.

You sign in at the front desk, the receptionist greets you warmly, like she’s met you a few times before.

You lead Yoongi through a huge lounge, through open patio doors and into a green. Yoongi’s looking around at the residents, scanning the area the way he does automatically whenever he’s in an unfamiliar place.

You’re waving a hand, and then you’re embracing a tall man tightly. Neither of you say anything but Yoongi can see the way your shoulders slump, like the tension’s draining out of you.

It’s only when the tall man looks up at Yoongi inquiringly that Yoongi notices the long scar running along his neck. Tracing the path of his jugular, vertical rather than horizontal.

Kiho extends a hand.

‘So you’re going to get our guy,’ he says.

Yoongi doesn’t know what to say to that.

‘We’re going to get him,’ he says, finally.

Kiho turns to you. ‘You haven’t told him,’ he says to you.

You’re looking at Yoongi.

‘We can tell him now.’

***

‘I started getting notes after Jang Daeseong was convicted,’ you say. You’re sitting in a gazebo with Yoongi and Kiho, mugs of coffee in front of you.

Yoongi raises an eyebrow.

You flick your eyes to his, then look away, unlock your phone.

Yoongi takes your phone, scrolls through a gallery of pictures.

Lined paper, handwriting he’s seen before.

Yoongi reads through the content, then returns your phone to you.

‘The originals are with forensics,’ you tell him. ‘The paper and ink are generic, impossible to trace. There’s no trace of DNA, not so much as a partial print.’

‘The notes stopped coming last month,’ you say. ‘Right around the time I moved.’

Kiho’s scratching his neck absently, Yoongi catches how your gaze drops to his scar.

The length of it’s longer than a stab wound, he thinks the surgeons might have had to extend the scar to repair the vessels beneath.

You turn to Yoongi.

‘We have to stop him,’ you say. ‘Use me to lure him out.’

‘He nearly killed me,’ Kiho says. His expression is sober, his tone flat.

He stops there, but Yoongi can hear his next words, loud and clear.

What’s he going to do to you?

‘We can’t let him keep going like this,’ you say, very gently.

Kiho meets Yoongi’s gaze.

Yoongi doesn’t falter.

‘He has to be stopped,’ he agrees.

***

The drive back to the police station goes quicker - there’s something about seeing your old partner that’s given you a bump of energy.

Yoongi can practically feel the adrenaline fizzing in your blood, coming off you in waves.

He’s worried about the crash when the adrenaline ebbs.

He sure as fuck hopes you can cope with the lows better than he can.

He’d put in a call before you left the retreat, Namjoon’s fast tracking a last known address on the neighbour of Jeon Bogyeol who’d moved away.

You’re typing an address into the satnav yourself, face drawn, eyes serious.

Yoongi doesn’t have to ask whose address it is.

‘Are you sure you’re up to this?’ he asks.

His voice is as neutral as he can make it but he already knows that you’ve made your decision.

It’s written all over you, in the way your shoulders are squared, in the tilt of your chin, in the way your hands are tensed into fists in your lap.

‘I need to see this through, Yoongi,’ you say.

Yoongi takes a moment.

‘What happened to Kiho?’ he asks.

‘He didn’t see who it was,’ you answer. Your eyes are fixed in front of you, jaw tensed.

‘He was heading home in between shifts and he got jumped in the car park under his apartment. If he hadn’t been found by the car park attendant —‘ you voice trails off, and you shiver.

‘He was lucky the car park attendant called for help right away. That his next door neighbour, fresh off a shift in the trauma department, arrived home when she did and was there to take over. That he lives five minutes on blue lights away from the best trauma centre in Seoul.’

You look at Yoongi. ‘Kiho’s damned lucky to be alive.’

‘It’s a different injury from the reaper’s usual MO,’ Yoongi says slowly.

You nod. ‘He was toying with us.’

‘You said you received notes from the Reaper,’ Yoongi says. He’s watching you carefully in the rearview. ‘What did they say?’

Your lips press together in a line, but your voice is steady when you answer.

‘He said he’d been watching me, and that he was coming for me. That I’d be his final kill.’

***

The address you’ve put in for Jeon Bogyeol is a house in a run down suburban neighbourhood, the type of place Yoongi grew up.

The houses are haphazardly arranged, like a careless scatter on a Monopoly board, connected by a warren of roads too narrow for more than one car to pass.

Yoongi can see you tensing up the closer you get to your destination, and after he parks and switches off the engine, he places his hand on your arm.

Your eyes are expressive, more so than your voice.

‘We haven’t got grounds yet for an arrest warrant,’ you say, flat.

‘We’re working the case,’ Yoongi replies. ‘And if it’s right, we’ll work it until it’s airtight.’

Your response is to stare at him a moment, then to push open the car door.

Yoongi notices that you’ve unzipped your jacket, making your holstered gun more visible.

His own gun presses against his hip, the weight of it reminding him that although he’s only drawn it a handful of times, each time has been with intent.

He sure as fuck hopes neither of you will have reason to draw your gun today.

***

The address is little more than a shack, a rickety door that looks like it’ll give under a strong kick, a boarded up window that’s visibly cracked.

Yoongi knocks, identifies you both.

Follows procedure because he’s determined to get it all right this time.

Get the monster locked up where he belongs.

You don’t have grounds to break down the door, at least not until you go round to the back and see the pink tricycle upended in the dirt, streamers splayed tendrils of pink and white.

There isn’t much that sends Yoongi into the grey as much as the suggestion that a child might be involved.

He doesn’t really recall looking at you to confirm, just knows that one minute he’s outside in the chill and the next he’s inside the shack, gun drawn, the metallic tang of blood in the back of his throat.

There’s nowhere to hide in the empty shack, Jeon Bogyeol is gone.

You do a cursory search but both of you know you aren’t going to find your answers here.

Then Yoongi must blank out, because the next thing he hears is your voice, firm, saying his name.

He’s panting, covered in sweat, back against a wall, your hands grabbing fistfuls of his jacket to keep him upright.

He blinks, and you snap into focus. There’s ringing in his ears.

Your mouth opens, and the ringing stops. He hears your voice.

‘Let’s go, Yoongi.’

He lets you lead him out, folds himself into the passenger seat of your car, notes distantly how you put your hand on the top of the doorframe like you’re worried he’s going to bang his head.

You start the engine and then you drive, and Yoongi’s grateful that you don’t say anything at all, don’t ask for an explanation of why a fucking tricycle sent him into a tailspin.

Yoongi looks down in his lap because he’s not ready to see if you’re looking at him differently now that you’ve seen him wig out.

You put the radio on after a few minutes, stop at a drive thru after an hour.

It’s only when you hand him a coffee, silently, that he’s moved to speak.

He clears his throat, and you’re the one who speaks, still looking straight ahead, out the windscreen.

‘You don’t have to tell me. I mean, I’ll listen if you do, but you don’t have to.’

Yoongi chews on that a moment.

‘Three years ago I worked what we thought was a murder in Busan. It turned out to be an abduction.’

Yoongi laughs. There’s no humour in it.

‘We found her. She was still warm. If we’d been ten minutes quicker at figuring it out, if her fucking dad had told us about the business deal he had that had gone sour sooner, if I’d even just tried harder…’

His voice trails off.

He risks a glance at you.

You’re still not looking at him.

‘I can’t speak to whether you could have prevented it, Yoongi. All I know is that none of us come to work to do a bad job.’

Your hand lands on his forearm briefly.

‘Some days are just bad days at the office.’

It’s not the first time Yoongi’s heard it, but it’s the first time it’s been said to him with no judgement that he can hear.

***

When you get back to the precinct, Namjoon’s waiting.

He hands Yoongi another case file.

‘I got Jimin to follow up on those leads we talked about,’ Namjoon says, no preamble.

‘We visited Jeon Bogyeol’s last known address,’ you say. ‘There’s no one there now, but it hasn’t been long since he moved out.’

Namjoon says, ‘Keep me informed.’

He nods to the case file. ‘There’s some interesting information in there.’

As Namjoon walks off, you turn to Yoongi.

‘I’m going down to visit someone I know in forensics, see if they can check the house.’

Yoongi heads for your joint office.

There’s a cleaning cart parked just outside the door, which opens just as Yoongi reaches for the doorknob.

The cleaner apologises and bows politely.

Yoongi steps aside to let her pass.

‘You forgot this,’ he says, spotting the dusting cloth left on your desk.

He hands it to her and places the file on his desk.

Outside, it’s raining again.

