#Her injuries are so much more severe and the perpetrators were people they loved. It wasn't even about Billy this time.

[krikeymate]

In the “billy parents the girls” au, I wonder how Sam and Billy would react to Tara being attacked by ghostface? Like one overprotective and “slightly” unstable family member wasn’t enough.

Somebody knows.

That's his first thought. Maybe he should have known something would happen on the 20th anniversary. He never thought it would come back to him. After all, there was a 'Ghostface attack' just five years prior, and it was all about Sidney. Why wouldn't it continue to be all about Sidney? Billy's dead after all.

He should have moved out of Woodsboro. It's always been risky, staying. But this was his home, and by the time he'd given up entertaining the thought of revenge against Sidney, he'd put down roots. He'd thought about moving a few years ago, when the last attacks happened and the police started sniffing around for information, but the girls had friends here, and Sam's never quite treated him the same since she learnt the truth. She would never have agreed to leave.

So here he is, staring Deputy Judy Hicks right in the face, unrecognised. God these people must be stupid, to look him right in the eyes and still not see him. He manages to talk his way back into the house with a well-placed quip about the absence of their good Sheriff and a reminder that his 14-year-old daughter, her own son's friend, who was attacked, is going to need some comforts of home and her inhaler.

He pauses to take in the murder scene on the way. He memorises the pattern of blood soaked into the living room carpet, the outline of his little girl, the kitchen knife abandoned on the floor. His own knife. They used his own knife on his daughter. When he finds out who did this, he's going to make them pay.

He packs a bag, he packs Tara's essentials, a change of clothes for Sam and the teddy bear she denies sleeping with. He heads for his own room to get some things, and that's when he learns somebody really does know.

Because Billy is scrawled across his bedroom wall in red.

Red is all he sees.

#/mp #ask box #Billy Loomis #AU: the past in the present #the tags tag #I love making baby Tara be attacked. it's so tragic. #the urge to make Sidney Ghostface here is astronomical lmao #anyway what are the logistics of there being two Mr Carpenters in Woodsboro technically and both have been seen being a father to Sam? Idk. #Billy's like 'Christina had a type what can I say'. Her husband left because he discovered the truth and he got to step up. #God I have so many thoughts about where this could go now actually #Like say it WAS Sidney. Who couldn't take knowing Billy was out there still. After everything she just couldn't take it. #She was never going to kill the girl. She just wanted to injure her. Scare her. Get Billy's attention. #But the girl fought back with unexpected ferocity. Things got out of hand. Billy uncovers her in the end and finally gets his revenge. #Gale and Dewey are distraught. Gale investigates. She discovered the truth. Billy Loomis is alive. She reveals it to the world. #Billy finally gets arrested. Tara doesn't take the reveal well. #Sam is old enough to take custody of her sister. She does her best. It isn't good enough. They both spiral. #Just a few years later her sister gets attacked AGAIN. This time it's so much worse. #Her injuries are so much more severe and the perpetrators were people they loved. It wasn't even about Billy this time. #It was about some fucking movie. #Sam moves them to New York after that. But everyone knows who they are. The daughters of a serial killer. With a body count of their own. #There's just no escape.

[butch-reidentified]

https://www.tumblr.com/butch-reidentified/719996145360830465/butch-reidentified-vaspider

i'm trans and i have issues with several of these bullet points but honestly that first one is just true and i'm genuinely at a loss about what to do ab it bc for some reason the community has decided that since we're accused falsely by transphobes, any accusation whatsoever is inherently transphobic. like, i never see these people talk about what to do if you ARE assaulted by another transfem- it's SO fucking clear the answer is 'suck it up and be quiet' and i worry that having a demographic in the community that can unilaterally not be held accountable *is* going to start drawing in creeps if it hasn't already. but if i say that, i'll be excommunicated from a community i care about and have been a part of for most of my life. like, why is it safer to say this to a fucking radfem than to my own community?

I'm really genuinely sorry to hear this. The truth is, all else aside, I've found WAY more love, support, and acceptance among radfems (even when I disagree with the majority of them on something! that's actually allowed here!) as a sex-dysphoric, happily medically transitioned person than I EVER found when I was half-heartedly slapping a gender label on myself and participating 24/7 in irl + online trans spaces and online transactivism.

I always felt so uncomfortable in trans spaces with the fact that respecting the pronouns of r-pists and abusers was always the focus of conversation over making sure we actually held such people accountable, called them out, refused to make space for them, and looked out for their victims. Even with the trans woman who was a serial abuser who primarily, like 90%, targeted trans people as her victims, the response was that all 15 or so victims who spoke out were transmisogynistic/transphobic liars - even though about half were MTF themselves, and all but one or two were trans in some manner or other. And there were photographs from injuries some victims had sustained, and many screenshots of damning things the perpetrator had said. It became more and more clear to me that when trans women were accused of sexual assault, abuse, or similar behaviors, the community was more concerned about how this might make trans people look (optics) and about making sure everyone knew that even serial r-pists and partner beaters MUST be treated as their identified gender no matter what. The focus was never on intra-community accountability or caring for victims, whether those victims were trans themselves or not. It always upset me. Idk how I tolerated it for as long as I did.

NO ONE should have to live in fear of being ostracized from their community for speaking up about abuse and/or violence. That was one of the major red flags that started pushing me away despite still considering myself trans in a material, non-ideological sense. There were many others, some of which the following paragraph sort of hints at. But if I'm being 100000% real, I realized more and more how much I was lying to myself (and as a result, to others) after I started separating from trans spaces.

As for your last question, it's safer to say this in radfem spaces because: 1. Radfems are extremely anti-abuse, anti-sexual violence, etc. no matter what. We don't just recite mantras about believing victims - we take doing so in practice very seriously. 2. Radfems encourage dissent, critical thinking, civil discourse even within radical feminism. It's easy to feel safe because you aren't walking on eggshells, constantly watching every tiny word you speak/type, terrified that you'll phrase something slightly wrong just once and lose your entire social group and support system overnight.

I find it very easy to exist within my corner of radblr. I don't have to be afraid to ask questions or not understand something. I feel genuinely supported and given room to breathe and grow in every way, especially intellectually, which I now have the clarity to realize felt so thoroughly stifled in trans spaces. I don't feel restricted or constrained, I don't feel constantly anxious. I no longer have that unsettling deep-down awareness of being disconnected from the "normie" offline world, so to speak - and since leaving Oz and returning to the normal world, my irl relationships have healed and flourished. I've also been able to be a much better friend to my trans loved ones, because they have largely been excommunicated from the "trans community" for their own "thought crimes" as well. I'm not constantly checking myself for thought crimes, and as a result, I trust myself more and am more confident in my views, thought processes, and analyses.

Your community should damn well support you. Your community should take you seriously when you speak out about abuse. I wish I could say you were an exception or an outlier, but there's a reason I have SO many trans friends who want nothing to do with the "community." I really am sorry. I see that struggle and that isolation in many of my friends and neither they nor you deserve to feel that way.

#mine #ask #anon ask #anon

[tallmantall]

#JamesDonaldson On #MentalHealth – No One Knew I Struggled Until My #SuicideAttempt. What I Want #Parents To Know

Meghan Holohan This story discusses #suicide. If you or someone you know is at risk of #suicide please call the U.S. #NationalSuicidePreventionLifeline at 800-273-8255, text HOME to 741741 or go to  SpeakingOfSuicide.com/resources for additional resources. In June 2017, then 16-year-old Emma Benoit, a varsity cheerleader in Louisiana who described herself as a "picture-perfect American #girl," attempted #suicide. She survived but was left with serious injuries. Since then, Benoit has spoken about #teen #mentalhealth and #suicide and she is featured in the documentary film, “My Ascension.” Benoit shares her thoughts about #teens, #mentalhealth and #suicide with TODAY. I first remember experiencing #anxiety as early as grade #school. Then it became bigger and bigger. By high school, the #depression began. The two felt constant in my life for five to six years. I never said anything because I didn’t know what I was feeling. I had such little exposure to #mentalhealth that I didn’t even have the language to discuss what I was experiencing. No one ever addressed #mentalhealth with me until after it was too late. I also had this sense that sharing dark feelings came with a #stigma. So I kept quiet. This meant I felt isolated and alone. I thought there was just something wrong with me and I was the problem causing these feelings. But couldn’t do anything about it. I told myself that therapy was for people with more serious problems than mine. No one ever suspected that I struggled with my #mentalhealth. This lack of community and conversation about #mentalhealth factored into what caused me to attempt #suicide. But the pervasive feeling that caused me to try to end my life was overwhelming #hopelessness. I wanted my pain to end. (Editor's note: TODAY does not go into detail about methods used for suicides or #suicideattempts.) Almost immediately, I regretted what I had done. I knew I truly did not want to die. When I woke in the hospital, it was clear that I had many physical injuries. My journey involved a lot of physical recovery, and I first focused my energy on that. I was paralyzed from the neck down, which meant I was quadriplegic. I needed to relearn how to care for myself. I also experienced several blood clots in my brain that led to a series of strokes and cognitive issues. I needed to go to speech, occupational and physical therapy. I’ve regained about 80% of my abilities, but I do use a wheelchair at times. I can now walk and drive and experience some sensation in my limbs and torso. But the nerves in my left hand were severed, so I can’t use those fingers very well. While in the hospital I couldn’t remember what exactly happened — I believe my brain was trying to protect me from those tough memories. When I arrived home, everything rushed back. I felt like both a victim and the perpetrator at the same time. I had this challenging injury that required me to relearn much of how I did things. But I’m the one who inflicted it on me. After working on my physical health, I focused on my emotional strength. Receiving a diagnosis of #depression and #anxiety felt groundbreaking. I now had words to describe what I experienced. But it also made it feel more real. While that could feel scary, it also felt empowering because it felt like something I could work with. The therapists I met made it clear that I could successfully receive treatment and live with #mentalillness. It gave me hope and perspective that I had been lacking. Everyone was shocked that I was struggling. I hope by sharing my story I encourage #parents to talk about #mentalhealth with their #children. As I was recovering, so many people said, “Not Emma.” No one expected that I would attempt to die by #suicide. That’s one reason why it’s important to share my story: I want parents to recognize the warning signs in their #children. Looking back, the biggest signal that something was wrong was when I skipped a cheerleading tryout. After a lifetime of loving the sport, I simply stopped caring. I began hanging out with new friends that I otherwise wouldn’t have befriended. I became angered easily and often felt frustrated — both huge character shifts for me. It’s tough because sometimes people do experience frustration or make new friends, and it’s not always a cry for help. I do wish someone would have talked to me about my feelings so that I didn’t feel alone and struggle so much. #James Donaldson notes: Welcome to the “next chapter” of my life… being a voice and an advocate for #mentalhealthawarenessandsuicideprevention, especially pertaining to our younger generation of students and student-athletes. Getting men to speak up and reach out for help and assistance is one of my passions. Us men need to not suffer in silence or drown our sorrows in alcohol, hang out at bars and strip joints, or get involved with drug use. Having gone through a recent bout of #depression and #suicidalthoughts myself, I realize now, that I can make a huge difference in the lives of so many by sharing my story, and by sharing various resources I come across as I work in this space.  #http://bit.ly/JamesMentalHealthArticle Order your copy of James Donaldson's latest book, #CelebratingYourGiftofLife: From The Verge of Suicide to a Life of Purpose and Joy http://www.celebratingyourgiftoflife.com When I was first in the hospital, I focused on my physical recovery, but when I started talk therapy it was like learning a new language to address my feelings. I encourage #parents to err on the side of caution. If their #teen starts acting differently or suddenly becomes uninterested in something they once loved, ask them about it. It might be nothing. But if it’s something, that conversation could be the start of a dialogue that could lead to them getting help that they need. I hope that #parents start bringing up #mentalhealth and make sure their #children know that if they face difficulties, they can talk to their #parents. I didn’t know that #mentalhealth was something I could discuss. I am on a mission to share my story by taking my documentary to communities and anyone who will listen, to help them open up their own conversations about #mentalhealth. I hope it encourages other people who are struggling to be vulnerable with a loved one. I want them to understand they are not alone and there is help — and that you can overcome your #mentalhealthchallenges and thrive. This interview has been edited and condensed. Read the full article

[gothicprep]

Meditations on True Crime: A Very Long Post

In around February of this year, I was researching a potential video related to how true crime media portrays websleuths, contrasted against their efficacy in each specific case. The introduction was a brief primer on the genre’s evolution, beginning with its general association with low-budget LifeTime films, to a hobby with more dignity than that. I remember finding an article talking about Serial, and there was some commentary in there from another large true crime podcast host.

I didn’t think it was particularly useful for my purposes, but it said something to the effect of “true crime as a hobby can help women reconcile the trauma related to being in a world that is so hostile to us.” I rolled my eyes at it. It seemed dishonestly saccharine, like it was giving a sort of post-hoc legitimacy to just enjoying whodunnits. I didn’t think about it again for around seven months after I’d read it.

One of the subjects that I intended to talk about was Elisa Lam’s death and the online reaction to it. The story was adapted into a Netflix series a few months prior, and I was freshly reminded of how poorly it all sat with me. If you aren’t familiar with her name, she disappeared in Los Angeles’s Cecil Hotel in 2013, and her disappearance went viral after the respective police department release footage of her behaving strangely in an elevator. The case attained quick viral status and extensive discussion, due to the nature of the video and the hotel’s morbid history. When her naked body was discovered in a rooftop water tank a few weeks later, speculation exploded. But an autopsy isn’t an immediate followup, and the online sleuths would lose themselves to their imaginations in the time between. Many people wanted the murder solved, but many let their speculation fly off the rails. Shady hotel coverups. Metal musician murderers. Fear of the homeless. Ghosts. Demons. Government tuberculosis research. The gang was all there.

If you weren’t active online back then, it’s difficult to properly convey how huge this all was. Everyone was expecting Elisa to have been murdered. Iron-clad. Beyond the shadow of a doubt. She wasn’t. Her death was ruled an accident. She had a severe case of bipolar disorder and she wasn’t taking her medication. The severity of her illness was also not previously disclosed to the public. The working theory is that she experienced a manic episode with psychotic features, climbed in the tank in this state, to eventually strip out of her clothes in late stage hypothermia and drown there. It’s a horrific and painful way to die. All that’s left of you is water contamination – insult to fatal injury.

People weren’t happy with this, but not out of any sympathy for Elisa. There was palpable rage from many who had been following the case. No, she was definitely murdered. No, her killer needs to be brought to justice. No, this isn’t the real story. I don’t like it. I’m not satisfied. There needs to be an ending better than this.

Tragedy isn’t exactly in the habit of being kind to us.

When news of Gabby Petito’s disappearance was spreading, I noticed a lot of similarities between hers and Elisa’s. A woman in her early 20s vanishes while traveling, under very unusual circumstances. Footage was released during both investigations, which portrayed these women in mentally vulnerable states. The story was viral online. People rifled through Gabby’s instagram in the same way they did with Elisa’s tumblr. Social media detectives established an inappropriate amount of investment. Everyone is sure of a specific outcome. The family deserves answers.