***

Yoongi wakes with a jolt.

You’re perched on the edge of his desk.

‘You should go home, get some sleep.’

‘In the middle of an active murder investigation?’ Yoongi mumbles.

‘I’m one of the potential targets, remember?’ you say, grimacing. ‘He might come to us.’

At Yoongi’s expression, you say, ‘We’ve been doing nothing but following up leads since the last murder. The last investigation took months, almost a year. What are you going to do, not sleep until he’s caught?’

‘I don’t sleep much anyway,’ Yoongi says, but he knows you’re right.

‘I know you don’t,’ you reply. There’s an empathy in your tone that reminds him you’re a homicide detective too.

You exchange a look, and then you both speak at the same time.

‘I should go —‘

‘Do you like wontons?’ Yoongi blurts out.

You raise an eyebrow. ‘Is this like inviting me in for ramen?’

‘What?’ Yoongi splutters. ‘No, not like that. There’s this place I go. They have—-‘

‘Wontons, I get it,’ you say. You get up. ‘Yeah. Let’s go.’

***

It’s been a while since Yoongi shared a meal with someone else, the last person was Hoseok, who could go straight from a crime scene to a steakhouse without turning a hair.

You’re chasing a wonton around your plate, fatigue lining the corners of your mouth.

Yoongi asks, ‘Where do you live?’

‘The other side of town,’ you tell him. ‘Near the financial district.’

‘Fancy,’ Yoongi muses.

‘More than I can afford,’ you say darkly. ‘If this case goes on for a while I’m going to need to move.’

You look up at him. ‘Where do you live?’

‘Close to here,’ Yoongi says.

‘Yeah?’

You put your chopsticks down. ‘I should —-‘

This time, Yoongi interrupts.

‘Do you want to come round for ramen?’

Your eyes meet, and there’s a beat of silence. Then a pulse of connection that sends heat through Yoongi’s veins.

Your knee brushes his under the table.

‘Yeah,’ you answer, deliberate. ‘Fuck, yeah.’

***

Yoongi’s always hated the preamble to a hookup, in his line of work uncertainty is a thing to be avoided.

You work the case until you get an explanation no reasonable person would doubt.

He finds himself waiting, though, now that you’re standing in his apartment.

You’re looking around, and he wonders if his existence seems as lonely on the outside as it feels on the inside.

He’s wondering if you’ve changed your mind, if you really did think he meant ramen, when you reach out and grasp the front of his shirt.

Slip the tips of your fingers just under, hold the placket as you use your other hand to unbutton. Start at his throat, work your way down, slowly.

His skin prickles under the warmth of your fingers.

You lean forward and press a kiss to the base of his neck.

Yoongi reaches up, slides a hand around the nape of your neck, and you tilt your face to his.

Close up, you’re soft.

Yoongi traces your bottom lip with his thumb, and your lips part.

You don’t say anything, though, and that’s ok, because Yoongi thinks you’re as talked out as he is.

It’s been a hell of a fucking day.

You’re kissing his neck again, instead of his mouth, and that’s ok, because this isn’t love, it’s comfort.

A human connection in a day filled with monsters.

Yoongi sighs as your hands slip over his bare chest, round to his back.

He helps you lift your top over your head, admires your breasts, nipples pressing against the fabric of your bra.

He cups the weight of them in his hands, and you moan.

Yoongi’s cock is filling out, and you’re undoing his belt like you want to see for yourself.

You drop to your knees in front of him, press your mouth onto the length of him over his boxer briefs, sigh with pleasure.

‘Not too much,’ Yoongi warns, ‘not if you want me to fuck you.’

You look up at him, hair mussed, a smile curving your lips.

You tug his boxer briefs down, and Yoongi curls a hand around himself so as not to hit you in the face.

‘Just let me —‘

You open your mouth to take him in, and Yoongi groans at the feel of your warmth.

When did he last —

His crown nudges the back of your throat, and you swallow, and he loses his train of thought.

He grabs your shoulder, tugs you up, kisses the smear of his own stickiness at the corner of your mouth.

The light slanting in through the window is hues of gold and orange, filling in the hollows of your face, outlining the curves of your body.

Yoongi has to stop looking at you because he doesn’t want to cry at how much he’s missed being close to someone like this.

‘Where do you want me?’ he asks, voice taut.

‘Anywhere,’ you say. ‘Just turn these fucking lights out.’

***

In the dark, Yoongi’s most enraptured by the warmth of you.

Your skin is smooth, so soft under his hands as he wraps his fingers around the curve of your hips.

His cock glides in and out of the heat between your legs, and your moans are beautiful but what really gets him are the hitches in your breathing as he moves.

He turns you over, onto your back, and you pull him to you. Your mouth opens on his shoulder in what would be a kiss if you weren’t biting down. Your tongue flicks over his bruised skin, an apology.

You haven’t spoken to each other in words in a while but Yoongi doesn’t think either of you need words right now.

At least he doesn’t.

You’re tightening around his cock now, your cries quickening until you gasp his name in a tone that makes him grunt and his hips jerk, taking him deep as he can go.

Even in his pleasure he makes sure not to crush you as he collapses next to you.

Then you’re up, walking over to the window, pulling up the sash, lighting a cigarette without asking if he’s ok with it.

Yoongi admires the outline of your profile against the glass.

‘I needed that,’ you say, taking a drag, hunching a little to blow smoke out of his window.

‘Me too,’ Yoongi says, honestly.

He ties off the condom, gets up to toss it in the trash on top of yesterday’s takeout.

Pours you a glass of water on his way back to bed.

He half expects you to be dressed, and you are, but in his clothes, not your own, an old t-shirt he’d tossed on the chair by the bed yesterday morning before he left for work.

He can’t see your face clearly in the dark. It makes it easy to find his voice.

‘You should stay,’ he says. ‘We can get coffee in the morning.’

You’re quiet. ‘I want to.’

Yoongi climbs into bed, and after a moment you slide in next to him.

Your bodies aren’t touching at all, but somehow having you there with him is enough.

Yoongi means to check on you, but he’s asleep so quickly he doesn’t get a chance to.

***

There’s a basketball hoop set into the wall in the back end of the station, a concrete square with a chain-link fence.

The building opposite is a block of offices, as is the building next to it.

Yoongi makes the shot, and you grab the ball on its first bounce.

You say, ‘Forensics got nothing from Jeon Bogyeol’s shack. He bleached the shit out of the place before he left.’

Yoongi grunts, watches you point and shoot.

He’d read through the file Namjoon gave him on the neighbour - it’s incomplete but she was last seen alive twelve weeks ago in a coastal town.

There’s something niggling at the back of his brain, he’d suggested shooting hoops in the hopes that the activity might shake the thought loose so his conscious mind can make the connection.

His phone vibrates in his pocket.

Namjoon.

‘I’m going up to see Namjoon,’ he says. ‘You coming?’

‘I’ll stay here for a bit,’ you say. ‘I’ll be up in a sec.’

Yoongi shrugs, lets himself back in.

Takes the stairs up to Namjoon’s office on the third floor.

There’s a cleaning cart parked next to the staff kitchen as he rounds the corner.

Yoongi’s about to knock on Namjoon’s door when his scattered thoughts crystallise.

The case file Namjoon had given him had a grainy photo of Jeon Bogyeol’s neighbour, the one who’d reported him and then disappeared.

He’s seen her face before, and recently.

Coming out of your office.

‘Fuck,’ he swears.

He grabs his phone out of his pocket, dials your number.

Your phone rings, and rings.

Yoongi takes off, down the stairs, back the way he came.

By the time he bursts out of the back door of the station, gun drawn, his heart’s thumping triple speed, but his hand is steady as he aims it at the man with a knife standing over you.

His finger goes from trigger guard to trigger.

‘Fucking drop it,’ Yoongi warns.

He doesn’t, so Yoongi shoots.

***

Jeon Bogyeol’s neighbour who had reported him was called Seo Hyerin.

She was in her early forties, an ex-teacher who he’d coerced into helping him by turning up at her new place even after she’d moved to get away from him.

She’d been too scared to disobey him, but in forcing her to help him, Jeon Bogyeol had given her access to enough information to clinch the case against him.

Once she’d found out he’d been shot and was likely to go straight from hospital to prison, she’d shared all that information with Yoongi and you.

The pieces fell into place so easily there was no need to make any of it fit.

And now Yoongi’s sitting in the kitchen of your apartment, watching as you pack things up.

He’d been right. Your place was fancy.

You were being transferred back to Seoul to finish up, see things through with the case.

He realises you’re looking at him.

‘My new place is a couple hours drive from here,’ you say.

‘Yeah?’ Yoongi says, like he hadn’t already looked it up.

He’d also looked up timed automated cat food dispensers, just because it was one thing to have a neighbour drop in and feed Kenzo if he’s stuck with a case occasionally, but it’s another thing if he’s regularly going to be driving down to see you.

If he’s regularly going to be spending the night away.

It’s uncharacteristic, for him, but he’s hopeful.

‘I slept pretty well that time,’ you say, looking down into your box.

You look up at him, and the curve of your lips makes Yoongi think to himself that he’d like to kiss you, sometime.

‘In your apartment,’ you clarify, like he wouldn’t already know.

‘I make good ramen,’ Yoongi says. ‘I can make it again for you, you know.’

You laugh, and the sound makes Yoongi feel warm.

He realises that he’s smiling.

Fuck, it’s been a while.

#bts fanfiction #bts smut #yoongi x reader #bts fanfic #yoongi fic #yoongi smut

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vibingvoices · 1 month

Text

A speech made at the Academy Awards by Jonathan Glazer, along with the subsequent reactions, sheds light on how people tend to distort others' words to portray themselves as victims and, more concerning, their willingness to reside in a dystopian bubble as long as it doesn't affect them directly.

Rather than idolising Hollywood, I've previously posted about the complexities of my evolving parasocial relationships. But to disregard the influence wielded by these elites would be naive. It's frustrating to witness those in power facing backlash when they attempt to bring attention to pertinent issues.

While the Oscars' prominence in Western pop culture is waning, the ceremony and the fervour surrounding the nominees and winners, especially in the major acting categories, still hold significant sway in film culture and the broader world.

So when such a speech is delivered at the Oscars, it's bound to garner attention:

All our choices were made to reflect and confront us in the present — not to say, “Look what they did then,” rather, “Look what we do now.” Our film shows where dehumanization leads, at its worst. It shaped all of our past and present. Right now we stand here as men who refute their Jewishness and the Holocaust being hijacked by an occupation, which has led to conflict for so many innocent people. Whether the victims of October the — [Applause.] Whether the victims of October the 7th in Israel or the ongoing attack on Gaza, all the victims of this dehumanization, how do we resist? [Applause.] Aleksandra Bystroń-Kołodziejczyk, the girl who glows in the film, as she did in life, chose to. I dedicate this to her memory and her resistance. Thank you.

Glazer highlighted in his speech that victims of the ongoing situation and the last 75 years, whether Palestinian and Israeli, all stem from the occupation and are casualties of entrenched ideologies like Zionism. But when he said this on stage and was immediately misquoted online on social media and by reputable news sources, alleging that he simply renounced his Jewish identity.

He also faced considerable backlash from those indicating a persistent conflation of anti-Zionism with anti-Semitism. It really parallels previous speeches of resistance at the Oscars. Boos rang loud and clear during Michael Moore's opposition to the Iraq war (which we know was a colossal failure by Geroge Bush and the US Government who perpetuated and pardoned multiple war crimes in the region after lying to their own people about evidence of weapons of mass destruction).

youtube

There was also Sacheen Littlefeather's advocacy for Native American representation and the direct of attention to the Wounded Knee Occupation, a speech that had bodyguards having to restrain people from getting on the stage and attacking her.

youtube

And, of course, Vanessa Redgrave's aim at “a small bunch of Zionist hoodlums whose behaviour is an insult to the stature of Jews all over the world and to their great and heroic record of struggle against fascism and oppression”, which still feels relevant today.

youtube

Turning to Glazer's film, I am baffled at those who vehemently objected to it: Did they actually watch it? Because if they had any negative feelings towards Glazer's speech, especially after watching his film, it suggests, to me, a deficiency in critical thinking.

Glazer's film portrays a chilling atmosphere where genocide becomes normalised, echoing real-world situations like the ongoing conflict in Gaza. The film serves as a stark reminder of humanity's ability to coexist with atrocities, often turning a blind eye for the sake of comfort.

The horrors adjacent to the characters' lives evoke contemporary parallels, particularly in regions like Gaza. With over five months of relentless violence, Israel's defiance of international court orders, and Western governments passively reprimanding while fueling the conflict with arms shipments, the spectre of genocide looms ominously. It risks becoming a mundane backdrop to daily existence. It is a stark portrayal of how affluent lifestyles can be linked to neighbouring atrocities, challenging the notion of denial and complicity.

The film doesn't centre around the Holocaust (Glazer's own words), with its specific historical context. Instead, it delves into a more universal theme: humanity's ability to coexist with atrocities and even derive some form of reconciliation or gain from them. The discomforting reflections are on purpose. It prompts us to acknowledge that the threat of annihilation of any people is always closer than we might imagine.

One of the most poignant moments in the film occurs when a package filled with clothing and lingerie pilfered from the prisoners of the camp arrives at the Höss household. The commandant's wife decides that everyone, including the servants, can select one item. She claims a coat for herself and trys on makeup discovered in one of its pockets.

How can the people who are so staunch against Glazer not draw parallels with Israeli soldiers who have recorded themselves rummaging through the lingerie of Palestinian women and slut shaming them? (Why are Israeli soldiers obsessed with Gaza women's underwear?) Or proudly displaying stolen shoes and jewellery for their partners back home (Israeli soldier loots Palestinian homes for his engagement party). Or celebrating International Women's Day with a photo of women soldiers posing for selfies against the backdrop of destruction (How an AP photographer made this image of Israeli soldiers taking a selfie at the Gaza border).

The film is rife with these parallels that it feels like a documentary. It is a grim reality: the potential emergence of the first live-streamed genocide, captured by its very architects.

Gaza doesn't mirror the systematic mass murder machinery of Auschwitz, nor does it approach the scale of Nazi atrocities. However, the entire purpose behind establishing the postwar framework of international humanitarian law was to equip us with the means to collectively recognise practices before history repeats itself on a large scale. And disturbingly, some of these practices – such as the construction of walls, creation of ghettos, mass killings, openly stated intentions of elimination, widespread starvation, plundering, gleeful dehumanisation, and deliberate humiliation – are recurring. And have been long before October 7th.

How do we disrupt the cycle of trivialisation and normalisation? What actions can we take? There are persistent protests and acts of civil disobedience to "uncommitted" votes, disrupting events, organising aid convoys, fundraising for refugees, and creating radical works of art.

And as genocide fades further into the background of our culture, some people grow too desperate for any of these efforts. I am certainly one of them.

Yet, these efforts seem insufficient, particularly when those in positions of power remain indifferent. It's insufficient when I watch a video of a little girl saying that the violence has made her feel less beautiful before she talks about her father being kidnapped by Israeli soldiers or of the orphans visiting their mother's burial spot in the street. It is insufficient when the death toll rises to exceed the daily death toll of any other major conflict of the 21st century.

Perhaps it's unfair of me to prioritise one tragedy over another, given the multitude of suffering in the world – the ones that are in the news cycle and the ones that are not. Yet, my connection to Palestine and its plight feels as personal as it can be without me actually being Palestinian, fostered from childhood teachings and further enriched through my own research. I have loved ones directly impacted by this conflict: friends in the diaspora grappling with survivor's guilt, friends in the West Bank enduring the daily hardships of occupation. And my friends in Gaza are all either dead, dying or being pushed straight into the arms of death.

The realisation that my efforts to help them are insufficient fills me with frustration. I'm angered by the indifference of those in power and by the hostility encountered by those attempting to bring the truth to the forefront.

#palestine #free palestine #gaza #anti zionisim #academy awards #oscars #jonathan glazer #the zone of interest #geopolitics #politics #i hate doing tags #Youtube

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the-au-thor · 5 months

Text

Bestfriend Blurb #2 | Spencer Reid

Okay so,I didn't intend to add more parts to the bestfriend! Blurb but since anon asked...this is another blurb! it's connected with this one but you can read it in no order in particular.

Summary: Spencer and Reader are best friends, they're in love but they don't know it yet. Let's see how they're going to find out.

Words: 1k

Warnings: Go to this link!

There were very few things in your life that you were passionate about. Thankfully, your job was one of them; you had studied sociology and forensic science, then trained at the academy to investigate crime scenes. The opportunity to work in the field investigating cases for the BAU presented itself, and you couldn't refuse. You had used the camera so much to capture gruesome scenes that you began to associate it with less traumatic events; beautiful moments that occurred in the most unpleasant cases.