Let’s talk about answers for a second. I’d like you to spitball a comprehensive explanation for this one: how could something like this happen? I’m not looking for a “how” in terms of events or circumstances. In this case, this isn’t a question. It’s a protest of the unfairness of it all. My daughter. My sister. My friend. Someone who meant so much to me. It’s a prayer to a vacant sky. It’s not a question, it’s agony. Nothing shy of resurrection can feel like justice. Even if the case leads to a criminal trial and conviction, it does nothing to fill the void loss burns within us. There is no good answer, because there aren’t answers at all.

Let’s talk about ourselves for a second. I noticed many people draw parallels between what they’d seen on the bodycam footage and their own experience with abusive partners. “This could have been me.” Do you really think this is appropriate? Could have been, would have been – these are statements with hypothetical validity. It has nothing to do with you. To emotionally identify with someone does not evidence anything. You’re here. She’s gone. This isn’t about you. She isn’t in the position where she can co-sign anything you say. If she can’t speak for herself, don’t invoke her.

Let’s talk about true crime for a second. It’s funny how true crime marketed to men has a distinctly different texture than true crime marketed to women. The former seems to involve knocking the perpetrator down a peg. It portrays them as something worth our disgust and ridicule. The latter tends to foster emotional identification with the victim. Podcasts and other media in this category tend to be by women, for women, and generally discuss women. This story is presented as catharsis for women who see themselves as similar to them. This woman is no longer a person, but an idea. And it makes me think of that stupid article quote that I resent myself for not having bookmarked. This is reconciliation. These women, in their passing, can be a motivating factor for us to break up with that one dumbass guy. I’m so happy this was a wakeup call. I’m so happy that this made me think about my own experiences. I’m so happy that this did so much for me. Sure, someone actually died, but what is that when compared to my own self-actualization?

I made a comment on Twitter about how disgusted I was with how people spoke of Gabby in such an evasively self-interested way, and someone who likely was of no relation to her interjected with how the family deserved the truth. Truth? What truth? What peace will grisly details give them? Is there any meaningful difference between knowing your loved one died of murder or collapsed from exposure? Or are you just a nosey person who’s projected an inappropriate emotional dog in this fight? Do you want answers for her family, or for your own curiosity?

I really don’t trust shit like that, nor am I willing to give leniency to people who say such things. I think we’ve been conditioned to relate to dead women in a way that’s completely separate from who they actually were. Alive, they’re deep, multifaceted individuals, with an array of likes, dislikes, quirks, and endless little details. Dead, they’re a concept to serve a purpose. The purpose is generally a form of narrative catharsis. The creep gets thrown in prison. A woman’s abusive partner gets the comeuppance he deserves. The story needs a good ending. The story needs an ending that satisfies me. People aren’t stories. Life is not a novel.

The real trauma of others will never belong to you. This not your therapy tool or plaything. This is real pain that will never be theoretical for plenty of people. Know your place. Keep your distance. Don’t objectify the dead.

#you know i'm going for the jugular if i bother to punctuate my posts #also do take my warning: it is long

[summerofpinecestcontest]

My Pinecest

by angelilith

The right words," was the last thing he had said to her.

"You don't measure your words, you don't use the right words and even less to express what you feel."

But what precisely was it that he felt? If he dug deep inside his mind he felt the sweat on his hands the moment he opened the locker, his heart racing and in the end he just dropped his head inside it to lose himself in his garbage.

The days had been long, especially amidst the questions of all the curious as to why the surprise breakup with her boyfriend Demian had not been so formal but after a couple of months things were shaky between them. Or according to him, between herself.

Mabel was drowning between the corridors thinking if someone perhaps, could also think the same as he did. Although they had made an agreement that they would say it was a mutual decision, she knew it wasn't, that Demian had his reasons, his good reasons for ending it all, as much as he loved her, and that she claimed to feel the same way. To him, it was a lie.

She never measured her words, much less her feelings.

Worst of all is when that anguish could not even appear at home, from being seen between curious eyes, to that of his parents or his brother who also wondered the same thing. She could go through stray bullets of uninteresting questions and issues, in teenage matters as her mom excused, but with Dipper things were different.

Where were her feelings? She wondered over and over again in the wee hours of the morning, tossing and turning in her bed, seeing if it was right to send a message to Demian, if talking to him again would help. Who else but she could help her in those wee hours of the morning? Where it seems like everyone is asleep, and she is the only stranger who is invaded by so many crazy ideas, and none of them seem to be right.

At that moment a soft knock on her door brought her out of it all, setting her phone aside, she shuffled her feet, finding her twin on the other side, full of worry.

- Are you all right? - He asked the moment he saw her

- Y- Yes... Why do you ask? I thought you were sleeping, by the time it's .....

- I can hear between the walls the noise that you make....

She lowered her head apologetically and wished him good night, trying to close the door, wanting to end that conversation quickly.

- Wait! - Quickly Dipper stopped the door - I couldn't sleep either, what happened at school?

- What do you mean? It's all good...

- I mean with Demian....

That question she had dodged it many times, more coming from her brother, where no matter what she would say, he would quickly realize that she would lie, and the truth at that moment even she didn't have it, because her now ex-boyfriend had only left her more doubts than something for granted, she didn't hate him or anything. But it wasn't right either.

- Only term...

- Just a term? That's all?

- Dip... I'm really tired, I really want to sleep...

- It didn't seem like a few minutes ago...! - His brother's voice grew louder with every word he uttered.

Dipper hated it when Mabel avoided him like that, when she wasn't honest with him, and even more so when something affected him and he couldn't help her, and this was one of those situations.

- Just go to sleep

- Answer me! Why don't you want to be honest with me?

- What do you care about this?

- You are not well, I have been feeling it for days and I want to help you!

- You help me by leaving me alone!

It was the last thing he said before Dipper gave up his arm and the door slammed shut.

Silence took over everything after that. Between Mabel's insomnia, and until the next day, during breakfast, class hours, lunch alone and now, just missing one more class before leaving.

She really wanted to just lie there in her locker without caring about the stares of others or the murmurs she could hear. She just wanted to survive a few more minutes and then get out of there.

She raised her head again, fixed her hair and looked for some books waiting to hear the bell.

No sooner had she closed her locker to stride forward to her classroom than footsteps stopped behind her.

- Mabel...

- Yes?

He turned to see his brother, it seemed that the last time he had seen him was last night in the midst of those screams, for he barely noticed his presence at breakfast.

- Sorry about yesterday...

- I should be the one to apologize, I didn't have to yell at you like that.

- No, I was meddling in your business....

Dipper's gaze was glued to the floor, he scratched his head nervously.

- Calm down silly, it's all right - I said while tapping him on his shoulder

- I know, I just think we need some time away from all this.

- Time out?

- Well, movie night, remember? We used to do it all the time. And I thought in a "peace accord" and before exams, some quiet would be great....

He slurred every word, sounded somewhat tense and avoided looking at her.

- Great, count me in

- Well... Well...

- I'll see you on the way out bro, we'll look for tons of junk food.

Mabel was whispering in his ear as the bell rang and they both headed to class.

On the way out, Mabel was looking for her things and leaving when she received a message from her brother, he would be a little late, he needed a book from the library for the weekend.

She went out to the parking lot looking for that gray car, a gift from her last birthday, but that lately Dipper ended up driving alone because she was going with Demian or taking the bus, like the last few days.

I needed to be alone at that moment.

I looked everywhere, seeing those who arrived and left quickly, or those who organized parties surrounded by several groups.

She didn't expect to see her ex before her brother, who approached her sweetly helping her, as her vehicle alarm went off.

Before he could hear her voice, a hail of gunshots rang out in the air, followed by screams, causing many to run everywhere, others to jump into their cars and speed off.

Mabel began to search through the crowd for her brother, calling out to him, but there was no answer. Demian grabbed Mabel pulling her away, but she insisted on staying.

The gunfire grew louder, and whoever was the perpetrator seemed to be approaching where they were.

- Let's go..! - Demian insisted

- No, I can't, Dipper was on his way, he might cross paths with him to look for me....

Demian was heard to grumble grumbling, it was nothing new to her.

Mabel struggled with the boy trying to get him to let her go in his "foolish" attempt to save her, but without any success, she had to give in.

Then we have to hide...

They both stood under the car, where they could only make out the feet of people coming and going.

Quickly the running came again, followed by more screams, and more gunshots. The shooter was right above them standing in front of the car. The tip of the rifle could be seen at his feet.

All Mabel could think about was where her brother was, Demian had pulled her so quickly that her backpack had been left on the hood of the car.

That person seemed to have chosen his point guard, he turned on himself over and over again while raising his weapon. The minutes just below their feet became eternal for both of them, Mabel's breath hitched not knowing what to expect and she could only console herself by holding the hand of the man who had been her boyfriend.

At that moment the sirens were heard, there were several patrol cars approaching, that guy looked nervous, but he raised his rifle again and charged it.

Letting hear a dry gunshot plummeting in front of both young men.

She let out a scream and Demian pressed her against him, waiting for someone to get them out of there.

Dipper took longer than he thought to get a damn book out for his report, no matter how advanced the internet was, many professors still liked to screw around with mandatory library bibliography for their papers.

He looked at his phone in search of a response from Mabel, but there was none, she was probably upset, leaning on the edge of the car with her arms crossed and a somewhat mocking look on her face.

As soon as he got it sealed so he could take it with him, he hurried his pace, but before he reached the door he saw many people running in shouting to close the doors.

"They're shooting outside!"

He was in disbelief when he tried to run out to look for his sister, but they stopped him by slamming the door in his face.

- The police are on their way, we must keep the students safe.

- Many were left out! - shouted Dipper

- If the armed subject enters here it could be much worse.

Some teachers separated the kids and led them in groups to the gymnasium, some nervously crying as they flagged down their parents to pick them up. Others were checking social media to see if there were any intrepid kids recording them live outside. Dipper, on the other hand, looked again and again at the exit door.

Although at first he had been positive to find his sister in the incoming crowd, he was discouraged at first, then dialed her several times in a ringing tone that exasperated him even more.

He didn't want to jump to conclusions, he was afraid to jump to conclusions that his worst fears would become real. He dialed again and again hoping to hear her voice, until the sirens stopped to the relief of many who were there.

Most parents and relatives had approached the school seeking the safety of the teenagers, or perhaps to make sure that their children were not among the number of children with serious injuries or deaths.

Dipper could hear as they said "there are five teenagers dead and over eight injured" those words had caused his whole body to shake and the insistence on the phone to return.

But only for a few minutes, when his mother's voice brought him out of his trance.

He stood up and hugged her tightly, for the look on her face reflected how frightened and worried she was. She would get him out of there, she would take him to Mabel.

At the front door, again, everything was surrounded by police, ambulances and yellow ribbons lining the street. Dipper ignored his mother, detouring his way to the parking lot. It wasn't too hard to miss Mabel's backpack on top of his gray car, as well as the fresh bloodstain on the ground right next to him.

He turned his eyes to his mother, waiting for answers, he knew she knew where his sister was.

- Come on Dipper - She repeated, grabbing him by the shoulders and pulling him towards her car.

He simply grabbed his backpack until he climbed into the vehicle, pulling his phone from inside with the thousands of calls on it.

- Where is Mabel?

- At home, she is fine

- Wounded? This wound?

- No

- Are you lying to me?

- Calm down, it's okay. Your father looked for her at the hospital...

- Hospital...

Something wasn't focusing on her mother's words, nothing gave her the security she felt, let alone peace of mind.

It took forever to get home, after passing a long line of cars on the way to school, cameras and other people who were just trespassing.

As soon as the woman parked, Dipper bolted out of the vehicle and ran to her house, turning the door handle down again and again, realizing it was locked. With the lights on inside.

Hearing the turn of the key, she saw her father on the other side, his eyes looked tired, he was still wearing the shirt he had put on in the morning, although she knew that he usually came home later, it was more than clear that he had gone out for "an emergency".

- You can calm down and be quiet," his father chirped.

Dipper took a big breath of air before stepping over the threshold of his home, seeing the living room surrounded by several pillows and blankets leaving him to notice his sister asleep on the edge of one of the couches.

Before he could run over her, he felt a gentle tug, from his father stopping his stride.

- Let her rest. She had a nervous breakdown, they took her to the hospital because they couldn't calm her down. And from there the school called me... She's still sedated...

- It's my fault," said Dipper, gritting his teeth. - If I had come out earlier...

- Don't say that son - She interrupted him - They are both fine and we are grateful for that...

- Well? - His eyes were beginning to water, for a few minutes before he had only tragedy in his head.

When the guy collapsed on the floor Mabel was sure she could see his eyes wide open along with the shot mark on a fully opened head.

Demian pressed her against his chest trying to avert his gaze as he crawled backwards trying to get out from under that vehicle.

- Don't worry, it's all over - I kept telling her over and over again.

She returned his embrace, wiping away her tears for the moment with the cuff of her sweater.

Police were approaching where the shooter's body was already lying, and others were approaching them.

- Are you all right? Ambulances are on the way

- We are both fine," said Demian, raising his hands in peace.

Mabel turned away from him looking around again and again.

- Dipper... Demian, I need to know where my brother is.

A policeman stopped her

- It is better that they stay where they are until some authority comes, there are several boys injured, and others dead. The best way to facilitate this is to stay out of our work.

- My brother was coming here before this started, he could be hurt...he could be....

- Mabel, they shot your brother! - shouted one of her companions who was being carried by a paramedic.

- No- no-no-no

She let go again trying to run, this time it was Demian who was pulling her to the ground to keep her still.

- You heard the officers, you may hinder their work if you interfere.

- What if he is injured?

- Look around Mabel, there are ambulances and others that will be arriving to help.

- And if this -

Demian just looked away, not knowing what to say...

- I have to see it for myself

- And what will that accomplish? You were going to risk your life just to look for Dipper, he can take care of himself too. He can take care of himself too. Can you?

She looked up at him, her lips trembling along with her whole body.

- I need to know where it is

Demian refused to let go of her no matter how hard she struggled, kicking or screaming. Even he couldn't recognize her under those situations.

She managed to attract the attention of the medical staff by forcibly assisting her.

After a few hours her father appeared at the hospital, taking her home, assuring her that everything was fine, that her brother would be home any minute. And although he repeated the same thing a thousand times, Mabel burst into tears, not believing anything as she hesitated, words without understanding, her face covered in tears.

For eternal minutes we both lay on the couch looking for something other than the news replaying the tragedy.

And before he could notice she was falling asleep surrounded by pillows and blankets.

Perhaps, when he wakes up he would be better off.

- It was just a scare - repeated the man, his son, giving a little peace of mind.

- Go take a shower, Dipper, and come on down. We'll wait for you here

Dipper looked at his parents and then at his sister who was sound asleep.

- She may not wake up until tomorrow, she'll be fine.

He climbed up at a slow pace while he thought about every action before that "accident" and reviewed everything in reverse, until he reached the moment of the fight.

He watched the half-open door to her room, before entering the bathroom and losing himself in the shower for a few minutes.

If I had done something different... Maybe things would be different. But in a good way?

Once downstairs, everything seemed to have calmed down.

Still, no amount of talk, no amount of questions could undo the knot she felt in her chest. Both parents' attempts were in vain.

After a few hours her father tried to carry Mabel upstairs, and she began to whimper, moving around and getting rid of him no matter what he said. Falling back onto the couch. covering herself under the blankets.

- And so it has been since he arrived," sighed the man.