Once Hotchner's son dressed up as him for Halloween, and on another occasion, Henry dressed as Spencer. How could you let those memories pass without trying to immortalize them in some way?

Photography had become your grounding force, a bridge reminding you that even when you saw horrible things, there was humanity that contributed beauty and kindness. It served as your own escape method, a therapy to keep you away from madness. If a gallery wanted to exhibit your work, you wouldn't oppose it; it was a great opportunity, and you had nothing to lose by trying.

However, you hadn't mentioned anything to anyone. This had nothing to do with your work, and it was bothersome enough for the other members of your team to have you walking around with your camera.

You turned the page of your comic as music filtered into your ears. Leaning against one of the Jet's walls on the way home, buried in your favorite seat, Spencer got up from his couch—the one without his name, but the whole team knew belonged to him—and sat next to you, chin resting on his palm, observing you with curiosity. You tried to ignore him for a few seconds, and you noticed his free hand travel to your knee, stopping the nervous movement you didn't realize you were making.

You closed the comic and left it on your lap, removed your headphones, and stared at Spencer waiting for his inevitable question.

"You're nervous, why?" he finally asked with concern and curiosity.

"Did you get up from your throne and lower yourself to the commoners just because you think I'm nervous?" you asked back with a half-smile.

Spencer raised an eyebrow and smiled playfully. "Well, well, well," his small dimples appeared at the corners of his lips, "answering a question with another question, if that's not evasion, I don't know what is."

You rolled your eyes slightly with a smile. "Are you profiling me, Dr. Reid?"

"And you're still evading my first question," he pointed with a teasing look.

You sighed in resignation. Spencer and you knew each other very well. Based on years of working together and years of friendship, you could tell if he was going through something just by observing his behavior—dissociation, furrowed brow, avoiding any social interaction, isolation. And he knew your signs—the blasting sound of Janis Joplin in your ears, restless leg syndrome, and, of course, evasion of questions that could seem simple and innocent.

"I'm not nervous," you lied, trying to avoid showing any gesture that would normally give you away.He stopped smiling.

His lips tightened into a concerned thin line.

"But the thing is you are," he replied, softening his voice, "but I want to know why, to help you."

The way he said it made your heart leap everywhere but in your chest. You couldn't keep avoiding him, not when he looked at you like that, not with his hand soothingly on your knee.

"It's nothing bad. You really don't have to worry," you nervously nibbled on your lips and then settled in the chair to lean closer to him so that the others wouldn't hear. "It's just that Lizzie showed a couple of my photos to her boss, and he offered me a space in his gallery for a couple of exhibitions. Nothing big."

Spencer opened his mouth with a surprised smile, and his fingers tightened on your knee, giving a gentle and excited squeeze.

"That's wonderful," he whispered with a suppressed shout, and then his other hand went up to your neck, affectionately stroking your hair. "And when is it?"

"Uh... it's today," you mumbled the answer quickly, and you saw him frown with curiosity.

"Why didn't you tell us?"

"It's not that I didn't want to. It's just that you guys are so busy, and I already annoy you enough by putting my lens in your faces all the time. It's not a big deal."

Spencer raised his eyebrows incredulously. "Are you kidding? It's a big deal, and you never annoy us."

"You have to say that; you're my friend."

"Best friend," he corrected, "and my opinion counts even more."

That made you smile.

"I didn't want to make a big fuss about this," you whispered, looking down at your lap uncomfortably.

"I know, I know you don't like to. But I'm also happy for this; I know you enjoy taking those photos, and they're an important part of who you are."

You lifted your gaze to meet Spencer's honest eyes.

"Thank you, Walt."

He closed his eyes almost immediately as soon as you called him by that nickname. Leaning his head against the seatback, he opened his eyes, laughing softly.

"You've returned to being yourself. It's good that it wasn't anything bad; I was worried."

You blinked slowly as confirmation. "It's nothing to worry about. Thank you for caring"

You placed hand on his, returning his squeeze.

"I love you, you know..."

And there it was again: your heart outside your chest.

"Yeah" you whispered "I love you too" you added.

And you meant it.

You really did.

Part 3

#criminal minds #spencer reid blurb #spencer reid x bestfriend!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid fandom #Spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fanfic

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lovelyyandereaddictionpoint · 11 months

Text

Yandere Mephistopheles Headcannons

You're his secretary or vice principal of True Cross Academy

Or at least that’s your name on paper

You're essentially the unofficial wrangler of the demon

A human gifted with power rivaling his own

When he gets taken away for another one of his schemes you’re the one stepping in

When the school is under attack and Mephisto isn’t available or purposely abetting in the chaos

You take your own measures to protect the students

Many see him without you but that can’t be said the other way around.

He doesn’t let you get very far without him appearing by your side

*Poof* “Working hard? Or hardly working?”

“Not working for you I’m not.”

“😋”

Did I mention he makes you handle all the paperwork

He makes you read the fine print

Makes you finalize decisions

Makes you approve and handle budgeting

It's to keep you trapped in your occupation

Tire you out so you won’t have half a mind to run away

But don’t worry he makes your breaks plenty of fun by spending them gaming with you

If you're not into gaming he pours you glass and lets you cutely lose all sense of time and decorum

Keep him chasing you

Teasing him with small tidbits of fascination enough to keep tugging him along

Otherwise, he’ll begin to starve

Starve without your affection

And when demons get hungry nothing is off the table

Even creating a dimensional portal all the way across the world to keep you in

So don’t leave him hanging all the time

Just sometimes

“Ah (Y/n)-dearest that glare of yours is piercing! Do it again.”

And if you actually like him~oh boy

you just can’t calculate your moves like you used to

Too flustered by your body actually reacting to his advances

It sends him on another high

“Marble, you keep me so wound up it should be a crime~”

He purposefully puts you in situations that have you fainting from the overload of blood rushing to your head

No worries he’s more than happy to support

So don’t mind him indulging himself a bit more

The way he demands a hug before you clock out

And not a stupid side hug, or awkward armlength hug

He wants to hold your waist against his

Chest to chest

Hand in hand

Legs intertwined

Look at your contract he’s made it a clause now

“Melt into me, (Y/n). I might go on a rampage if you don’t.”

He’d rather not get True Cross involved with his love life

But he isn’t averse to them being the bad guy to his hero role.

“Stay next to me, (Y/n)! I’ll keep you safe!”

“Oh please you're more dangerous than them I’m sure.”

“Oh? You think? I’m flattered you think so.”

“Hmm, you’re just saying that because you know I’m right.”

“Well if you think that? Would you still refuse me if I asked you on a date?”

“Hmmmm? Yeah, I cannot date someone with a hat bigger than mine. It just screams toxic energy.”

“What?! B-but I have a pink limousine! Not to mention superb taste in anime!”

“A pink limousine without rhinestones and the magical girl series is mediocre compared to shounen.”

*Gasp* “You take that back!”

#yandere mephisto #yandere mephistopheles #yandere blue exorcist #yandere blue exorcist mephisto #yandere ao no excorcist #yandere mephisto pheles #yandere x reader #yandere x you #lovelyyandereaddictionpoint #yanderexrea #yandere #yanderes

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robertreich · 11 months

Video

youtube

The GOP’s Attack on LGBTQ Americans, Revealed

Republicans don’t seem to care that Ronald Reagan once starred in a film that featured a prominent drag scene or that Rudy Giuliani did a skit in drag with Donald Trump.

Suddenly, they’re trying to ban or restrict drag performances in at least 15 states, with bills so broadly worded that advocates warn they could be used not only to prosecute drag performers, but also transgender people who dare to simply exist in public.

These bans are part of a cynical campaign to demonize the LGBTQ+ community. MAGA politicians are stoking fear over imaginary dangers to distract from how their policies only help themselves and their wealthy donors.

In the first half of 2023 alone, Republicans across the nation introduced a record number of bills to strip away freedoms and civil rights from LGBTQ+ Americans, largely targeting transgender and gender-nonconforming people.

By banning gender affirming care for minors, GOP lawmakers are effectively practicing medicine without a license — overruling the guidance of doctors, the American Medical Association, and the American Academy of Pediatrics. And they’re lying about what gender affirming care even is.

Genital surgery, for instance, is rarely, if ever, done under the age of 18. It’s not even all that common for adults. Politicians like Ron DeSantis are lying about it to scare people.

And the Republican presidential frontrunner has made it clear that trans people have no place in his vision of America.

MAGA lawmakers and pundits falsely claim trans people and drag performers are a danger to children and the public at large, when there is no evidence at all to support that. None. Trans people are in fact four times more likely to be the victims of violent crime.

These scare tactics are dangerous. Recent analysis found a 70% increase in hate crimes against LGBTQ+ Americans between 2020 and 2021, as the surge of these bills began. And that’s only counting hate crimes that get reported. 2020 and 2021 each set a new record for the number of trans people murdered in America.

The cruelest irony is that these Republican bills pretending to protect children actually put some of the most vulnerable children at greater risk. LGBTQ+ kids are more than four times as likely to attempt suicide, especially transgender children. Gender-affirming care reduces that risk. That is why it is life-saving.

Don’t Say Gay laws strip away potentially life-saving support. A teacher discussing sexual orientation and gender identity won’t turn a straight kid gay. But it will make an LGBTQ+ student 23% less likely to attempt suicide.

The tragic truth is that Don’t Say Gay Laws and health care bans will cause more young lives to be needlessly lost.

If Republicans really cared about protecting kids, they’d focus on gun violence, now the leading cause of death for American children. If they were really worried about children undergoing life-altering medical procedures, they wouldn’t pass abortion bans that force teens to give birth or risk back-alley procedures.

What the GOP’s vendetta against the LGBTQ+ community really is, is a classic authoritarian tactic to vilify already marginalized people. They’re trying to stoke so much paranoia and hatred that we don’t notice how they are consolidating power and wealth into the hands of a ruling few.

We need to see this attack on LGBTQ+ Americans for what it is: a threat to all of our human rights.

#youtube #video #videos #pride #LGBTQ+#Politics #Republicans #Government #equality #Trans Rights

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ifwerenotcareful · 4 months

Text

[sejanus x reader]

WARNINGS | "just the tip", promising to pull out then... breaking that promise

AN | this behaviour is obviously super fucked + only hot in a fantasy scenario. if any guy ever does this to you then dump his ASS, and know that eg stealthing (not exactly what happens in this fic, that's taking off a condom during sex without you noticing) can be punished by law.

minors dni. don't like don't read.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

sejanus had been stressed beyond belief by the hunger games. first it was just the fact that this crime against humanity was to happen at all. then the chilling announcement that the students had to function as mentors to the unlucky tributes, and finally the horrifible twist that sejanus was to mentor a boy from his district—and a former classmate at that.

safe to say sejanus was going through the worst days of his life. good thing he had you though, his on-again off-again hook-up. sej had never been able to commit to you; too much despair about the state of the world making his head a place too troubled to truly allow himself happiness.

but he came back to you like a moth to the flame, time after time, because the thing was: he needed you.

it was the same today, he'd cornered you in one of the less busy corridors in the academy, begging you to let him fuck him just once more, just this once.

you had half a mind to refuse him, you'd promised yourself to stay away from him if he couldn't commit, but his eyes were big and shiny with need, his face tormented by the turmoil inside of him, his hands fidgeting restless by his side, itching to grab you, grope you, touch you to bring stillness to hus mind.

you'd never been able to refuse sejanus at his worst. so you just nodded, and he was on you in an instant.

"thank you, thank you, thank you," he blabbered, speaking your name like a prayer as he buried his face in the crook of your neck and rutted against you desperately. you could feel wetness on your throat, and realized that he must have started crying.

"oh sej..." your voice was a broken whisper as you drew his face up to yours and let him kiss you.

the two of you stumbled into an unused classroom, having just enough presence of mind to draw the door shut behind you.

sejanus undressed quickly, and buried his face between your tits, sighing with the relief the closeness brought him. not long after he disposed of your bra and pants, too, so the unbottened academy shirt was the only piece of clothing remaining on your body.

"do you have—" you asked, and sejanus shook his head, having understood your question instantly. no condoms.

"just the tip, though?" sejanus begged, voice strained with need. you know you shouldn't say yes, it was too dangerous and your family didn't exactly have the money to afford an impromptu abortion. but you needed to feel sejanus inside of you, so you closed your eyes against better knowledge and nodded.

sejanus stretched you with his fingers first, broad as they were their touch was sweet and had you rubbing against him with need.

"you ready, baby?" he breathed and you nodded. you'd screamed at him last time to stop calling you baby when he was ruining your life by never giving you what you needed: him by his side always, not just when he couldn't stay away. but right now you needed for him to be soft, desperate and crying with need.

when he pushed inside of you, you almost cried out with pleasure, but had the presence of mind to muffle yourself by biting on your hand instead.

"fuck, baby, you feel so good," sejanus groaned, and he tipped his sweat stained forehead against yours. he drew back, then pushed forward again slowly; just the tip, just like he had promised.

but your hips twitched against him, and with every push he got more and more of his cock inside. he'd averted his eyes from you, instead had a distant yet focused look on his face, mouth half open with rough breaths as he let himself feel more and more of you by pushing deeper and deeper inside of him.

"you said just the tip..." you moaned weakly, and sejanus nodded.

"i know, i know, sorry baby..." but despite his apology, he didn't stop. instead he rocked his hips back and forth, getting deeper inside of you with each thrust. "you just feel so good," he murmured against your throat, and you shivered. "make me forget everything, the stupid games, marcus..." he choked on his words, and you could hear from his voice that he was close to tears again.

he'd stilled for a moment, but now started rocking into you again.

you shook your head, you didn't want this—but when you started to squirm in his grip he held you tighter, mouth half open and eyes on you, staring at you enraptured.

he panted as he moved inside of you slowly, gaze still fixed on you. his hands were boring into your hips, and he groaned brokenly with each thrust.

"please don't, i dont want—" you started, but sejanus soothed you.

"i'll just pull out, baby, nothing will happen, it's not dangerous, i know lots of guys who do it like this." you didn't exactly trust him after he'd promised "just the tip" then broken that promise just as quickly, and you knew it wasn't safe to pull out, but his chest was sweaty and his body crowding close and into yours with need, and his face was slack and relaxed, focused and even happy in a way you hadn't seen it since the games started.

his dick inside you felt so good, too, he was big and stretched you out just the right way—so against better knowledge, you nodded.

"thank you, thank you, thank you," he babbled again, now starting to fuck into you in earnest. he pulled back and plunged back in, then his thrusts became quicker and quicker, more and more desperate.

he cried out and your heart pounded—what if someone heard you?

he kissed you and you closed your eyes, let his arms draw you against him as you came closer and closer to your orgasm. you should've pushed him away, bit him and fighted tooth and nail when he fucked you although you'd said no, but in this very moment it felt just too good to care.

he and you, moving together, being one, like you were meant to be.

you almost got lost in the haze of pleasure until you recognized the tell-tale hitch of his breath letting you know he was getting close.

"sej, sej," you patted his arm, panting. "pull out sej."

"i—" sejanus groaned. "baby i can't, it..." his hips snapped into you faster and faster. "fuck it feels too good, baby i'm sorry—" he sobbed, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

all color drained out of your face and you tried to shove him off you, but his hold on you was too firm.

"sej, get off," you shouted," but your body was betraying you. arousal shot hot through your core, and his thrusts carried you closer and closer to the edge until a blinding orgasm crashed through you.

"thank you, thank you, thank you—ah—AH—baby—"

sejanus didn't seem to hear or register you anymore, just pounding into you blindly, groping your breasts and placing open mouthed kisses all over your throat.

he gripped your face in his hands and kissed you hard as his hips stilled and his cum pumped into you.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

END NOTES | i could imagine writing a sequel or writing abt the aftermath of this 🤔 we'll see...

#the ballad of songbirds and snakes #tbosas #tbosas fanfiction #sejanus #sejanus plinth #sejanus x reader #sejanus plinth x reader #x female reader #x fem!reader #x you #x you smut #echo fics

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kairiscorner · 8 months

Note

AUGHHH I LOVE UR FICS

Could you maybe possibly pretty please write a queerplatonic 1610 Miles fic? Like cuddles after a long day of Spider-manning (●´□`)♡

OH SURE THING ANON !! AND THANK YOU SO MUCHHHHH, that's such an honor <:))

(reblogs are greatly appreciated, it helps get my content out there! if you guys like what you see, please reblog it too <:D)

in your arms is where i wanna be. — miles morales x reader

he may be spider man—brooklyn's number 1 defender from all kinds of bad guys that wanna hurt people and rule the world or whatever else their dark overzealous hearts desire—but he's still a human being, a kid named miles morales who's expected to head back to his dorm at brooklyn visions academy, call home at least once every day, and get passing grades in all his subjects on top of being a crime fighter and baby powder endorser (which crashed and burned).

he was exhausted and couldn't wait to head to bed, but as it turns out, ganke accidentally locked the window to their dorm and went to bed, forgetting miles was taking some long hours doing his patrol as spider man. miles sighed, he tried calling ganke to wake him up, but ganke's phone is always on silent, that wasn't enough to wake him up. with a sigh, he tried to make his way to someone else's dorm and book it out of there as if he never even entered—but as he was enacting that plan, he spotted a familiar face looking at him with a curious smile.