- Can I - Can we stay here?

Asked Dipper stumbling over the words.

- Are you sure?

- You said it, we're fine...

Soon the lights went out and he lay on the sofa bed next to his sister.

He wasn't tired, but he wanted to give his parents some peace of mind, until they went to their room.

He waited a few minutes before crawling right to where Mabel stood whispering her name over and over again.

Suddenly hands came out from under the blanket colliding with her face, giving her small, slow caresses that made her heart race.

All a breath of air before discovering her removing the blanket and seeing a face drenched in tears, as she whimpered almost silently so no one would hear

- Hey, what's going on?

He moved closer to her who jumped up grabbing him by the collar, pulling him onto the couch beside her.

Dipper returned the embrace listening as she continued to cry.

- All is well. You are fine.

- You're here - She stammered

- I don't want to be anywhere else

- But someone said you were hurt...

- No- No, I'm fine look at me

Mabel forced a smile, unable to hold in all the pain, as she pressed herself closer to her brother's chest. Listening to his racing heart and how his arms pressed her tighter against him.

They were silent for a long time, no one dared to say anything. Their planned night was left in absolute darkness.

- Are you asleep?

- Demian told me the same thing again, the same words of the breakup....

- Were you with him?

- It was just a coincidence, the shooting started the second he crossed my path.

Mabel slurred every word. She was lying on top of her brother watching a muted television while he slowly played with her hair.

- He wanted to get away from it all, he dragged me along trying to get us to escape... but I couldn't abandon you.

- I was inside the school... it took longer than I thought in the library, I'm sorry...

- I wasn't going to abandon you, Dipper...And that bothers him.

- Wait... They broke up because of me? What?

- No, no... that's not it....

- What did Demian tell you?

- Your safety and your well being really matter a lot to me Dipper, I don't know what I would do if something happened to you.

- What did Demian tell you, Mabel?

- If only you could feel half the love you have for your brother with me... No matter what you tell me, no matter what you deny me, you don't measure your words Mabel and much less your feelings... And we ended up with

Dipper felt some of the air escaping from his lungs, his hands trembling.

- What are you talking about?

- In the hallways some spit a "weird" Demian is not bad, but....

- Are you wrong?

- I don't know, what do you think?

- That I didn't deserve you

He let out a slight chuckle causing his sister to stand up to face him a little surprised.

- What do you feel, Mabel?

- I don't know...

- Well, do you want to know how I feel? A few hours before I was so afraid that something was going to happen to you, I yelled to my mom hoping they would tell me about you. I had seen blood near the car and just thought the worst. You are my best friend in the whole world. And when I saw you okay, it was like being able to breathe calm again, I don't care what anyone else says, what Demian says. Wrong or not I care about you too much too, I would die if anything happens to you. I love you too much that many times I just hope to come home and see you. I just want to see you well, and I want you to be happy with someone, anyone, who can understand you with all you are....

Before he could speak any further he felt Mabel's lips on his, and before she could pull away he moved in closer deepening the kiss, letting his tongue enter his sister's mouth, feeling her breathing begin to quicken.

As soon as they parted they looked at each other somewhat surprised, but he was holding her hand and she was holding his face.

- Today you are all I need. You're all I want

The pieces fit together of how Mabel avoided him at times, how he really felt weird in the face of indifference, but they couldn't, no matter how much they wanted to, be apart for long.

And that early morning, both of them piled up on the couch proved it.

How their hands searched for each other at the same time as those longed-for embraces, and little kisses between dreams.

In the morning everything was totally silent. Her parents had gone out earlier.

Dipper was slowly opening his eyes, his whole body ached from how uncomfortable the two-person couch was, but Mabel didn't even seem to notice.

As soon as he tried to free himself, she woke up.

Her half-open eyes and a somewhat blank stare resembled his.

As good as everything had turned out, the last few hours left him with a raw hangover of honesty and reality.

Although at times they preferred to ignore it all by tidying up the mess in the living room. Facing each other at the breakfast table, it was hard to pretend there was nothing there.

He was the first to react by taking her hand to get her attention.

- Last night...

- It's okay... I think it was an impulse, we were nervous about what happened.

- What did you tell me about Demian?

- Just forget it Dipper

What else could be done? They couldn't just stop being siblings overnight, or start a relationship easily.

They tied a noose around their hands struggling with their feelings and doing the right thing. Fears arose at the mere thought that if they assumed their impulses the rest was uncertain and unsafe.

Would they take the risk and could their parents tolerate it?

They both looked on, their tired eyes forming. Maybe this way, without words, without actions they could understand that they should finish something that had never started.

For the best towards each other.

Mabel picked up his plate and went up to his room, and he only listened to the footsteps until his door closed, before holding his head in both hands, resigned, tormented with so many feelings that he couldn't even digest one.

He loved her so much, so much not to drag her down with him.

The whole scare to death just made everything I was feeling worse.

He understands that he was not losing her, they would simply take the distance that needed to be taken, she would never leave his side, would she?

He walked to his room, he would just let the hours pass, let time settle everything. For all he had in his head were bad choices.

But before she buried herself in her only shelter the door next door slowly opened revealing her sister.

- Aren't you going to tell me anything anymore?

Her words were full of fear, her crystalline eyes stared at him without wanting to turn a millimeter away.

- What do you want me to say?

- The first thing on your mind

- I love you

#Pinecest #summer of pinecest contest #Gravity falls #gravity falls fanficfion #gravity falls fanfic

[petri808]

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32 | 33-Epilogue

Neither Lucy nor Natsu sat through the closing arguments, but according to Gajeel the defense stood firmly on their case for insanity. Touka’s attorney argued that his client suffered from a disorder that should put her in a hospital for treatment, not a jail cell, and not only that, but the so-called victims in the case drove her to do what she did. It was a very risky move to blame the victims. Of course, the prosecution countered that not only did Touka not suffer from any condition but that this was a simple case of jealousy gone wrong. Natsu and Lucy were innocent victims of a selfish woman who tried to kill them. Period, and for that she should go to prison for the maximum sentence allowed.

The prosecutor implored to the jurors heartstrings. “You saw the effects that Ms. Shiromajyo caused to her victims. The tears shed on the stand and the genuine fear in Ms. Heartfilia’s testimony as she recounted the events in question. Ladies and gentlemen, this young woman stared death in the face and watched her boyfriend almost get killed by the defendant. They had to fight to survive! Ms. Heartfilia and Mr. Dragneel have experienced something that no one should ever go through.” He gestured at the timeline board facing them. “Ms. Shiromajyo stalked multiple people over the course of several years to reach her goal, intimidating people that really had nothing to do with her. Ms. Shiromajyo paid a person to kill Ms. Strauss, threatening and intimidating her. And most of all, ultimately took this whole situation into her own hands when all of her efforts didn’t work out. She is a danger to society. I urge you, the jury to give her victims the peace of mind that she’ll be off the streets in a cell getting the treatment that she needs, and the punishment she deserves.”

It was a nerve wracking time for the victims as they waited outside of the court room for the jury to deliberate. Lucy and Natsu stayed in a side room with the prosecutor along with their closest friends and family there to support them. The prosecutor assured them that they’d done their best and the odds were in their favor. But of course, it only took one hold out to cause a mistrial, and Lucy didn’t know if she could go through this again. She was already unhappy that even if convicted, Japan’s sentencing structures were not as stringent as other countries.

The jury deliberated for four hours before reaching a verdict pronouncing Touka guilty of all charges. Upon hearing the guilty decision, Lucy and Natsu slipped back into the court room to hear the final disposition.

“Rise Ms. Shiromajyo.” The judge then read the decision to the standing defendant. “You have been found guilty by this court of two counts of attempted murder that caused injury. One count of kidnapping for profit. And three counts of intimidation. Do you have any last statement to make to the court before I render sentencing?”

Touka hung her head as if resigned to her fate. “Yes...” Surprisingly, to all those in the courtroom, she apologized for her actions. “I see now how much pain I caused to everyone because I couldn’t control myself and I hope one day they’ll forgive me for it.”

But her words of contrition were too little, too late. The judge sentenced Touka to the maximum of the highest offense, which was 15 years with work, but instead of the work condition, imposed a special circumstance that Touka be ordered to undergo mandatory psychological treatment while in custody and to adhere to any treatments and medications prescribed for her own good.

“Ms. Shiromajyo,” the judge spoke directly to the woman. “You’ve apologized at the end, but I hope you truly feel that way. Based on all of the evidence presented in court, your actions were clearly towards a one-sided love affair with a man who wanted nothing to do with you, and for that you tried to punish an innocent woman who got in your way. I do not believe, and the jury agreed, that you do not suffer from a legal defense of mental defect, however you should spend the time in prison to get your mind right again, so that when you re-enter society in the future, you’ll no longer suffer from whatever emotional problems brought you here in the first place. You are very lucky that I cannot under the law sentence you to concurrent sentences for every single charge. Bailiff, take custody of the prisoner. This case is adjourned.”

As the final gavel bang echoed in the court room, Natsu and Lucy who’d made it in time to hear it all, broke down in tears and elation as the court room erupted in cheers around them. A rarity for the poised population. This case was certainly anything but common for Japan, especially because the perpetrator was a woman and journalists had kept the public up to date with its progress. A lot of people were affected by this case personally, but the fear of what Touka had done rang cold for onlookers too. For the public, the idea that someone you may know could harbor ill will and do something this heinous was a scary proposition.

While the case was now over, Lucy knew her own struggles with anxiety were not, despite the tiny relief she’d felt in hearing the words guilty. She’d made it through the trial by sheer determination, but the experience had set her back in her progress. Reliving all the worst events and being grilled by the defense had re-traumatized her. Not all the way regressed, but the nightmares were back anew, starting immediately after her recall testimony.

It wasn’t just the old memories that haunted Lucy, but a new, troubling thought brought out during that testimony. When the defense attorney tried to make her think she was just as bad as Touka, there was a point when she thought... was it true? And the more she pondered, the worst the correlation became despite her loved ones conviction that she was nothing like the woman. Because... why not? If Touka’s deluded mind really believed she was protecting what was hers, well isn’t that the same logic Lucy used to defend herself and Natsu? Then there was the rage she’d felt. Was the attorney, right? If Natsu hadn’t stopped her from beating the woman, would she have killed Touka? Did that mean she had a killer instinct too?

All the publicity surrounding the trial didn’t help one bit. Just trying to get out of the court room after the verdict had been a complete circus of cameras flashing and microphones being shoved in the couples faces wanting their opinions of the verdict. Oh, how Lucy wanted to scream in their faces! How do they think they’d feel?! Yes, it felt great to be vindicated, but 15 years for almost killing them? Where were their assurances that when Touka was released, she wouldn’t pick right back up where she’d left off and hunt them down?

All these irrational thoughts fueling the new regression were different from before. Lucy didn’t feel as anxious. She was a little depressed, but now she was also— angry.

When she arrived at her therapy session without Natsu, Lucy sat on the couch facing the woman with her arms crossed. The therapist was quick to note the way in which she was holding her poise because it wasn’t a comforting arm cross, but a firm one. The muscles in her forearms were tense along with the tight lipped and brows furrowed expression gracing Lucy’s face.

“Well, this is certainly new,” the woman put her notebook down as she spoke. “Something has changed, shall we talk about it?”

Lucy’s hands clenched firmly as her eyes look away slightly. “I had a small argument with Natsu this morning.”

“I get the impression it wasn’t small.”

“Okay! It was a big fight! Happy?!” Lucy’s arms unfurled and gesticulated. “I don’t even know why it got out of hand, but it did.”

“Tell me what happened and let’s figure it out together.”

“Tch,” Lucy crossed her arms again and looked away. “I woke up from a nightmare. He started comforting me like he al—ways does, and I told him to stop. But he didn’t.”

“Why’d you tell him to stop?”

“I don’t know... I was just, irritated.”

“With him?”

“Yes... No— both, I don’t fucking know! Just pissed off, okay?! I was just angry and didn’t wanna be bothered!”

“I see... and how did Natsu react?”

“He, well, um,” Lucy’s shoulders dropped a bit. “He just said okay, I’ll give you space if you want it and left the bedroom. And we haven’t spoken since then.”

“It sounds like Natsu respected your wishes to back off. But why is that making you so angry?”

The therapists question brought instant tears pooling in Lucy’s eyes. She knew why, but she didn’t know why, and holding it in was tearing her apart. But she also didn’t know how to articulate all of the random thoughts plaguing her in a way that made sense. So, at that moment she just broke. Through fitful sobs the cacophony of broken, fragmented thoughts spewed out in no logical manner. Lucy just spoke every word and sentence that came to mind as the therapist sat quietly listening.

This was her first session since the trial had ended, so all of the wounds were painfully fresh. Shouldn’t she be happy it was over? They were free for now and it was time to move forward but all she could think about were the things the attorney had said. And that made her angry with herself. Lucy’s always thought she was so much stronger, yet this experience or rather the effects left her feeling lost and broken, and weak. Even more infuriating for her, she knew these thoughts were completely irrational! It’s one thing to not understand, it’s another to know how stupid it sounded and not be able to fight back against it. Weak. That’s what it made her feel. Stupid and weak for losing herself. They may have won against Touka, but Touka had taken something away and Lucy feared she’d lost it forever.

Who she was.

The therapist moved over to the couch and hugged tightly to a sobbing Lucy, stroking her hair and cradling her head. Comforting in silence allowed the blonde to just cry, as hard as she needed to and release everything that had been held inside where it shouldn’t stay. When the tears slowed, and Lucy’s breathing had the normalized, the therapist spoke softly.

“You’re not broken, Lucy, and you’re not dumb. You’re rightfully in pain after everything you’ve experienced, and that’s okay too.”

“How is that okay?” Lucy sniffled. “It shouldn’t be okay!”

“It’s not fair what you had to endure but being upset and feeling pain because of it means you’re human. Even the anger is a good feeling right now.”

Lucy snorts an annoyed laugh at such a ridiculous sounding statement. Anger being, okay?!

“There are positives we can take from this.”

Again, Lucy huffs. “Yeah, right. That makes a lot of sense.”

The therapist pulls back and settles into a more professional pose to continue. “Your anger means you care. Think about it, if you didn’t care, you wouldn’t get angry, right?”

“I guess...”

“In all these months, this is the first time I am seeing a deep passion coming from you. Lucy you aren’t really lost, and this anger are those feelings screaming ‘I’m still here!’ You can use that same energy to push forward.”

“But what about Natsu?” Lucy’s eyes cloud up. “I think I really made him mad a-and I don’t want to lose him.”

“Did he come with you today?”

“Yeah, he’s in the waiting room.” Lucy mumbled through a frown. “But I think he just came cause he felt obligated.”

The therapists eyes softened along with her tone. “I have a feeling that’s not the case. He might feel hurt and confused right now, but I’m sure he still loves you deeply. Maybe we should bring him in here and talk things over? That way I can help you through it.”

Lucy paused for a moment before nodding weakly. “I’d like that.”

The therapist brought Natsu into the room and as soon as he saw the puffy red eyes and Lucy’s disheveled appearance immediately stumbled over and hugged onto her with tears of his own flowing down, apologizing over and over for upsetting her that morning.