"hey, peter pan." you teased him as miles smiled from underneath his mask. "ah, hey, what are you doing up right now?" he asked you as you opened your window up for him to come in and let him enter. "just finishing up some homework, yeah. you?" you asked him so casually, as if the spider suit didn't give it away. he took his mask off as you saw that his smile didn't look as bright, cheery, nor energetic as before—he appeared tired. "you good?" you asked him as he nodded, despite the fatigue. "just... a lil' worn out, i guess." he said as he sat down on your bed, with you sitting down next to him, too. "well, i have just the right remedy." you said as you extended your arms out to him and smiled widely. "don't be shy, c'mon now, if you wanna get teased by the cuddle monster to cheer you up, they're here now." you said in a playful voice as miles smiled and lightly chuckled.

he wrapped his arms around you and took in the wonderful feeling of your warmth and softness against him. it had been a long while since he's been held like this, and he certainly doesn't want this feeling to end. your touch is so comforting and lovely, he feels like all the happiness in the world had been condensed into your embrace for him, and he's not letting go of you any time soon. "you feel so cuddly... like a teddy bear..." he murmured as you chuckled and held him tighter. "you're more of the teddy bear than i am, ya softie." you teased him as he chuckled and murmured an 'i guess that's right' to you as he held you closer to his chest, savoring the feeling of being held by you and feeling all his stress, worries, and physical pains that have accumulated throughout his day just melt away as he holds you close and you hold him even closer.

tags !! @k4tsu3 @onginlove @luvstarrstruck @toneystank-3000 @ii01vq @maxoloqy @popeheywardssecretgf @lovefrominaya @solecitoszn @meowmoraless

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blingblong55 · 1 year

Text

Fire Away -141+Ale+Rudy

This was based on a request.

Gn!Reader, Platonic!relationship

It had been 4 days since you last slept. Trauma, stress, work, and life had finally caught up to you. You always kept the traumatic scenes tucked in the back of your head. Stress was common in your line of work, but this time it was all different. Your life, that you paused to serve your country for finally brought its worries to you. It all started 96 hours ago, when Price had let you know that an old colleague of yours, who you served knew since the naval academy had passed away.

You two saw things no one should see, 13 confirmed kills, 34 injured, that was the number of people that held on to your already long chains of regret. "think we'll make it to Switzerland?" a place you both wanted to live in, a farm, and a place far away from the horrors of the world. "maybe." you said as the night fell.

Ever since the news you kept yourself occupied. Paperwork, work out, eat, work out, paperwork and then pretend to sleep.

Your body gave up, but you pushed the limits. When price invited you to the weekly sparring event, you knew best and said yes. You never missed it. And sure as hell needed to prove you were still fine.

Soap was against Alejandro, when you were next price was still picking your opponent. You went up to the mat, your head aching more than before. Your eyes couldn't focus on the figure in front of you. This was it, you thought. Soon dizziness arrived. You played it cool. Until you collapsed on the floor.

Price:

The minute he saw the signs he knew what was wrong. He had done the same thing when he was younger, still does.

He knew that taking you to the infirmary wasn't going to do much. So he took you back to your room.

You soon were placed in bed, he told the rest to leave you two alone.

He placed you in his arms, and he laid there, waiting for you to say something.

"I can't sleep,,and I'm not sure I feel bad about it.." You soon broke in tears.

He hummed a lullaby for you. "it'll all be over soon"

Reassured you, it was time to let go of all worries.

He'd trace your face with his finger, so slow that it was soon making your close your eyes.

He kept humming, rocking you both, back and forth, so slow, so comfortable. So secure.

Soon you closed your eyes, your body warm, your mind free of crime.

So safe, so calm, it's so him.

It's us, you thought.

Alejandro:

He ran to you, not letting anyone go near you.

Carried you to bed, he understood how difficult news like that were. So as he laid you in bed, he stayed.

cradled you in his arms. "tienes que descansar mi amor" he softly uttered.

"I don't want to." Your hands placed on his chest. "qué sucedió?"

For hours you talked, he listened, at times he would comment, but only when it was appropriate.

When you finished talking he started to caress all of you.

His hands traveled to from your face then found its way on to your back, where he drew circles.

"Desde el cielo todo es más bonito, Déjame llevarte a las estrellas, otra vez, Como la noche de ayer" his voice low as he sang.

He looked down at you, what a site, he thought.

Kissed your forehead multiple times.

Covered you in his blanket, never moved, he knew you comfortable and thats all that mattered.

It was heaven.

It was a place of safety, a place where you were free.

In a land of cold nights, he was your blanket.

Gaz:

It scared him how you collapsed. He hadn't talked to you ever since the news, mainly because he wanted to give you space.

He saw how pale your skin looked, how dark the eyeballs under your eyes were.

He carried you to your room, didn't let anyone else carry you.

When you eventually told him why you weren't sleeping he listened. And although at first he didn't understand most stories, he let you know he was all ears.

"I'm here, for anything, I won't ever find you less of a human because anything you did to survive."

You cried and stared at the ceiling, he would just rub your back.

Once he knew you were ready to sleep, he laid down with you. Just you and me, he assured you.

He cuddled you. Turned on the telly and put on the history channel, you had mentioned it always made you sleepy.

And as your eyes became heavy, his hold on you became softer. He placed his legs over yours, one arm wrapped around your waist.

"You sleep and I'll be here love. I won't go away."

His free hand tracing you lashes and eyebrows. So slow, so innocent. He starred at you, and promised to always be your shoulder to cry on.

So delicate and pure.

So beautiful.

Soap:

He was definitely scared. Not once did it ever occur you were torturing yourself like this.

His arms wrapped around your body, hiding your weak self under him, he knew you hated when others saw this side of you.

When you reached his room, which was closer, you asked him "please don't hate me" to which he responded, "how can I hate you, when I adore everything about you."

He like Gaz listened and tried to understand all of it.

when he heard your soft sniffles he hugged you so tight. Then he kissed the top of your forehead. "you need sleep" "I know, I'm just scared of closing my eyes"

He laid there, for hours. And when he noticed how you were drifting to sleep, he started to massage your head.

He pulled you close to his chest. Let you wrap your arms around him. "don't let go" your voice vibrated against his chest.

"Never" he answered.

You drifted to sleep, feeling safe in his arms.

Heaven on earth while on his arms.

A safe place, he was your Switzerland.

Rudy:

When I tell you he ran to you, he RAN.

Alejandro was trying to take care of the situation, but Rudy was thinking with his heart. He knew what was wrong, from the start.

So, he took all of the precautions and took you to his room, he had water, food, and his pillow and blankets ready.

You hesitated and just stood up, but he quickly stood by your side, his hand on your back.

"tienes que descansar" his eyes never leaving yours, always looking for an answer, for something that can be his leverage. "I'm not tired Rudy." your soft voice, breaking his heart.

"Entonces háblame, que pasó?" "nada" but he knew you better than he knew himself, "I'm all ears." his smile never leaving his lips, it was his comforting smile. The same one he gave you every time you felt upset.

"Nothing can hurt you, not while we are here, together."

he was like an angel, your angel.

Your silence spoke more than words as your tears fell from your eyes.

He took you back to bed and cuddled with you. Your cry soon left, and was slowly being replaced by soft snores.

He was your favorite form of life, your sun, the moon than shined bright on your dark nights.

He was the cardigan and you the cold skin.

Ghost:

this man knew exactly what was wrong, he didn't judge you of course, and when he saw you collapse to the floor, he rushed to your side.

Others panicked, and he did too, for the first time in a long time, he panicked. He not once left your side.

Your room was his first choice, but since it was the one place you stopped feeling comfortable enough to sleep at, he walked to his room.

There you stood while he grabbed his most comfortable clothes for you, he was panicking afraid he might not find something good enough.