Although Lucy stiffened up at first when he’d hugged her in fear of what he might say, his words instead stunned her. All along she’d felt the fight was her fault, not his. She’d been the bitch to him and now his pain brought her tears back along with a loss of her anger. “It’s not your fault,” she hugged him back. “I was angry with myself and took it out on you. That wasn’t fair.”

“But I shouldn’t have walked away like I did.”

“No,” Lucy exhaled, “you did the right thing. I... I needed something to wake me up.”

Natsu pulled back in confusion. “What do you mean?”

Lucy smiled weakly. “Coming here mad, I couldn’t hide it so she made me talk about it. Now I see how that needed that to happen and I feel a lot better because of it. I was just worried you’d hate me for the way I acted.”

“I could never hate you,” Natsu smiled and cupped Lucy’s cheeks. “I told you, you’re stuck with me.”

By that point, the therapist had gone back to her own chair and with the session almost over for that day, addressed the couple together. “Lucy right now I think you are at a very good point in your progress. Your anxiety had gotten better, the depression is still there, but it’s not as debilitating as it was before, so now it’s time to take the next step in the healing process. You’d mentioned wanting going back to school and the next semester starts in a month. Perhaps it’s time to consider going back?”

“I-I don’t know if I could handle full time...”

“Maybe reach out to the school and see if they’ll work with you on a modified schedule?”

“I guess I could...”

“And I’ll help you,” Natsu added on as he squeezed Lucy’s hand. “They’ve been really supportive so far.”

Lucy let out a long exhale. “Okay. I’ll give it a shot.”

“I’ve got another suggestion too,” Natsu added. “If you get angry, you could take it out with a physical sport or something.”

“That’s actually a good outlet,” the therapist agreed. “Is there anything you’re interested in?”

“Um...” Lucy thought about for a couple minutes. “I thought about taking self-defense classes.”

“That would be cool! Maybe we can go together?”

“I’d really, really like that.” And first time in a long time, Lucy truly meant it.

#nalu #nalu au #nalu fan fic #nalu fan fiction #Natsu dragneel #Lucy heartfilia #Natsu x lucy #stangers on a train #ch 31

[onechicagorpf]

Equal Justice Under Law

Pairing: Jay Halstead x Reader (Prosecutor)

Requested? Yes -  Are you still accepting requests? If you are can you do one where the reader is a prosecutor and working a case alongside intelligence. She gets in trouble and jay is the one to save her?

Warnings: Mentions of sexual abuse and murder. Swearing, the usual cuss words.

A/N: Okay so this is HELLA long. I really meant for all my requests to be blurbs (i.e. short fics) so please note that future requests will probably be much shorter than this! I just got carried away on this one! 😅

Also I realise the anon asked for the reader to be working alongside Intelligence, but in mine she’s kinda taking over after the police case is done, which is what happens in the episodes of Chicago Justice most of the time so that’s what I had it my head - hope y’all still like it! I also tried to switch it up this time and write in past tense, which I realise is sooo not my thing because I kept instinctively writing stuff in present tense and then having to go back and change it lol Let me know if you have a preference one way or another because I’m very curious as to how people feel about this! 

Up next? 3 more  Jay x Reader requests to fill!

PS: Send me asks/messages/leave a note if you liked this and want to see more!

You sighed, dropping your face in your hands. Some days, you wished you hadn’t taken up the job as the Cook County Assistant State's Attorney. The late nights and high stress situations sucked, but more than that your job had a way of bringing to light the worst things about humanity.

Looking down at your desk, you ran your fingers across the scattered pictures. Amelia Langstrom, age 16. Pamela Park, age 18. Lacey McDonald, age 19. Julia Sanderson, age 15. Maggie Thane, age 16. Every photo of the girls, smiling at the camera, came with another one. This other photo wasn’t as well-lit, as happy, as pretty. It was an emotionless, clinical photo taken of their naked bodies, covered with injuries and bruises and cuts, surrounded by leaves or trash depending on where they were dumped.

It was an awful, awful thing. 5 young girls, all missing for over a week before their bodies were found. All with signs of sexual assault, yet no DNA left behind to trace back to the killer. All of this, by itself, would be enough to turn your stomach over. Which it did, but above that, watching your boyfriend come home every night with his head down, shoulders sagging, looking completely distressed as he and his team were no closer to finding the perpetrator of these crimes…it was terrible.

“You guys will get him. I know you will, Jay.” You said, brushing his dark brown hair out of his eyes as the two of you laid in bed together. Your boyfriend’s green eyes, usually bright and full of life, were dark and distant in a way you hadn’t seen in a long time.

“How many more girls does he have to kill before we find him?” Jay whispered, not even looking at you, as his frown - one that seemed to have made itself at home in his forehead over the last two weeks - deepened.

It was a week later when Anna Valdez, your second chair, knocked on your door. Her face was dark, and her lips were tight.

“Another girl?” You asked, your voice cracking.

Anna shook her head. “Intelligence got the guy.” She replied, still looking troubled.

You frowned, tilting your head at her. She paused, crossing her arms across her chest, trying to shrink herself. Like as if she didn’t want to say the next words. You stood up, now beginning to fear what was coming.

“What is it?”

Anna swallowed. “They’re saying he confessed.”

***

“Jay - ”

“You don’t believe me?! Seriously?!” Jay’s eyes were wide with outrage on the other side of your desk.

“It’s not about whether I believe you! It’s about - ” You lowered your voice, remembering that there were many, many people who were working right outside your office. “ - it’s about the fact that Voight is saying this guy confessed. Hank Voight. He’s not exactly a shrinking violet. And all this on top of the fact that - ”

Jay opened his mouth to cut in, but you silenced him with a raised hand and bulldozed onward.

“ - On top of the fact that there just so happened to be no one else in the room with Voight when Dylan Rhodes confessed? Hmm? And it happened in a - in a cage that’s in basement of your district? No cameras, no audio, no video?” You glared at Jay, barely hiding the seething rage that was boiling under your skin. You leaned across the desk, shoulders tight, voice now raised without a care about what anyone outside was going to hear. “Not to mention he’s got cuts and bruises all over his face from ‘resisting arrest’ even though he’s a 20 year old who’s maybe 120 pounds soaking wet and there were seven of you cops, all armed with guns when you went to arrest him!” You yelled, flinging several of Dylan Rhodes’ mugshots across the table, some of them flying all the way over to hit Jay’s body and land at his feet.

There was nothing in the air but the soft whirring of the ceiling fan, and the squeaking of wheels as you dropped back into your chair, exhausted.

Jay called your name, his voice different now - softer and sweeter. You tried not to look at him, tried to let him know just how angry you were…but you weren’t angry at him. Not really. You were angry at the man he worked for. When your eyes connected back with Jay’s, you could see that he knew that. He placed his palms on your desk and leaned towards you.

“You know that I have issues with Hank sometimes, with the way he does things. You know that. But Y/N, you gotta believe me on this one. I looked in that kid’s eyes. I know he did this.” Jay whispered, and you ducked your head, letting your vision graze over the one remaining photo of Dylan Rhodes on your desk.

You just sighed. Looking back up at him, you shook your head.

“It’s not about him, Jay. I know he did it too, I can feel it. But if I’m putting him away, it needs to happen the right way.” You offered, your voice almost didactic.

Jay’s jaw clenched. “Needs to happen the right way, or not at all?” He straightened, pulling away from you. The look he was giving you was one that you could only describe as fervent disapproval. Like he hated what he was seeing in you.

You decided you were done with the argument. Leveling Jay with a cold, emotionless stare, you spoke.

“Yeah. Because there’s some of us who still believe in the law. Who choose to serve and protect in the right way.”

The words spilled out of your mouth so matter-of-factly that they became so harsh. Jay was speechless, and in the beat of silence that followed, you regretted your words.

Your door opened and you jumped, too absorbed in your tête-à-tête with Jay to even give notice to the outside world. Anna looked over you and Jay - who was staring at his feet, jaw tight - with concern in her eyes.

“What is it?” You asked Anna for the second time in a day, just as terrified as the first time.

“Defense counsel just filed a motion to suppress the confession.”

***

“Mr Howard, if you’re ready we can begin - ”

“Sorry to interrupt, your honour, but it won’t be necessary.” You announced, standing up in the courtroom. Everyone’s eyes were on you, even the court stenographer’s.

The judge raised his eyebrows.

“The People will not object to Mr Howard’s motion to suppress the defendant’s confession.” You said, and a flurry of excitement broke out in the gallery - reporters shouting questions, members of the public yelling, camera flashes going off.

“So,” Anna began, facing you as you stopped to grab a cup of water from a dispenser in the hallway. It’d taken about five whole minutes of gavel banging by the judge to settle everyone down, before she dismissed the session. “Your boyfriend and some of his coworkers are at the end of the hallway, and they keep shooting us looks but no one’s coming.”

You tipped the paper cup into your water, swallowing the ice cold water, flinching a little at the tingly sensation it left in your mouth.

“Do you want to go the other way, or do you want to go talk to them? To him?” Anna asked, softly. If anyone else had been saying it, you would’ve snapped at them to mind their own business. But it’s Anna - Anna, who from day one has been by your side, who’s practically made it her mission to be the person you count on.

You shot Anna a gentle smile, squeezing her shoulder. “I’m good. I’ll take the south exit. Meet you back at the office after lunch?” Anna nodded, trying but failing to hide the concern in her eyes.

Side-stepping her, you walked down the hallway, away from where Jay and the rest of Intelligence must be gathered. A part of you hoped, strangely, that he’d come after you, even though you knew that there was no way he wouldn’t be pissed at you. You’d been with him long enough to know how he operated. How he felt everything so intensely, how he was wired through the heart. Jay lived and died by his instincts and his emotions, and there was something to be said about the simplicity of it. The man was a soldier, and maybe in war you didn’t have the time to think about procedure and precedent, about the sharp edges of red tape and the rules and regulations in a bureaucracy. The cosmetic battles didn’t matter to him – he didn’t care what something seemed like, he cared what it was.

But you weren’t Jay. You loved him, but you were not him. You weren’t a soldier - you were a lawyer, and your battle was in the courtroom, not Afghanistan. And in the courtroom, almost just as much as what something was mattered, what it looked like mattered too.

Dylan Rhodes had to be brought to justice, yes. But it had to be done the right way, not by way of coerced or falsified confessions. Equal justice under law was what you swore to uphold, and damn Voight if he thought you couldn’t put Dylan away while doing your job the right way. And damn Jay too, then.

***

“So, how’s the case coming along?” Will Halstead asked, pouring maple syrup over his waffles.

You leaned against the red leather seats in the diner, in an example of truly terrible posture. Shrugging, you answered him: “You know I can’t really talk about that.”

Will scoffed, picking up a fork and knife. “I think you’re allowed to tell me how you’re doing.”

You raised at eyebrow at the doctor, a smile starting to creep onto your face. “But those aren’t the exact words you used, and you actually asked me something completely different - ”

Will threw his hands in the air:‌ “Okay, we get it, you’re a lawyer and I shouldn’t argue with you.” He rolled his eyes exaggeratedly, and you laughed, leaning forward to swat at his arm.

“Really, though.” Will said eventually, and you just nodded. “I’m feeling good. I think I’ve got motive, and I think I can get him to snap if I put him on the stand.”

Will smiled wide. “Attagirl.”

As you sipped your coffee, you kept going over your question in your head, trying to find the best way to phrase it. But just like his brother, Will could practically read your mind.

“Jay’s…you know how he is.” Will said, in a gentle tone.

“Stubborn, adamant, refuses to think he’s wrong about anything, ever?” You shot back in a grouchy tone, and Will raised his eyebrows. “Wow, you just said the same thing three ways - you must be pretty pissed!” He commented dryly, and you glared at him. Chuckling, Will waved you off before leaning across the diner table. “Y/N, he knows he shouldn’t have pushed you the way he did. He knows that. And he’s sorry.”

“He can’t come say that to me? Send me a message, come by my office, come home? He’s still gotta crash on your couch?” You shook your head, struggling to contain the hurt in your voice.

Will shot you a sympathetic look. “You know us Halstead boys; it takes a little while before the mea culpa can come out of our mouths.”

You stirred the spoon in your coffee, watching the little bits of foam go round and round and round, before dragging your spoon across in the opposite direction. The foam still swirled around a few times before stopping. Too slow.

“My bed’s been empty for a week, Will. I miss him.”

Will didn’t say anything; the good doctor just slid over a piece of tissue, and that was when you realised you’d started crying.

***

“You’ve got this.” Anna whispered, as the defense attorney took his seat. The judge turned to you and called for you to make your closing argument.

This was usually your favourite part - getting to talk directly to the jury, showing them the facts of your case, walking them through every step of the process with all the detail in the world so that they could get to the conclusion that you knew to be true.

But today was different. You shoved your hands in your pockets to hide that they were shaking. And when you looked over your shoulder at the gallery, you couldn’t see Jay.

He’d never missed any of your closing arguments. Ever.

Until today.

“Ms Y/L/N? Can we begin?” The judge tossed a concerned look your way.

Your eyes landed on Dylan Rhodes, who was smirking at you like he’d won.

Smiling back, you calmly turned to the judge. “Let’s begin.”

Starting from Dylan’s teenage years, where he racked up countless misconduct records in high school for all sorts of problems, you traced the development of this man, this awful human being. You painted a portrait of him as needy, sad, and lonely, and connected that to his need to hurt and attack girls who were otherwise unattainable for him. As you spoke, you could see the jury process your words and go where you were taking them.

Dylan had, by this point, dropped the cocky smirk. Instead, his face was red, his jaw was clenched, and veins were popping in his neck. You knew you had him - you knew it was over.

“Members of the jury - I have just one final request to ask of you. Today, you have the opportunity to see that justice is served to a man who more than deserves it. A man - a boy, who decided that raping and killing girls was the only way he could live with himself, because that was the only way he could have these girls.” You paused, turning to look at Dylan, who was shaking with rage.

“A boy who decided to hurt girls to cover up the fact that he is so weak, and so pathetic.” You punctuated the tense air in the courtroom with words so sharp they felt like the final nail in Dylan Rhodes’ coffin.

There was a moment of bliss, you knew you’d done your job, you knew you’d brought the jury over, you knew you’d succeeded - but just as quickly as things came together, it all came crashing down.

It happened so quickly - Dylan roared, lunging over the table towards you. Everyone started screaming, and you froze in shock and in fear.

The bailiff intercepted Dylan on his way over to you and tackled him to the ground. It all seemed settled for a second, but they kept struggling on the ground, and all you saw was Dylan’s hands reaching around the bailiff’s and - and his fingers wrapping around - oh god - 

“Gun!” Anna yelled, and the release of that one syllable was followed immediately by a gunshot. And then another.

***

“You gonna talk to Y/N? She’s closing the Rhodes case today, you know?” Hailey Upton asked, lifting her feet up to place them on the dashboard of the GMC Sierra.

Jay shrugged, fiddling with the radio in his hand.

“This is the part where you use your words.” Hailey remarked in a slightly sarcastic tone, smiling and Jay just shot her a look. Reaching over, he shoved her feet off the dash petulantly, and Hailey laughed.

Moments later, she turned back, cheek pressing against the headrest of her seat. “Jay.” She said, her tone gentle but still a little pushy. It was what he needed then, and she knew it. The last few days had been tough on him - he hadn’t talked to her about it, other than updating her that he was staying over at Will’s, but his entire demeanour was off - he’d been down and depressed.

Jay shrugged again, frowning. “I don’t know what to say. I screwed up, and I know it and she knows it and - I don’t know. I’m starting to think…” Jay ducked his head, eyes scanning his fingers as they traced the outlines of his radio. “…starting to think maybe she can do better than me, you know?” When he finished, his voice was much lower, much softer than it was when he began.

“Oh, she can definitely do better than you.” Hailey grinned, her dimples showing and Jay just reached across, punching her shoulder. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” Hailey chuckles, before turning to face her partner again.

“Seriously though, I’ve seen the way she looks at you - that girl is one hundred percent in love with you.”

Jay’s heart felt full hearing that, and he knew it to be true, too.

“So get your shit together, stop sleeping on your brother’s couch, go back to her and apologise for being an idiot.” Hailey advised. Before Jay could say anything, his radio went off.

“10-1, 10-1, shots fired at the Third Municipal District, hall 5! Dispatch, get Intelligence on the scene now!”

“Isn’t that where - ” Hailey started to ask, frowning. She didn’t have to finish her question, because she got her answer when Jay, who suddenly went as pale as a ghost, turned on the lights and sirens and floored it.

***

“Dylan…just - think about this, okay?”

Your hands were out in front of you, shaking.

Dylan Rhodes was about 10 feet from you, with a gun in his hand. The gallery had cleared out and the people on the jury had managed to escape to their deliberation room, separated from the courtroom with a thick wooden door. The only people who were left with you and Dylan were the judge, Anna and Mr Howard.

Your eyes flickered down to where the bailiff laid in a pool of his own blood. Dylan had fired two shots straight through the bailiff’s chest. You didn’t need to be trained in medicine like your boyfriend’s brother to know that the bailiff was dead.

You’d said hi to him once, in an elevator. He’d smiled back, and asked you how your day was.

You can’t remember what you told him.

“You’re scared now, aren’t you?” Dylan asked, and you snapped back to him. He had a deranged smile on his face.

“Dylan, please, it doesn’t have to be like this - ” You started speaking, but the judge - Judge Kinnaman - cut you off.

“Son, I swear if you don’t drop that gun now, you will never see the light of day. I will personally ensure that.” Judge Kinnaman’s voice resounded in the empty courtroom with authority. Dylan turned to him, gun following his line of sight.

“Fuck you.” Dylan punctuated his words with a squeeze of the trigger. Anna screamed, and you heard a loud thump. When you turned over your shoulder, you couldn’t see Judge Kinnaman at his seat behind the counter anymore - all you saw was blood splatter on his chair and the wood behind him.

The numbness you’d felt until this point suddenly gave way to waves upon waves of fear. It felt like a chill going down your spine - your body was cold, your mind was racing, and you were absolutely terrified.

“Dylan - Dylan, listen to me.” Jon Howard, the defense attorney, spoke softly from the defense table. “Just - just put the gun down, okay?”

Dylan’s eyes practically went red with rage. “You - you fucking…you’re useless, you’re pathetic, you know that?” Dylan swings back around, yelling at you and Anna. “He asked me to make a deal! A deal! What kind of a shitty lawyer gives up before he even tries to win, huh?!” He yelled at Jon, spit flying out of his mouth. Jon flinched, leaning back as Dylan moved closer to him.

Suddenly, a voice on loudspeaker boomed from outside the closed doors of the courtroom.

“Dylan Rhodes! This is Jay Halstead of the Chicago Police Department. We have the courtroom surrounded!”

Your knees almost buckled as you heard Jay’s voice. Relief flooded your veins, but you were still scared as you watched Dylan suddenly turn around, eyes wide.

“We do not want you or anyone in there to get hurt, okay? Just let the people in there come out, and I swear I will help you.” Jay finished, and Dylan just grabbed his head in his hands.

“No, no, no, no!” Dylan whispered to himself, tears springing out of his eyes. You turned to Anna, both of you equally terrified. Suddenly, Dylan raised his head, almost like a lion that had suddenly spotted a gazelle over the lines of grass.

Dylan surged towards you. Screaming, you flattened yourself against the witness stand, but it was to no avail - Dylan’s left hand grabbed your throat, and he pulled you to him, turning you so that you were in front of him, his left forearm like a bar going across your neck. You felt the cool metal of the gun against your temple, and you gasped.

“I have a hostage! I’m coming out, and I want everyone to stand back!” Dylan barked, before walking you to the door. You were shaking against him, tears streaming down your face at this point. The pressure of the gun against your head seemed to be drilling into you. As you reached the door, and Dylan instructed you to open it, all you could think about was that at least you’d get to see Jay before you died today.

The door opened with a loud creak, and you were stunned to see so many fully uniformed police officers with assault rifles standing right outside. Per Dylan’s instructions, they were all standing back, but still it was absolutely terrifying seeing all those guns pointed at you.

Your eyes immediately found Jay, who had his head tilted, looking down the sight on his rifle but the moment Dylan had brought you out, he picked his head up. His mouth was open slightly, his eyes were wide and wet, and he looked to be completely distraught.

Seeing him finally after days apart…it made every argument you’d ever had feel so inconsequential. You were so full of love for him and the only thing you wanted to do was run, run to him and wrap your arms around him. Unable to do any of that, you just mouthed “I love you” as you tried to hold back sobs.

“I want a car, and - and I want a - a jet fueled at O’Hare!” Dylan shouted.

Jay just shook his head. “You need to let her go first, alright?”

Dylan tightened his hold on you. “I’m not a fucking idiot!”

“We know that, okay?” Hailey spoke up, from a few feet to the right of Jay. “We don’t think you’re an idiot. We just want to make sure you don’t do anything you don’t want to do.” She said, putting her rifle down. Raising her hands, she took a couple of steps towards Dylan, who at this point had completely turned to face her.

“No - no, I don’t want you to move! Just - just stay where you are!” Dylan snapped, his voice raging. Your heart was beating so loudly that you could almost hear it in your ears. Closing your eyes, you just prayed silently.

“I know you don’t want to hurt her. So let’s just make sure - ” Hailey spoke gently, but Dylan cut her off, laughing sharply.

“You stupid bitch! You’re all stupid bitches! Damn right I want to hurt her! This bitch - ” Dylan shouted, pulling in his forearm, the immense pressure against your neck strangling you, “ - called me pathetic! I’m gonna show her how fucking pathetic she is when I get her somewhere alone and I - ”

A loud bang goes off, and you jumped. Your eyes flew open just in time to feel Dylan sag against you, and you instinctively leaned out of the way so that he fell to the ground. 

Arms wrapped around you, and your first reaction was to flinch, to scream, to turn with eyes wide, trying to claw away from whoever it is. But then you heard his voice.

“Baby! Baby - it’s me, it’s Jay!” Your boyfriend’s eyes were wide and teary. His eyebrows were furrowed deeply, and he looked like he was in pain.

Everything clicked in your head.

“Jay,” You moaned, shaking fingers clutching his vest as you engulfed yourself in him. Jay’s arms wrapped around you tightly and you soaked in his scent, his warmth, his safety. Sobbing into his neck, you refused to let go, still not really believing this to be real. Jay didn’t say anything for a while and you weren’t sure why. But then you heard him crying into your hair, and you pulled back to see him. His eyes were wet, pooling with tears, and you immediately brought your hands up to hold his face. Jay leaned down as you got on your tip toes and you kissed, wet and soft and scared. Jay’s hands cradled your face, and when the two of you eventually split to breathe, you just looked up at him, speechless, shaking your head.

“I’m so sorry,” Jay whimpered.

“It’s okay. We’re okay. Just - just come home, please,” You begged, running your thumb over his jaw.

“Of course. Of course. I’m never leaving you like that again, okay? No matter what. Y/N, I love you so much. When he came out with you - I - I almost died right where I stood.” Jay told you as his face contorted into something painful. You pressed your lips to his again, quick and chaste. Pulling back, you smiled up at him.

“I love you too, Jay.”

The rest of the day was a mess - the cops moved Dylan’s body, as well as the bailiff’s and Judge Kinnaman’s, while paramedics cleared you medically. You flung yourself at Anna when they brought her out, swearing to her that you were okay and asking repeatedly if she was fine. The two of you held on to each other, crying, as Jay kept rubbing your back. In fact, he never left your side, not even for a second. After you were done giving your statement, Jay took you home, and the two of you got undressed and sat in a warm bath together for a while. You kept thinking at times that you were fine, but then you’d remember the feeling of the gun against your head, or the way the bailiff slumped over, and you started crying again. Jay brought his arms around you, pulling you to his chest and peppering your face with kisses as he soothed you.

At night, you curled into each other. The two of you drifted asleep, in the safety and warmth of your embrace.

*** Please leave a comment/like/reblog!

#jay halstead #jay halstead imagine #jay halstead x reader #will halstead #will halstead imagine #cpd imagine #chicago pd imagine #onechicago imagine #onechicago

[kukukape]

Watch Dogs Legion: OC x Richard Malik, pt. 1

Summary: Teenaged Richard Malik is getting beat up in a back alley. Is it retribution for the future? Yeah, but Angel doesn't know that.

---

Cold.

Ruthless.

Insatiable in the business of death, and so very skilled too.

These are the things that I became over the course of my life. Not necessarily in that order, or even in succession at all. In fact, I don't think I can even say I really 'became' those things. I always had been. My youthful murders say that much.

When I look in the mirror, I do see a monster. I do. One that I don't hold anyone at fault for, as this demon, I am confident, is purely my own doing. And I often dislike her, with her jagged smile and scarred face.

But I cherish the memories that she has been able to acquire, pure and sweet amidst a journey beelining for nothing but death. I made good friends, lots of enemies (of the good and bad), and one lover. And in each I found smiles and human tears, and a mixture of other emotions that, at the end of the day, at least were something that I could feel.

My name is Angel Marcos, and I lived a bad life.

But there was beauty in it, although rarely mine, and I'd like to share it.

---

DedSec, in all its arrogant glory, often calls themselves 'Watch Dogs'. How fitting to label us animals, really. But even better, would be to call us 'little brothers', because all we ever seemed to accomplish was kicking 'big brother' in the shins and screaming Bloody Mary at spectators.

Anyway, DedSec was my final chapter. My longest chapter. And plenty of other chapters saw their beginning and end before that one (after all, nobody becomes a skilled monster overnight).

Life only began for me when I met Richard. A tall, lanky, awkward, and- well, cute, to be frank- thing at the beginning of secondary school.

As a teen, I took a back way to school. At least, one of the back ways available, because I knew several. A useful skill for a kid who found herself on the business end of a bully's instigated fist so often.

My rise was at the break of dawn, just as an extra contingency. Plus, it let me slow down for a much-needed morning walk. A teenager needed some peace before they wreaked havoc, after all.

I tapped my feet to a beat nobody else around me could hear, holding my iPod (it was 2001, fuck off) in one hand and the side strap of my backpack in the other. Gravel crunched under my feet and somewhere not so far off, some kid's grunts and cries of pain were unknown to me.

You rock my world, ya know you did,

And everything I own I give,

The rarest love, who'd think I'd find,

Someone like y-

I yelped as someone bashed into me right as I turned a corner, and nearly sent me right back around it. The peace of my mornings, interrupted by some idiot without a care to look around himself…

…which made sense, considering the sorry lump on the ground that he and some of his presumes friends were kicking.

Oh, shit, that's not a lump, that's a kid.

A lanky kid, at that. His scrawny arms obscured his face as he covered himself in a way you were supposed to when facing a grizzly bear. Near-girlish cries left him with every blow he was forced to take.

I must have looked either idiotic or simply unsympathetic in that moment, just staring dumbly (or blankly) as this kid was being pummeled into the ground. It took another shove my way to wake me the fuck up.

"Fuck off, Marcos," the perpetrator growled. I settled him with a look when he said my name. I didn't recognize him, but he must have been from school, given his now-bloodied uniform.

Another shove.

"I said fuck off, bitch! Ya wanna end up like this little wanker too?" He jabbed a finger at the primary victim.

My lips had yet to flap some sass back at him, which was honestly a feat in itself. I looked back at the kid on the ground, who hadn't cried out for help or begged for mercy. It almost made me not want to help him.

I shrugged my backpack off my shoulders and promptly swung it at my irritator's head. He hit the brick wall next to us and dropped to the ground cold.

…Apparently 'almost' wasn't enough.

His three friends looked up at the sound of a wanker's hollow head meeting an immovable force.

They looked at their friend on the ground.

Then they looked at me.

The kid on the ground had even started shifting up onto his elbows to observe me too.

I put my iPod in my pocket with a sigh, and bit the hair tie I had on my wrist.

"C'mon, let's get this over with."

---

Sound. Sound was the only thing I had, considering my glasses were snapped in half and tossed over the chained fence those four had cornered me at.

And sound by itself was almost too much, as I heard bones being cracked and the squelch of finer parts being crushed.

I'd nearly grown irritated, watching the blur of a person- a girl, I had realized- in between the cracks of my guarding arms. I was never a begger, not until duty called for such. But it would have brought me more comfort to see her scamper away rather than spectate.

To this day, I don't know what was going through Angel's mind as she watched the scene. I'm sure my weakness crossed her mind, but her life was of constant choices.

I wonder which one she really made that day, as she put down four bullies twice her size and sauntered over to cast her shadow over me.

I flinched away as she knelt by my side, halfway sure she'd knock me out too for good measure. Then she put a hand on my arm- her palms were soft, to my surprise. I'd suspected callouses, rough like the gravel I'd been beaten down on.

"Hey, you okay?" She asked.

"Do I look okay?" I snapped back. A small part of me shriveled in shame, to snap at who was, admittedly, my savior.

But she didn't seem to mind, or perhaps she just didn't care. Carefully, she helped me to my feet, patting me on the shoulders in a (very weak) form of comfort.

I rubbed at my eyes, wishing they'd for once cooperate with me so I could actually see who it was who'd come to my rescue. She seemed to recognize my struggle as she looked around for a pair of glasses.

"I have contacts in my backpack…" I muttered. There was no way I'd be able to rummage through it on my own.

"You must be really blind," she quipped, but helped me nonethless as I grumbled. "Here," she put the pack in my hands and I quickly put the contacts in.

I let out a sigh of relief as my vision cleared, and the bloodbath of a fight before me became that much clearer, and my rescuer all the prettier. I had had more graceful first thoughts about people, and I quickly shoved those about her down.

"You really, erm…" I gestured with my chin behind her at the scene she'd created, trying to divert her steel gaze from me. "Beat them by yourself?"

She simply shrugged, leaning down to hand me my backpack and then picking up hers again. As she stepped over the head of the little gang's legs, she made sure to give his foot a sound kick.

My feet, however, had yet to agree to move. She looked over her shoulder at me. "Are you coming? We could make it to school early and get you cleaned up," she said.

"Oh… of course," I dashed up to walk by her side, and she cringed a bit at the obvious awkwardness my injuries had induced.

We walked in silence for a few minutes before she spoke up. "You're new in the neighborhood, aren't you?" She asked, though her tone wasn't inquisitive.

"…I am."

That made her smile. A crooked smile, her white teeth peeking out from the side. But the crinkle of her eyes was soft.

"Well, I'm Angel," she said as she turned forward again.