"Simon?" you made him stop, he quickly turned to you. "yes?" he shied his nervousness away. "Lay down for me yeah?" You obeyed, but as he finally found some clothes, your silent cry made him walk to you. "What happened to your friend isn't on you." he sat next to you, placing you head on his thighs. "But what if he died because of all we did?" your voice shaking, his heart aching.

"You were a soldier then, today you are a human," he tried finishing his words, but he rather not.

he tried telling his corny jokes, some were so bad it made you laugh.

As the fuzzy feeling in your chest left, the soothing words that left his lips slowly made you yawn. "Thank you Simon."

"And I will steady your hand, When you're losing your grip, And even if I don't understand, You can talk to me, Fire away, Fire away, Fire away" his humus and soft voice put you to sleep,

"see you in the mornin', r/n" he kissed your forehead.

An ocean breeze, a warm hug on the cold spring nights. He was the the man that scared your other feelings away.

For better or worst, he was your Ghost, the best of any out there.

Tags: @anonymuslydumb

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!!

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luminous-jellyfish · 8 months

Text

A Writeblr Intro (English Version)

Link zur deutschen Version

Hi, I'm Marlin! I've been lurking on tumblr and in its writing community for years but was always too shy to engage. Now I've finally decided to start sharing my own stuff (mainly to organize myself) and become active!

⫸ About Me ⫷

I go by Marlin (she/her), or on some platforms by luminous-jellyfish

mid 20s, queer

I write (mostly) in German, but post (mostly) in English

my favorite genre is fantasy, and all the different direction fantasy can go in, but I like trying my hand at genre mixing

my main blog where I reblog general stuff and fandom things and so on is @secondrealitytotheright

⫸ Current WIPs ⫷

I'm currently most actively working on a few different stories that all take place in the same world (though at slightly different points in time) that I've dubbed "leviathan world" in my notes - after the gigantic sea creatures that live in its deep oceans (and sometimes the sky, who can resist sky whales, seriously). I would probably call it a fantasy world with steampunk elements.

All of those stories feature queerness in different forms, and most of them include at least slight elements of what might be called body horror.

All of these stories are still operating under working titles and are in various, wildly differing draft stages. As always I have far too much planned in this world but these four are the stories I'm actually actively writing right now:

Seeds beneath our skin

Genre: Magical Academy Fantasy, Coming-of-age story

Setting: a group of islands and archipelagos near the equator, where the leviathans are generally both revered and feared as holy and powerful creatures connected to the spirit world

Short Summary: A young girl who grew up as a sea nomad joins the temple that has controlled religious practices throughout the islands for a hundred years. Against her will she becomes a key figure in the struggle for power and religious freedom that is about to grip the temple. To survive spirit possession, human intrigue and ideological differences she is forced to reconsider her identity and world view and define herself on her own terms.

Honey cakes and bloody satin

Genre: Steampunk Fantasy, (Cozy?) Mystery, Romance

Setting: a harbor city on the northern continent, famous for their leviathan hunters, where a technological revolution is happening as the blood of leviathans is turned into a powerful fuel

Short Summary: A journalist working for a revolutionary underground newspaper and a seamstress involved in the golem's rights movement are thrown together when a man dies right in front of their eyes. They must work together and solve the crime while also hiding everything happening from the Watch, to protect both of their secrets.

Short WIP Intro

Half the lights

Genre: High Fantasy Adventure, Romance

Setting: A city on the back of a leviathan, as well as the open skies, oceans and harbors frequented by smugglers, messengers and pirates

Short Summary: A wealthy, bookish young woman who dreams of investigating weather phenomenons escapes having to forge a psychic bond with the leviathan carrying her home city on its back. She stows away on a messenger ship and finds herself among a shady crew of smugglers. Eventually she gets herself involved in pirate adventures, a political revolution and a growing attraction to a headstrong fighter with a rigid code of honor and high ideals.

And surrendered the flesh

Genre: Science Fantasy

Setting: a big city in a sub-tropical climate, surrounded by jungles and plains that have been gripped by a powerful virus that contorts nature and all living things

Short Summary: A young girl from the country travels to the city to find her missing sister and gets involved with an organisation that strives to perfect the human body. An ambitious scientist fights to be recognised for her genius and to keep her past mistakes secret. An old woman is forced to join a struggle she has been hiding from for years and rediscover forgotten powers to try and save her grandchild. All three of them will shape the face of the city.

#ok so this is the first intro #mostly for my own organisation #let's go #fantasy writing #writeblr #my writing #english version #leviathan world #wip: seeds beneath our skin #wip: honey cakes and bloody satin #wip: half the lights #wip: and surrendered the flesh

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rebelliousstories · 1 year

Text

Tall, Dark, and Handsome

Relationship: David Loki x Reader

Fandom: Prisoners

Request: Yes by Anon

Warnings: Fluff, Pinning, Mentions of Dark Themes including Death, Abuse, Horrible Childhoods, and Crimes Against Children

Word Count: 2,808

Masterlist: Here

Jake Gyllenhaal & Co. Masterlist: Here

Summary: There were two things that David Loki knew to be true; 1. There was a mysterious cup of coffee on his table when ever he left the room. And 2. The woman he likes has no clue about his feelings.

There were certain universal truths. The sun would come up, only to be replaced by the moon. Humans needed air, water, and food to survive. And David Loki was a workaholic. He was in the prescient by 6:00 A.M. and often left by 6:00 P.M. if there was no case. If there was a case, he spent the night in a jail cell bed instead of going home. He poured his heart and soul into his work. The other universal truth that would happen like clockwork; a coffee would always be waiting on his desk shortly before he arrived at work.

Some days, it would be there right as he walked to his desk for the first time. Some days, it would be there shortly after he left his desk in the morning after dropping off his stuff. If he was sleeping overnight, a fresh cup was waiting for him patiently outside the cell. For just about as long as he had worked in the station, this had happened. It infuriated the man. For years, David had yet to find out who this person was, or why they left a cup of coffee for him first thing in the morning. While he really appreciated the gesture, he would have preferred if he was able to know the identity of the person. Surprisingly, being a detective didn’t help. He didn’t notice anyone staring at him for a long time, or frequenting his area of the department more than they had to.

Eight years this had tortured him. Eight years of a cup of coffee every day he worked. Thousands of cups of coffee over the last eight years, and he still had no clue who left them for him. Loki realized a while ago that his secret admirer would remain a secret forever it seems. Sure, he had his theories, but they were for the most part probably credible, except one that he viewed as outlandish.

Theory number one: Cheryl. She worked as a secretary, essentially. Doing the filing, paperwork, organizing media and press. She always made sure to tell everyone that she had to leave the police academy for personal reasons, otherwise she would have been in uniform. Her leaving had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that she was trying to sleep her way through the department to get passed through the academy. David always thought she was a decent worker, but she definitely was trying to not have to work super hard. Cheryl’s sights had been set on the detective since she set foot inside the department. Her advances used to be very brazen, until a few straight to the point shut downs turned her away from trying with Loki again. That didn’t stop the longing glances, and the rumors that she started to circulate. Rumors that they had in fact been together secretly but had to break it off. Most people just tuned her out; who would believe that David Loki would have the time for a partner?

One theory he hoped wasn’t true.

Theory number two: Jessie.

Jessie was a kind, older woman that looked after the prescient and its members. She brought in brownies, cookies, and food for the detectives and officers. David didn’t see much of her during his shift due to her work in the evidence room, but she was his only other legitimate theory. He could see her leaving the coffee on his desk, as she watched how he overworked himself. But there were definitely times that he had his normal coffee, and she had yet to show up for work or even work at all that day.

He wouldn’t mind that theory being true; sure as hell beats the first one. But that only left him with his last theory that he hoped was true, but was definitely not.

Theory number three: her. His crazy and outlandish theory, that he hoped was true but knew it wasn’t, was her. A quiet obsession with the woman had snuck up on him a few years ago. David never actively looked for a partner, being a workaholic and too concerned about doing his job than having a wife and kids. It didn’t mean that he didn’t want that life, but it never seemed to come up at an opportune moment. Either wrong person, or wrong place, but she made his mind want to work for that kind of life. All it took though was a few times of talking to each other, late into the evening, when they should have been home but instead were working on the same case. Loki didn’t like anyone else stepping in on his work, detective or officer. But, it just so happened that the captain had assigned them to work together on the case because of the sheer magnitude of it.