It took me a moment to get over my bewilderment that these were our introductions.

No, this interaction belonged to two people who'd crossed paths on the sidewalk to school. Not to a wiry teenage boy and the girl who'd saved him from the beating of his life.

But as far as I could tell- and can tell- Angel had already forgotten about heroics and dramatics and convoluted thank you's.

"I'm Richard," I said softly, "Richard Malik."

She snorted slightly, and I tossed her a look. She smiled apologetically. "Yeah? Do you like your drink shaken or stirred, Richard?"

I let out a dramatic groan, perhaps more pained than the ones I'd been letting out on that alleyway ground.

But I'd be damned to say I didn't smile.

~end~

#Richard malik #Richard Malik x oc #angel marcos

[queerpyracy]

PORTLAND, Ore. — Angela Foster started showing up in the early days of the protests in Portland as one of the novice activists standing off to the side with no gear to protect herself.

Roughly 40 demonstrations later, she has moved toward the front, wearing a mask, goggles and a helmet, and bracing for law enforcement officers to charge at her.

“We’re not leaving,” Ms. Foster said in interview on Sunday.

While President Trump on Sunday described the unrest in Portland as a national threat involving “anarchists and agitators,” the protests have featured a wide array of demonstrators, many now galvanized by federal officers exemplifying the militarized enforcement that protesters have long denounced. Gatherings over the weekend grew to upward of 1,000 people, some of the largest crowds in weeks.

Some protesters have exhibited the lawless behavior that federal officials have cited to justify their crackdown: Some have thrown cans and bottles, shot fireworks or pointed lasers at officers. One was recently accused of hitting a federal officer with a hammer. On Saturday, protesters set a fire in the police union headquarters.

But others have demonstrated in the streets through peaceful means, appalled by the aggressive responses by federal officers that have left some protesters injured and the air inflamed with tear gas. They have held signs and marched. At times when people have thrown bottles, other demonstrators have rushed to try to stop them. On Saturday, a group of women locked arms and chanted: “Feds stay clear. Moms are here.”

Attending a protest for the first time over the weekend was Christopher David, a Navy veteran and a 1988 graduate of the U.S. Naval Academy. He said that, as a Navy veteran, he felt the need to confront the federal officers to ask, Why were they violating their oath to the Constitution?

But as Mr. David went to do just that late Saturday, he didn’t get a conversation. Instead, as Mr. David stood still, according to video of the encounter, a federal officer dressed in camouflage fatigues began hitting him with his baton before another doused him in pepper spray.

Mr. David said in an interview on Sunday that he needed to have surgery on his hand.

Luis Enrique Marquez, a self-described anti-fascist who has been a fixture at protests in Portland for years, said the purpose of the federal officers’ arrival had appeared to be to scare the protesters. But he said the officers had instead galvanized them by displaying the types of actions that have concerned protesters for years.

“With every act of violence they commit, our numbers seem to grow, people seem to get more angry,” Mr. Marquez said.

Demonstrators in Portland, including some who identify as antifa, the loose coalition of self-described anti-fascist activists, have had years of conflict with law enforcement. But after the killing of George Floyd in Minneapolis set off a nationwide movement for racial justice and police accountability, the protest in Portland drew thousands to the streets.

That created powerful scenes including images of protesters blanketing the Burnside Bridge, each lying face down on the pavement for eight minutes and 46 seconds in remembrance of Mr. Floyd.

While those initial mass crowds have waned, hundreds of protesters have continued on with near-nightly confrontations with law enforcement.

Unlike demonstrators in Seattle at the Capitol Hill Organized Protest, or CHOP, in which they established a permanent location that created tensions over how the police should handle unrest inside the area, protesters in Portland have brought the same feel of communal support throughout the downtown area. Volunteers wearing red crosses hand out ear plugs, eye wash and hand sanitizer. A mobile snack van provides Gatorade and food.

Jeremy Vajko, who operates the snack van, said he initially operated in the CHOP zone in Seattle and then came to Portland to support the people on the streets.

“I noticed there was problems with nutrition,” he said. “People are sleep deprived.”

During the daytime, the protests can draw families, businesspeople and political leaders such as Jo Ann Hardesty, a city commissioner. At night, the crowd is made up mostly of young people. Dozens of protesters at the front carry homemade shields made out of materials such as 55-gallon drums. Others stand farther back, shining lasers or gathering materials for building barricades.

But protesters’ tactics have strained the city. Business owners, already struggling because of the coronavirus pandemic, have cited the protests as a reason residents have been staying away from downtown. Some leaders in the Black community have also questioned the tactics, suggesting that some demonstrators have seized the moment in the aftermath of Mr. Floyd’s killing to advance their own causes.

Last month, officers from the Portland Police Bureau repeatedly fired tear gas and made arrests of protesters, who have variously called for the abolishment or defunding of the bureau, and for more accountability for law enforcement officers. The city’s officers now operate with new limits on the use of tear gas after a judge ordered it to only be used if it’s needed to keep people safe.

Protesters have focused much of their attention on Mayor Ted Wheeler, who also serves as police commissioner. Crowds have at times gathered late at night outside Mr. Wheeler’s condo building, shining lights and chanting about the perceived failures of his administration.

For weeks, Mr. Wheeler has called for an end to destructive demonstrations, saying he is concerned about “groups who continue to perpetrate violence and vandalism on our streets.” But as federal agencies have moved in to play a role in combating the unrest, Mr. Wheeler has said he told the federal officials to stay away.

City police leaders have said they are not coordinating with federal agencies on the protests. But at one point early Saturday morning, a line of federal officers was moving up one street while a line of local police officers was moving up another, both advancing to keep protesters on the move. It was unclear what level of coordination was involved in that effort.

Mr. Trump said in a Twitter post on Sunday that federal officials were “trying to help Portland, not hurt it.” Mr. Trump, who has said states need to “dominate” protesters, said Portland officials had lost control.

“They are missing in action,” Mr. Trump wrote. “We must protect Federal property, AND OUR PEOPLE.”

Local leaders have grown increasingly vocal in opposition to the federal presence after one protester appeared to have been shot in the head with what was described as a less-lethal munition, severely injuring him in a bloody scene that was captured on video. Federal officers have operated from unmarked vans, at times seizing protesters and pulling them into the vehicles.

Joel B. Barker, who runs a marketing agency, said that he had frequently participated in protests during the day near the Justice Center, which includes the county jail, and that he usually left before 9 p.m. at the latest. He said that the protests drew a diverse crowd, reflecting a range of racial backgrounds, age and socioeconomic statuses, and that there was a sense of unity.

He lives about a mile away, and the demonstrations have not had any repercussions close to his home. The demonstrators, he said, were largely peaceful and not there to foment disorder.

Mr. Barker said he felt rage that the city was being used for what he believed was a ploy for the president in an election year.

“It’s really terrible,” he added, “and I want America to understand how terrible it is to feel like a city you love is being occupied by your own federal government, because that’s how it feels.”

Oregon’s attorney general, Ellen Rosenblum, has filed a lawsuit seeking to halt some of the detainment tactics used by federal officers. Her office has also opened a criminal investigation into the case of the protester who sustained a head injury.

Lisa Reynolds, a pediatrician who is running as a Democrat for a seat in the Oregon House of Representatives, said she had tried to keep her distance from the protests, largely because of the coronavirus crisis. But on Sunday, she said, she was going to be fitted for a respirator so she would be safer at protests where tear gas is used.

“I think my fear kept me away,” she said. “I think this is a step where I need to put myself out there a little more.”

Sergio Olmos reported from Portland, Rick Rojas from Atlanta and Mike Baker from Seattle. John Ismay contributed reporting from Arlington, Va.

#portland protests #i don't usually copy over full articles but i want everyone to be able to read about this

[greywritesfics]

Chapter Twenty-Four: Euphoria

Once class ended, everyone sat in their seats, awaiting Aizawa's announcement. Many were curious, some more than others. When Aizawa finally emerged from his cocoon, he let out a yawn as his eyes roamed around the room until they landed on the white-haired girl. "Ki," he grunted.

With her name being in the spotlight, the rest of the class turned back to face her with curious glances. Minori straightened in her seat, nodding immediately as he motions her forward. Her steps were heavy and slow, the cold sweat glistening on her eyebrow as she wore an impassive face. With hands clasped tightly in front of her stomach, she fiddled with her knuckles as she awaited Aizawa's next move.

"Face the class," Aizawa grumbled, crossing his arms. "Everyone, what is your opinion on your classmate here," he languidly motions at Minori, "and answer honestly because what you all say depends on her fate here in U.A." Minori's eyes widened as she held her breath. "I want to hear answers about her as your classmate, friend, as a person-- nothing that has to do with her name or the history behind it," Aizawa continued, nodding.

"I can't really say much--ribbit--because I've never really spoken to Ki-san before." A muscle twitches involuntarily at the corner of Minori's right eye, her mouth forming a rigid grimace. Thanks a lot, Tsuyu. Very helpful.

"She's got legs on her, that's for sure," the purple insect shouted, motioning at her length. Minori was one of the tallest females in her class, only slightly shorter than Yaoyorozu.

"Aizawa-Sensei! Mineta is being a pervert again!"

"N-no, I'm not!"

"Minori is my closest friend, and even though she doesn't say much, I want to support her to the end! The same way she supported me during the Sports Festival!" Mina finished, sending Minori one of her signature smiles, and Minori swore she could stars twinkling in the black sclera of her eyes.

A ravenette with a large ponytail known as Yaoyorozu Momo raised her hand, "going off of what Mina said, even though Ki-san is quiet, I've noticed she has exceptional observational skills, and she works well in a team. She seems to help her teammates whenever possible, from the Battle Trial working with Koji, and although I couldn't pay much to her during the Cavalry Battle, I saw she had no problem working with others."

"Minori is super manly!" Kirishima shouted out as he stood from his seat, throwing his fists in the air." At the U.S.J incident, she stood by me and Bakubro's side without question, covering for us whenever we needed, and she gives great advice in her own way. She also has a sick Quirk!"

Minori swallowed, no longer able to look at her class as she bashfully stared down at her beat-up sneakers. For as long as she's been alive, she had never been complimented or praised, until she came to U.A. Her wary personality always thwarted anyone who tried to get closer, coupled with the distrusting vacant eyes always hauntingly there. Still, that did nothing against the kindness of her class.

"When Ki and I fought, after I lost, I realized that while I was purposefully trying to hurt her, she pushed me out of bounds in the gentlest way possible while she remained battered and bruised, I was left unscathed." The Sports Festival was an awakening for a lot of people, especially Minori. The festival made it clear what her motivations were for being a hero. She had the physical strength for it, but she feared if she had the mental strength. Being raised in Thanatos, treated as a criminal, and the rumors that floated around her were all detrimental to her self-esteem. When the school board introduced the ghastly blemish that'd cause a devastating paralysis, Minori was more than opposed. Having been alone for all her life, she expected that her disengaged eyes would be vacant for eternity, but the Sports Festival's performance proved otherwise. Finally, not only was she able to, but everyone was able to witness something other than a caged look in her eyes.

"You all have two decisions for your classmate here. Either her future here in U.A. ends now, or you trust her, and I take the shock collar off," Aizawa grunted.

The mention that he would take off the collar reminded her when she had barged into the teacher's lounge and quite literally begged him to give her a chance, and as told, the Sports Festival was for her to prove herself.

This is her chance.

"As you all know, she's the daughter of the notorious villain Tatsumaki. The perpetrator for the Hecate tragedy that happened fourteen years ago, and she has a similar Quirk as her mother's. Her mother has killed family and friends, even loved ones in this class, like Hagurake's. Now that you know about her past and present, will you guys give her a chance to be her own person or label her as a criminal who'll follow the same path as her mother?

Minori clenches her fists tightly until her nails dig into the palm of her hand, but she barely notices. The only thing she is aware of is the sound of her heart throbbing against the cage of her chest. She doesn't even need to look into the mirror to be aware that she's biting her lip so severely it's bleeding.

"Ki, do you have anything to say?" Minori turned to face Aizawa only to see the same bored expression on his face as usual. When she turns toward her class, twenty pairs of eyes are boring into her, and her breathing becomes rapid and shallow, her pulse pounding in her temple. Suddenly, she bows, her legs shaking, "thank you." Thank you for allowing me to be here. Thank you for gifting me friendships I'll never forget. Thank you for giving me happiness.

Minori doesn't rise, even when Aizawa tells the class to write their decisions on a paper. She still doesn't stand tall even as Aizawa reviews their choices. She doesn't move a muscle until Aizawa announces what's been decided.

"You're going to be expelled." His blunt words ring in Minori's ears as she flinches, and he opens the drawer that holds the remote to leave an injurious shock.

"WHO THE FUCK VOTED FOR HER TO GET EXPELLED?!"

"No, you can't do this! She's already said she's not her mom. Please give her a chance!"

"She's just like the rest of us. She doesn't deserve this!"

"This is so not manly!"

"Ki Minori," Aizawa grumbles, passing a sheet of paper in front of her. "That's the vote. Look at it."

Shakily she grabs onto the sheet, opening it, her eyebrows furrowing at what's on the paper, or the lack thereof. "I don't understand," she says, raising her head and meeting her homeroom teacher's onyx pupils. "It's blank."

"Yeah, that's the point. The blank paper resembles your future-- it's in your hands."

"Wait, you mean--"

"--yes, they're trusting you."

Minori's mouth dropped open, and her eyes watered faster than ever before. She didn't know whether to fall on the floor and vehemently thank her classmates or drop-kick Aizawa out the window for giving her a heart attack-- maybe both.

As she stood in front of twenty pairs of eyes, her teacher working on taking the metallic deadweight off of her, she reminisced about how she got here. A new life as Ki Minori, and not criminal, didn't come as a present with pretty ribbons and assurance of comfort. Yet, more as an obstructed road full of fog and chill. But with an adventurous heart, she grabbed onto the challenge and didn't let go. With brave feet, she stood her ground, and bold eyes that remain open to its curves and undulations.

The moment the purple discoloration disappeared from her, a weight had finally been lifted off of her like the reflection of the summer sun in the ocean. The kind of brightness that brought a smile as you let your eyes rest a moment. It was the sort of intensity that kindled something beautiful within, and at the same time stirred a connection with nature around. There was something so warm, something that felt right, that she let her body sag, her muscles become loose. In that embrace, she felt her worries lose their keen sting, and her optimism raised its head from the dirt. Perhaps hope had been there, but without some love, it was trapped, like crystals in a stone.

After the long days of being alone, the pain ebbed. She thought she'd feel the knives in her back forever, the long blades slicing into such sensitive flesh. There were days her brain felt electrocuted, so violently defocused and the pain, the emotional pain, was all-encompassing; she simply existed as a matter of will power. But today, a day that promises an unforeseen future, her soul grows vibrantly, hope beads her skin like dew on spring grass; radiating, resonating, and elevating.

A chance, a fresh start, it's as if everything that happened up to this point of time was a prequel to what comes next. Like a book closed and a new one opened, appearing one word after the other, slowly, as if there was a calmness the first volume never possessed. The writing materializes, chaotically and rhythmically, all at once like drops of rain from cumulonimbus clouds. And as these words dance over a white page, deliberate and intuitive, guided by the ever-present music, Ki Minori is born again.    

Taglist: @sslimkim​ @x-bakudeku-x​ @angeldraw​ @alex-hale666​ @iambashfulperson​ @somanyfandomsidek​ @sir-knight-slytherdor​ @seokookchan​ @namutheestallion​ @avengershavethetardis​ @honeybacon​ @fckngbored​ @ineedmyownname​ @myaaa-xoxoxox​ @mega-bastard​ @succulent-momma​ @can-i-just-like-it​ @soa1eater​  

#rebirth #chapter twenty four #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #bnha bakugo katsuki #mha bakugo katsuki #katsuki bakugo imagine #bakugo x original character #ki minori #slow burn #hero vs villain #bnha aizawa #mina ashido #bnha x poc!reader #bnha x oc #black oc #oc insert #bnha x poc #bakugo x black reader #bakugo x black oc

[96thdayofrage]

What the defense has planned

During the jury selection process, Nelson tried to humanize Chauvin beyond the image of the white police officer who knelt on a Black man’s neck as he struggled to breathe and begged for his mother.

When the first batch of potential jurors was being questioned, Chauvin — with half his face obscured by a black mask — sat taking notes and rarely making eye contact. At one point, a juror said she could not forget the “hateful look” on Chauvin’s face in the videos. The comment altered the way Nelson later introduced his client to potential jurors, with Chauvin removing his mask to show his full face and nodding at the group.

To avoid convicting Chauvin of the second-degree unintentional murder charge, the defense must prove he did not cause Floyd’s death while also committing a felony — in this case, assault. The defense will argue that Chauvin did not cause Floyd’s death, that it was a combination of excessive drug use and preexisting conditions that killed him. They will call on the county medical examiner who said Floyd’s toxicology report showed high traces of drugs during the incident — but the examiner also noted that it’s hard to say whether Floyd would have died of other causes, like Chauvin’s knee on his neck. If convicted, under Minnesota law, the charge is punishable by up to 40 years in prison.

To avoid conviction on the second-degree manslaughter charge, the defense needs to prove that Chauvin didn’t cause Floyd’s death due to negligence that created an unreasonable risk — meaning, he didn’t know that pinning him down by his neck for nearly nine minutes would lead to severe injury or death. In Minnesota, this charge carries a maximum sentence of up to 10 years.

The third-degree murder charge, under Minnesota law, means the perpetrator acted in a way that was reckless at the risk of causing death and carries a sentence of no more than 25 years. Prosecutors argued to add the third-degree murder charge because not only is it easier to prove than second-degree unintentional felony murder, but it also gives jurors more options about how to convict. If convicted of any of these charges, Chauvin’s status as a first-time offender will also play into how long his prison sentence will be.

Ultimately, the defense’s central strategy is proving that something else ended Floyd’s life — and that it was not Chauvin’s knee. Nelson pushed for a pre-trial motion to include evidence of Floyd’s drug-related arrest by Minneapolis police in 2019. After reviewing Nelson’s arguments, in which the attorney called Floyd’s “emotional responses” during both arrests a “common modus operandi,” Judge Cahill has allowed the defense to show only a portion of the 2019 arrest video as evidence during the trial, adding that Floyd’s interactions with the police in 2019 mirrored the 2020 arrest that led to his death. Cahill also agreed that there were signs that Floyd may have taken drugs in both incidents.

The defense has also tried to argue that Chauvin was terminated due to prejudice, not for cause, and that Minneapolis Police Chief Medaria Arradondo only fired him out of public pressure. However, prosecutors successfully motioned to exclude any evidence or testimony that speaks to the police department’s decision to fire Chauvin and the other three officers involved since it’s unrelated to how and why Floyd died.

Nelson’s arguments so far give observers a glimpse of how he expects to approach the trial — that the entire investigation leading to Floyd’s death was fundamentally biased against his client, including the ongoing federal civil rights investigation and Chauvin’s immediate firing. Arradondo, the city’s first Black police chief, said he fired the officers after reviewing all the evidence including body-camera videos.

During the month-long trial, several witnesses are expected to testify, including Arradondo, the county medical examiner, and the bystander who videotaped Chauvin kneeling on Floyd’s neck.

The prosecution also plans to introduce “spark of life” witnesses, which under Minnesota law allows family and friends to be called to the stand to deliver testimony that would humanize the victim. Floyd’s brother, Philonise Floyd, and former girlfriend Courteney Ross are among those expected to speak.

However, the spark-of-life testimonies won’t be considered “evidence” and will be tightly managed by Cahill. The judge said he would draw a line if witnesses talk about Floyd’s character rather than how much they loved him since it would “open the door” for the defense to introduce Floyd’s criminal history as evidence, which so far has been ruled inadmissible. Cahill, nonetheless, added he may allow witnesses to talk about Floyd’s struggles with opioid addiction.

“This is not a hard case,” Ben Crump, the attorney who helped the Floyd family secure the $27 million settlement, said in a news release after the jury selections were completed. “George Floyd had more witnesses to his death than any other person ever — white or Black. We all saw the same thing — the indisputable and unjustified torture and murder by a police officer of a Black man who was handcuffed, restrained, and posed no harm.”

What we know about the jury

The initial jury pool had 326 people, but only about 60 were questioned. Cahill decided 15 needed to be selected, including two alternates and another who will be dropped if the first 14 jurors show up for duty (only 12 will be on the actual jury).

Even though the jury selection process was broadcasted live, the faces of the prospective jurors were not shown to the public for their safety and privacy, and they will not be seen for the duration of the trial. Among the 15 selected jurors, we do know six are people of color — one Black woman, three Black men, and two mixed-race women — while nine are white, six of whom are women. Despite being a white majority, the jury is actually more diverse than the county and the city: According to 2019 data from the US Census Bureau, Hennepin County is about 74 percent white and 14 percent Black while Minneapolis is about 64 percent white and 19 percent Black.

The jurors also come from an array of backgrounds, ranging from an accountant to a chemist to a nurse who has been caring for patients throughout the Covid-19 pandemic. Some are extremely familiar with the case while others haven’t been actively following monthslong developments. According to USA Today, seven are in their 20s or 30s, three in their 40s, four in their 50s, and one in her 60s.

Prior to the selection, each potential juror was asked to fill out a 14-page written questionnaire. During the selection process, the jurors were questioned and vetted by Judge Cahill, prosecution, and defense lawyers. The general line of questioning included if their views have changed since filling out the questionnaire, whether they could set aside their personal opinions on the case and social movements to remain impartial, and also about personal safety concerns. Those who expressed major anxiety and fears of being on the jury were ultimately dismissed.

The jurors were also asked about their thoughts or whether they’ve seen the video of Chauvin pinning his knee on Floyd’s neck as well as their views on the Black Lives Matter and Blue Lives Matter movements. One of the selected jurors, who said he plans to move out of Minnesota in late May, noted he has a neutral opinion of Floyd and also generally favors the Black Lives Matter movement but also believes it was “a contributing factor” in the unrest that erupted following Floyd’s death last summer.

Another juror, a white man who works in sales, called the Blue Lives Matter movement “not offensive but shortsighted.” The man, who is supposed to get married in May but said he is willing to postpone the wedding if the trial continues, noted he generally supports law enforcement.

Some of the jurors’ responses also indicated how they would approach the final verdict of the trial. One juror said she wanted to know more about police training and whether placing a knee on someone’s neck was allowed while another said he wanted to hear Chauvin offer his side of the story.

However, one potential juror last week was dismissed by Chauvin’s defense attorney after sharing his thoughts and personal experience with the Minneapolis Police Department and the criminal justice system as a whole.

“As a Black man, you see a lot of Black people get killed and no one’s held accountable for it, and you wonder why or what was the decision, and so with this, maybe I’ll be in the room to know why,” the potential juror told the court.

Although the Army veteran said he could put his personal opinions aside to hear the case solely based on the evidence presented in court, he was still dismissed by the defense arguing that he was biased against the Minneapolis Police Department.

“That was his actual lived experiences with the Minneapolis police, but he was disqualified because it was assumed he couldn’t look past that in order to look at the facts of the case,” Bullock told Vox. “It’s an insult to Black Minneapolis residents because we have to forgo our bias and lived experiences all the time to fit in the system. It just shines a light on some of the inherent unfairness about the system.”

Cahill said he plans to reveal the names of the jurors when it is “safe” to do so. In the meantime, government buildings in downtown Minneapolis remain heavily barricaded by fencing and concrete barriers while members of the Minnesota National Guard remain stationed outside the courthouse. The heavy police presence, Bullock said, has left the community on edge.

Still, activist groups like Reclaim the Block and Black Visions Collective will keep a close eye on the trial while also protesting outside the courthouse and rallying at what’s now George Floyd Square. What they ultimately hope comes out of Floyd’s death is what they’ve always wanted: replacing Minneapolis police with a new public safety department, which means first changing the city charter and knocking door to door to collect signatures to do so.

“Regardless of the outcome of the verdict, we know that true justice would have to reflect in a fundamental change in the way we address public safety. If we’re not doing that, true justice is not served,” Bullock said. “We want justice for George Floyd and his family, of course, but we know that true justice means changing our public safety system.”

[ptsd-tiger]

I would like to explain my experience with OSDD. I have not been diagnosed yet, but I would like to clarify exactly why I am 95% sure I have it.

As a kid I had to go through multiple surgeries and lots of therapy due to a birth injury, so I didn’t have a usual childhood, and was separated from others often. I was about 6 when she appeared for the first time. She has a well established name (that she actually stole from a very old username) but for the sake of my privacy, I’ll call her “Cheetah”.

Essentially, what I thought was an “imaginary friend” never actually disappeared.

Having undiagnosed autism, I gained more traumatic experiences, and over time, I began to notice that I was losing parts of myself. The traits of my personality that I had believed to have caused my trauma were missing. Meanwhile, Cheetah was beginning to gain more of a personality, and was starting to become quite a little bitch...I didn’t even CONSIDER the fact that she had been stealing those parts of my personality for herself until recently. I can’t talk right or experience extreme anger anymore, because SHE can. 

In DID terms, Cheetah is a mix of protector, persecutor, and perpetrator. She will either torment me, furiously encourage me, or in extremely rare cases, front to protect me. I experience emotional amnesia during those rare switches, though not to the full extent of someone with DID. For the most part, it’s just like having a little devil on my shoulder, whispering into my ear.

Cheetah is my only alter. I’m not severed as much as most people with OSDD. However, I do experience many different identities within the section of my person that I consider to be “me”. Tiger is one of them. I have parts of me that are extremely naïve, extremely loving, and extremely competitive, but I don’t consider them to all be a part of my one identity. Its always felt as if I’ve been playing a role as completely different people, which is one reason why I’m still looking into a diagnosis of BPD.

#osdd #cheetah #go to hell tiger #i wont be using the term 'we' by the way. im tiger and she isn't a part of this

[talldarkandroguesome]

Dearest Tel,

I thank you for another of your amusing letters. I am glad to hear that you and your Armiger brethren are finding ways to amuse yourselves betwixt your duties to the city. I hope that you are looking forward to your upcoming transfer, even if it means you will not be staying as closely to Lord Vehk’s side.

The weather here continues to grow warmer, though the nights often tend towards a cold chill. Just a couple days past, we had weather akin to that of the end of Rain’s Hand or the start of Second Seed. Then last night it was cold enough I could see my own breath when I went out to the garden. Such a strange phenomena. I fear that all the flowers in my garden whose buds had begun to swell, will lose much of their color as a result of the frost. Particularly those which have been imported from southern Blackmarsh.

The girls have stopped complaining about having to sit with tutors. I do not know what Mother has promised them, or more likely, frightened them into believing, to make them so obedient to learning. Perhaps they are enjoying the teachings? I think it is fair to say that Kuna is excited for anything if it is justified as progress towards becoming the Indoril Princess, for that is what she has called the title she believes she will come into upon joining the House. Cariel is still too young to understand her motivations one way or another. She says she likes her teachers, but mostly she just follows whatever Kuna says.

I will not bore you with matters of the Council. Honestly they have not finished arguing over my expenditures. Even all these weeks later they question if I needed the fifth dagger or how many alchemy bottles are necessary. As I have to keep reminding them, we had to go to Coldharbour where the level of danger was incalculable and supplies would not be easy to come upon.

Yet they continue to quibble over a matter of items as trivial as the number of frogs justifiable upon a cloak. Nevermind that the fate of all of Nirn and her people was at stake, no, let us have an hour’s argument over if it was really necessary to provide potions for my companions on the House account! 

You would believe the Councilmer had not once seen battle, nor accounts related to such matters! And yet, when they are not berating me over such inconsequential items, they are committing resources and troops to the Pact’s armies. It is enough to make me wonder if my presence somehow summons Sheogorath somewhere within the Council chamber. I feel half mad.

Yet that is not what I wished to converse on in this letter.

You had asked for more stories. Particularly about the assassins and their failures. Of course, you know in receiving this letter they must have failed, else how would I be writing to you.

You may recall in my last letter that I scoffed at the poor effort put in by those that wished ill of me. I see now that I have caught Malak’s eye with such remarks, for what they may be failing to produce in qualtity, they have attempted to make up for in quantity. There are more and more attempts each day.

For a while I trusted in the Odinators and their abilities, for the attempts were limited to outside my home. Then they were making sure to get around the Ordinators. And they have now managed to infiltrate the Ordinators.

There is an investigation being conducted, of course, but there has been in all the previous attempts as well. And all to naught but the conclusion that there must be more than one person responsible for the attempts.

Urtisa, may she rot in her room in the Temple, has claimed responsibility for several of the attempts. Even so far as sending me body parts.

While the Ordinators have found no proof of what she has been up to, I have a contact who has assured me that they are working to discover Urtisa’s role in the assassination attempts and to identify her contacts. The Temple says they do not believe there is a way for her to be sending messages out with her having guards posted about the place, but it is clear that she is. If she, or someone else has penetrated the ranks of the Ordinators, it would be possible that Ayem’s Hands or other guards would be in the pocket of those who were trying to get rid of me.

The attempt by the Ordinator, whether they were impersonating the true guard or not, was far closer than I had liked. I made sure to downplay it amongst the servants, but the anti-coagulant his blade was coated in made the situation far more dire than one might find comfort in. I managed to dodge the blade for the most part, but I had to wait in order that the perpetrator would fall into the blade behind me without being able to escape. Without wounding them, I knew they would not stop.

From what I hear, as soon as the other guards tried to take him into custody, he slit his throat. So clearly he had an interest in protecting whoever he worked for. A shame, I was looking forward to the interrogation and learning more about him and his employer.

I apologize that this letter is being sent out later than I should like. The same injury that I described has laid me out for the rest of the day. The doctor tells me that I must rest and recover my strength yet. So I have gotten out of going before the Council.

Staying in bed for one day is no great hardship, though. Nabine got back into bed with me once Mother took the children to their lessons and we were able to spend a long while just enjoying one another’s company without the fuss of servants or the need for me to deal with House duties or replying to the stack of missives that litter my desk.

Instead, I can take my time to write back to you and to read over all the amusing antidotes you have sent along. That story about the nix ox in particular left me in high spirits. I laughed so hard I had to have someone give me a lesser healing spell from where I caused the wound to reopen ever so slightly.