At first, Loki was vehemently opposed to the assignment, but so was she. They both thought they worked best alone, without a partner. As the case went on, they butted heads multiple times and even got in a screaming match with each other. But the next morning, she was waiting by his car with a cup of coffee before they were suppose to go out to do some recon. From that point forward, there was a sort of energy around the pair as they worked. There was more discussion about life outside of work, and their personal preferences. Many nights were spent at the Chinese restaurant pouring over theories about the case and suspects. It was one of those nights at the Chinese restaurant that Loki realized that something was changing between them.

“So what about this, what’s his name, Norman O’Shea? How do we feel about this guy? I mean he certainly has the rap sheet to lend itself to doing something like this.” Her question made David pause mid bite to think. He looked up to catch her eyes before looking back down to his food. Chewing over his food and thoughts, the man swallowed before responding.

“What’s he got on him? I thought he was the wrong physical type from eye witnesses? They said a grey haired man, no glasses, and a grey beard was near the kids when they noticed them gone. Not a glasses wearing, clean shaven, black haired creep.” Flipping through the folders, she stared at Loki with a ridiculous expression.

“Do you know how easy it is to dye your hair and have no traces of it anywhere? Especially if you have prep time and a space away from your main residence to do so? Besides we’ve got four different counts of child charges, including kidnapping a girl one time.” Both detectives took a break to eat as they thought about the information.

“He’s at least worth going and talking to.” Loki offered as they finished their dinners. She looked down at her almost finished plate of rice, and quietly chuckled to herself. The small chuckle made Loki’s lips quirk up into a somewhat smile while he let out an even smaller chuckle.

“What?” He asked quietly. Watching as she shook her head gently, her chuckle died and her smile turned sad.

“Nothing. Just…” she trailed off and let her eyes wander over the detective’s tattoos on his hands.

“Just, cases like this, you know? Just, they remind me of my sister. Makes me think of how proud she’d be that I’m trying to help other kids like us.” Her eyes glazed over, and David leaned closer to the woman across the table from him.

“Kids like you?” He repeated back to her. He watched as she was knocked out of whatever memory that she was trapped in. Her throat cleared, and she pushed her hair back.

“Yeah, kids like us.” She rolled up her sleeve to reveal the beautiful artwork adorning her arm. A spiraling network of flowers of all different kinds, attached to one branch spread all over her arm. It disappeared into the bicep and rest of her sleeve in one direction, and ending in a small bloom on her pinky finger in the other.

“My older sister and I were ten and five when we were orphaned. Drunk driver killed both of our parents. Well, we became wards of the state and were sent to a girls home nearby,” she noticed how Loki sat up straighter at the mention of a children’s home.

“For a few years everything was fine. But then funding got cut when we were about fourteen and nine, and the home started failing. They couldn’t keep good employees and everything was dirty. My sister and I, we-” she abruptly stopped, staring straight at the blossom on her pinky.

“When we were fifteen and ten, we were playing in the back of the home one day. We saw a few of the former employees pull up around the back where we were and they just had us. We trusted them. No one looked for us for three months. No one cared to. And the things we endured in the time between our capture to our rescue, it ended up killing my sister. She got an infection in one of the wounds on her leg. Two days later they finally found us, but it was too late for her. She died in my arms. When they got us, it had been almost a year to the day that we went missing.” Her hands started scratching at her own legs. Not scratching, picking. She was trying to pick at her skin through her jeans.

“Well that’s my sob story on why I became a detective. Sorry if I talk too much.” Her eyes adverted to the ground beside their table out of embarrassment. Loki didn’t know what to say after that. Having been through his own hardships, it was hard finding someone who understood why some people become the law. The law didn’t help either of them until it was too late; they kept themselves alive through hell. After having a moment of silence, Loki finally got his words back.

“I was at Huntington. The boys home.” She looked back up to now see David was staring at her, waiting for some sort of response.

“Huntington, huh? We were right next door at Doealair.” The two detectives started to chuckle, finding common ground in their childhoods.

“Here’s to messed up youth.” He raised his coffee cup in the air.

“To messed up youth.” She mirrored him and clinked their cups together.

From that night on, the two detectives became close. It was the closest thing that either one of them had to a friend in years. They would often get dinner together when time would allow, and they were the only one that the other would accept help from on cases. But it wasn’t enough that David thought he had a chance with her.

Sure, he looked out for the woman. He made sure that if she needed to take a break, he would usher her into a cell to sleep while he took on the paperwork. On a couple of occasions, he had driven her home because she was too tired to drive safely. David would ask for her opinions on cases when he was stuck, an implied ask for help was always there. He never voiced it aloud, but he cared for her more than he probably should. And it seemed that maybe she did too. She brought him food on long nights, and asked for his advice on cases. Generally, she held the same attitude towards the captain that he did: respect with a heaping cup of stay out of my investigation. She joined him in doing paperwork next to each other just so they would have a little bit of company. But it was still not enough to convince David that she was the culprit of the mysterious coffee.

Loki tossed and turned at night, always on edge. He never could get a full nights rest, which lent itself to the dark circles constantly around his eyes and his dependance on caffeine in the form of coffee. When he finally was able to pull himself out of bed, the drive to work took less time than normal. Which meant he was getting to work before he arrived, a full thirty minutes before he normally clocked in. Which meant, a full twenty minutes before she was suppose to be in. But when he got in, immediately, David was pulled into the captain’s office. For the entirety of his spare thirty minutes, he sat in there and listened to the man go on and on about the current case the detective was on. Nothing of importance was being said, just that he needed to wrap it up fast.

When Loki was finally released, it was time to get to work, which meant coffee. However, when he reached his desk, there was no coffee to be found. The man looked over at her desk, which had her stuff thrown haphazardly across, like she was in a rush. In any case, he made his way into the kitchen for his first of many cups of coffee, only to find a strange sight. There she was, making coffee. But another mug was next to her normal one; Loki’s normal mug was right next to hers. He watched from the threshold as she continued to make his coffee the same way he’d always drank it, no milk and two sugars. When she had nothing in her hands that could burn her, David spoke up.

“Is that my coffee?” He asked, startling the woman in front of him. She turned around fast and grasped her chest in fright. Several deep breaths were taken in, and she slowly recovered.

“Jesus David. Warn a girl next time.” Turning back to the coffees, she kept her eyes away from him. He stepped closer to her and leaned against the counter.

“Is that my coffee?” His question was repeated once more. Her gaze fell everywhere except his own eyes. She finished stirring the sugar into his coffee and dropped the stir stick in the garbage.

“Yes.” She quietly admitted as she slid the cup over to the man carefully. Loki accepted it and took a sip. Just how he liked his coffee. They stood there in silence, taking small sips from their coffee and not speaking about the obvious tension now in the room.

“Have you even leaving me coffees this whole time?” There it was. The question that demanded an answer. There was no way for her to lie; he caught her in the act of making his coffee. No one else in this department would know that the man liked a little sugar in his coffee. Everyone probably assumed he took it straight up. And now, she had to answer for her actions. Suddenly, her face felt hot. She was starting to think that this is what people felt like getting interrogated.

“Yes.” Another simple response.

“Why?” The question sounded simple, but they both knew that the answer was going to be anything but.

“Because, you deserve nice things. Even if it is just a cup of coffee now and then.” Her eyes still were looking away, having found her shoes to be the most interesting thing in the world at that moment. But they quickly became Loki’s shoes that she focused on as they stepped closer.

“Well, I’d like to return the favor. Maybe you’ll let me treat you to dinner tonight?” She shot up like a rocket at his words. Having expected him to deny her affections, this was certainly a turn for the better. She never thought she’d live to see the day that David Loki, tattooed, reclusive, badass detective, would look shy. But he did. He looked nervous to hear her response.

“Are you asking me out, Loki?” Her teasing words made the man crack a somewhat smile. They both knew what she wanted; a clear and direct proposal for a date.

“Maybe I am. Would you go out with me tonight?” He asked, this time a surge of confidence ran through him.

“A cup of coffee for a date? Seems like a fair trade. I’d like to go out with you tonight, David.” A full smile broke out across both of their faces, and they allowed themselves to bask in the moment before they inevitably had to get back to work. Going back to work was more difficult than before. Both detectives had to school their expressions as to not raise suspicions. And they had to be careful on how many times they glanced over at one another. But neither one could shake the butterflies from their stomach the entire day. Yeah, a cup of coffee a day might just bring someone tall, dark and handsome your way.

Going back to work was more difficult than before. Both detectives had to school their expressions as to not raise suspicions. And they had to be careful on how many times they glanced over at one another. But neither one could shake the butterflies from their stomach the entire day. Yeah, a cup of coffee a day might just bring someone tall, dark and handsome your way.

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