Whatever the poison used was, it makes healing very slow and resistant to magicka. I took some samples from the wound and the dagger used on me and when I am better I plan on discerning the individual components contained within. I should like to develop an antidote in case another assassin tries the same poison upon me again. It must be someone with money to afford such a complicated potion. Or else, they are a master alchemist themselves.

Before I forget, I wanted to thank you for those lovely pictures you painted. I have had the smaller ones put in my study where I can look at them when I need a break from the tedious work I must do. The larger ones have been put in the parlor, save for one, which was greatly admired by our head chef. It is the one with the ash falling over the rocks of the Inner Sea. She stared at it every time she saw it, so I had it hung in her room. She has told me every day of how nice it is to have it to look at the painting every morning and be reminded of home. 

I hope that you do not have too much fun without me. You know how much I hate to miss an orgy. With all the work and assassination attempts, we have had to put any we were hoping for on hold until we can learn more about who is behind the attacks.

Nabine has managed to find us a few very fun and limber people to engage in such amusements. Still, I miss the freedom of being able to choose anyone I like for such things.

There are so many political chains that keep me from doing as I please. No room for rebellion while I am trying to achieve several goals.

I have no more stories about that stray guar to report. I believe that having so many Ordinators around has scared the poor thing off. If she comes back though, I will ensure that I report more on it to you.

The anti-pain potion I have been taking to help me rest is beginning to make me rather tired, so I think I must end here. I would rather drink the rest of the bottle of it and tell you more, but I can hardly keep my eyes open. If I have the opportunity to write you again before the start of the new week, I shall.

Your friend, Indoril Fayrl Indoril

Oh! Also! Give yourself a kiss from me and make sure that you pass the enclosed song along to your more musically inclined Armiger friends. It is hard to see the innuendo at first, but when it is played in time with the music, it soon becomes clear. I am sure that if you follow along it will help to liven up your next gathering, or whatever the Armigers are able to get up to in the barracks.

By the Three, stay safe.

#ESO #TES #RP #Dunmer #Elder Scrolls Online #The Elder Scrolls

[pigeontheoneandonly]

25, 27, 29 and 49 of Not So Nice Asks. The situation in 49 is indoctrination of a loved one she cannot save.

Thanks for the ask!  I enjoyed this list a lot. :)  Answering for Nathaly.

25. Have they ever been betrayed by someone they thought they could trust?

More than once.  Leaving aside some of the more obvious, the one that really caught her by surprise was working a joint mission with a spec ops squad from the Hierarchy, when one of the turians went rogue and shot her at close range from behind.  She acted alone and her motives were never made clear, as she died shortly thereafter from Nathaly's counter-attack, but it did lead to a difficult situation, trying to explain what had happened to the rest of both teams.  Privately, Nathaly believes that maybe was the point-- to try to sow division between the Alliance and the Hierarchy.

27. How many times have they been in the hospital?

Not counting minor incidents or basic overnight stays, she's had a handful of extended stays in the hospital.  The first occurred when she was a teenager and wrecked her father's car drag racing on the Martian planitia.  Her friends thought she'd died, got scared and left.  She woke up in the cold and had to walk back.  Most of her injuries were minor, but between the mild hypothermia, severe dehydration from getting lost in a very dry desert, and the concussion, she was kept in-patient for a week.

29. Does what they cannot see scare them?

The unknown doesn't scare her very much, to be honest.  She finds it more exciting than frightening.  But the unknowable, that's another subject altogether.  The answers she can't have to crucially important things, how she came back to life, what the reapers want, those questions haunt her.

49. If [name] was put into ______ situation, they’d rather die than live to see it through.  Situation: Indoctrination of a loved one she cannot save.

Hackett met her at the airlock.  Shepard had no patience for the small courtesies.  "I left a very fragile situation in the Traverse for this.  It had better be important."

"It is."  And it said something about the truth of that remark that Hackett didn't offer so much as a raised eyebrow in response to her blatant rudeness.  "I thought it best to brief you in person.  The Crucible project has suffered a severe setback."

They began walking across his dreadnought to the nearby elevator.  A few of his crew glanced up as they passed, staring at her with worried eyes and glancing away when they saw her notice.  A knot of unease began to form in her gut.  "What kind of setback?"

An officer stepped smartly to the side.  She'd held the elevator for them.  Shepard's concern ratcheted up another notch.

Hackett cleared his throat.  "An explosion in the makeshift dock.  We lost an entire shipment of palladium, and nearly a hundred personnel.  The project's at a standstill until we can rebuild."

"That's not good news, but why exactly couldn't you tell me this over the comm?"  The project was classified but they discussed its progress routinely.

"We have the perpetrator in custody."  Hackett looked at her, expression unreadable.  The elevator stopped.  He gestured her forward, a small politeness, and she recognized the corridor beyond as the ship's brig.  She didn't want to take a single step.  Every instinct screamed at her not to move, that she wouldn't like what was coming.

But there wasn't any help for it.  She allowed him to escort her to the solitary holding cells at the far end.  Each one had a front wall consisting of reinforced glass, and most were unoccupied.  

Every cell, in fact, save the last.  Shepard's heart stopped.

A gray-haired woman who could have been her twin if she was thirty years younger rushed towards the window, laying her palms flat against it.  "Nathaly, thank god."

For a long moment she couldn't even speak.  She looked at Hackett.  "You must be mistaken."

He shook his head, the barest of movements.  Her mother banged the glass to get her attention.  "Nathaly, honey, there's been a huge misunderstanding.  I was in my quarters the whole time--"

"We have it on security vid," Hackett said, more to Shepard than to Hannah.  Quiet sympathy in every word, but not the barest hint of doubt.

Shepard shook her head.  "No."

Behind the glass, her mother's eyes were wild.  This woman who believed good character and tidiness were intrinsically linked stood in a rumpled uniform, slept in for the past few days, hair sticking up and completely undone, completely uncaring.  "You have to believe me.  I don't remember anything they've accused me of.  I was asleep.  All those people-- my people-- I'd never harm them."

She stared at her mother.  Her hand went to her mouth.  Barely able to force the word out.  "Indoctrination."

In that same quiet tone, like they stood graveside at a funeral, Hackett said, "Yes."

Both of them knew very well there was no cure.  Shepard sucked in a shaky breath.  "How… how long?"

"Maybe if we win…"  He trailed off.  Meaning, maybe once the reapers are gone, the indoctrinated would go back to normal.  But neither of them believed that.

Neither of them believed the indoctrinated were anything but enemy agents, and in a war for survival, against an overwhelming enemy that lacked the capacity to surrender, they couldn't afford to take a chance.

Hackett's eyes were full of pity.  "I thought you'd want to say goodbye."

"What does he mean?" Hannah demanded.

Her throat closed.  Her chest tight, the air stilled, like time itself had come to a halt.

"Nathaly, you have to fix this.  Listen to me."  Pleading now.  Her mother, her unbreakable, stubborn, unassailable mother, all but on her knees.  

A tear slipped down her cheek.  Staring at her through the glass, the closest they'd ever be again.  

"Nathaly, please."

She couldn't respond.

"Nathaly--"

#ask me anything #nathaly shepard

[teamhook]

A Chapter A Day... Savage Heart CS AU

A love story between a pirate and his savior. An innocent, beautiful, selfless woman meets a man with no manners, no formal education and not even a last name. Will Emma fall in love with Killian once she discovers that beneath his tough exterior lies a heart-wild, but a heart of gold? This is a Captain Swan AU

Beta-ed by the awesome @ilovemesomekillianjones​

Cover by @xhookswenchx​

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Chapter 26: New Friends and Allies

Emma keeps a steady pace after leaving Rufio behind. She'd almost turned back on several occasions but if she did, she may never see her family again. She would remember the route taken and beg if needed to go back to retrieve the boy. Killian wouldn't deny her.

She rides the horse in full gallop as long as she can. Later she switches to a trot and a few walk breaks in between. She pays close attention to her surroundings, admiring the view.

She had never left Misthaven before. Her mother had offered to send her on holiday alongside Milah countless times but she had never accepted. She enjoyed her time with Cora preparing to be the perfect wife for August.

Emma wanders away from the road and into the woods. She needs to find some water for both of them and maybe if she is lucky she can find them something edible. Maybe she should let her horse lead. Survival instinct must kick in at some time. There are horses in the wild and they survive perfectly fine on their own.

She's afraid to get lost in the woods and there is also a possibility she will be recaptured if she stays on the main road.

The scenery is beautiful. The trees seem to almost reach the sky and the wildflowers are vibrant and fragrant; it looks like a rainbow layout on her feet. Her thoughts drift home. She follows and the horse is grazing on some grass. She looks around the trees and shrubs and notices a path. It seems like a well-traveled trail. She doesn't want to disturb the horse, but slowly approaches him to not disturb his meal. She ties his rope to the closest tree.

She walks toward the trail and keeps glancing back to make sure the horse is there and no one is following her.

Emma followed the trail and keeps walking. The further into the woods she walks the more calming and beautiful it is. She has never walked for so long and soon she stops dead in her tracks. There is a deer drinking water from a creek. She is so enthralled and slowly kneels down to avoid the deer's attention. Then without a warning, she hears a swish pass her right ear and hit its target as the deer slumps to the ground.

She is standing there blinking away the disbelief. She turns to look at the perpetrator and yells at him. "You could've hit me!"

"I never miss."

"You never miss? Are you crazy?" She notices the wolf standing next to the man. The silver wolf snarls at the offensive comment made at his master. Emma steps back slowly.

"Don't worry. He is gentle, he is just hungry." He pats the head of the animal that locked his one black and one red eye with her.

"Yes, he looks very sweet."

"He is." He smiles at her. "Just don't make any sudden moves around him." He walks towards Emma leading the way for the silver wolf close behind him.

Once he reaches her he guides his pet to Emma and slowly extends his hand for her to place hers on his. She does so slowly. The wolf slowly nuzzles her palm and licks her.

"He likes you."

"I just hope he doesn't like me enough to eat."

"Oh no, he is domesticated. Well at least as much as he can be. I rescued him as a pup."

She looked unsure.

"I do apologize for scaring you."

She tries to play it off. "I was not scared I was just surprised; I was admiring the beauty of nature."

"I agree with you, nature is beautiful. I missed it so much, I gave up my life in town to find solace in a little cabin, not far from here. I have always been more of a hunter than anything else."

"Oh, and what life did you give up?" she asks genuinely curious. They walk as he guides her.

"Well, I used to be a lawman in a town not far from here."

"But you missed all this and you left," she says as she pointed to the scenery.

He simply nods his answer.

She suddenly stops, "I left my horse back there, I think." She points to the opposite direction they were headed.

"Then we should go get him. I'm sure we will find him." He changes direction. "I don't mean to be rude but you don't seem to belong here. I'm sorry I don't have the best people skills."

"I know. You almost killed me with that knife. And you are right, I don't."

"I already told you, I never miss. So, tell me how is it you got here? Of course, if you don't mind me asking." He has noticed the wedding band on her hand.

"I was taken on my way to visit my parents by some men."

"What? Are you alright?" He looks her over to assess injuries. She doesn't appear to have any, but she does look dirty.

"I escaped with the help of a friend. I was on my way home but I didn't want to tire my horse and I may be a little lost now." She admits her predicament with a nervous chuckle.

"I could help you go home. I could also look into the men that took you. Do you remember where you were held?"

"I just want to get home."

"Alright, then we will go retrieve your horse and get you home. Where is home?"

"Thank you. What should I call you? Maybe, crazy man that almost killed me?"

"Graham Humbert."

Emma thinks she recognizes the name but fails to recall from where."And what should I call you?"

"Emma Jones, I'm from Misthaven."

"It is an honor to meet you. Now let's get you home."

Emma stops. "Wait, what about the deer? You said that you were both hungry." She points at him and the wolf.

"We still have enough back home for a couple of nights and besides we need to get you back to Misthaven. It will not be long before you are reunited."

Killian loses his death grip on the ransom letter; Tink bends to pick it up.

"Killian, are you sure? She looks at the letter and hates that she cannot understand its contents.

He gives her a grim smile and nods his confirmation.

"What are you going to do?"

Milah's ears perk up to listen to the answer to the question. It is the moment of truth. She knows he will pick his ship and realize that Emma means nothing to him.

"Isn't true love more important than a few planks and a sail? TInk, she is my home. I will do whatever is needed to get her back."

Milah can't stop herself, "You are willing to give up your ship for my nitwit cousin? Are you crazy? She is not worth it, she doesn't love you. I love you. Let them keep her and we can be together."

"What are you still doing here? Shouldn't you be with your husband?" Tink snarls at her.

"TInk, I have to go see Archie. I have to hurry, time is of the essence. As for you Milah, you need to go home to your husband. I'm going to go get my wife," he says as hope finally fills his heart.

"Are you truly willing to trade your ship for her?"

"Aye, without a second thought, I would and I am."

"But you love that ship; you cannot trade it for her!"

"Milah, I love my wife. I think I may have loved her since I first laid eyes on her. I was just too stubborn and too angry to see it."

Milah blinks back tears as she storms out of Killian's home after hearing his decision. If he thinks he is going to have his happy ending with her cousin he is wrong. She subconsciously walks to the same road Emma had been taken from as a fury engulfs her entire being. Emma had everything growing up and now she has taken her love.

Milah startles as she hears footsteps approaching her. She looks up to see a man walking toward her and she wipes away her tears. He looks like he has lost something.

"Excuse me, Miss, do you live around here?"

"No I don't, my cousin does." She points to the direction of Killian's house.

"Why do you ask?"

"I have been tasked with finding a kidnapped woman and I was curious to know if there had been any witnesses to the act but so far I have not found one."

"Oh, you must be the Sheriff. Sheriff Nottingham, if memory serves. My husband went to see you. My cousin is the one that was taken."

"I see. I'm sorry."

"No worries, I will be giving my husband glowing reviews on your search for her."

"Your husband seems very fond of your cousin."

"He feels guilty."

"Ah, for her marrying the pirate," Nottingham spits the word. "You don't seem too distraught over her disappearance."

"Why Sheriff Nottingham, are you accusing me of not caring for my cousin?"

"I never said that, but there is something there, and dare I say it, Mrs. Booth, I find you to be a very interesting woman. I feel I should keep an eye on you."

"That is good to know." She smiles coyly as she walks away. She knows that he may come in handy.

@hookedonapirate @kmomof4 @searchingwardrobes @seriouslyhooked@profdanglaisstuff @let-it-raines @revanmeetra87@snowbellewells@hollyethecurious@kymbersmith-90@branlovestowrite@thejollyroger-writer@shireness-says@ilovemesomekillianjones@thisonesatellite@thesschesthair@winterbythesea@stahlop@resident-of-storybrooke@superchocovian@lfh1226-linda@artistic-writer@thislassishooked@shardminds@winterbaby89@xhookswenchx@ultraluckycatnd@gingerchangeling@laschatzi@wellhellotragic@xemmaloveskillianx@courtorderedcake@pirateherokillian@optomisticgirl@darkcolinodonorgasm@sherlockianwhovian @andiirivera @djlbg @nikkiemms @jennjenn615 @scientificapricot @officerrogers @imlaxdris71 @therealstartraveller776 @kday426​

#Captain Swan #teamhook SavageHeart #cs ff #CS Crew #CS Mafia