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falloutjuli · 1 year

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MORE JOHNNY CONTENT. I got mad brainrot so yeah, I can’t stop writing for him. This time I wanted something comforting, so this came to be. Just casually 5k words of Johnny and reader being two depressed fucks that form a cute friendship and then more.

Fall Out Boy title reference because I can. Try to stop me, I’ll wait here.

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Johnny x suicidal!Reader - The Kids aren’t alright.

Wordcount: 5,4K

Short summary: MODERN AU - While you contemplate jumping off a bridge, you meet a peculiar guy who keeps you grounded. Through time, you turn from strangers to friends to more than words can describe.

Warnings: Mention of suicide, depression, self-hatred, all that Jazz. Gyro and you bully Johnny.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

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Your hands gripped the iron railing harder, the metal warm underneath your touch by now. You gaze at the water underneath you, how it taunts you with its flow and the reflecting lights. It looks inviting and yet you can't bring your body to jump over the railing to become one with the water. A sigh escaped your lips as you thought this over.

In theory, everything was set. This wasn't your first time at this bridge after all. The letter was written, all affairs in order and yet, despite the set up, you felt not ready. So, you just kept staring, going through the dark thoughts that brought you here. A tear escaped your eye, and it would remain only one, you lacked the energy to actually cry at this point.

"Contemplating suicide?" A voice asked behind you. Your expression soured and without looking away from the water underneath you answered the person who dared to disturb you.

"If you're gonna ask me to fuck you since I'm gonna ef myself off anyways then do me a favor and jump over the railing yourself." You spat. It wasn't the first time some guy tried to get a pity fuck simply because they assumed you were gonna kill yourself.

"I wasn't gonna ask for such a thing, but even if then I'd need your help to get over the railing." You turned your head you were met by sapphire blue eyes that looked similarly tired to yours. The guy those gorgeous eyes belonged to sat in a wheelchair, so that's probably why he couldn't make the jump himself.

"Sorry." You said dryly, wiping the tear away that had escaped your eye earlier. "Normally the strangers that wanna speak to me here are perverts." "That sucks." He simply shrugged and now the two of you were staring at the water.

"Contemplating suicide?" You asked him the same question as he did to you. "Mhm." Was the simply hummed answer. "Life just sucks huh?" You struck up a conversation, unsure why exactly. Everyone else in your life you were trying to push away, yet him you invited to a conversation.

"Yeah, tell me all about it." A moment of silence passed. "For how long?"

"Pretty much since I was a kid. I have a pretty shit father. And you?" The boy casually mentioned. It was a strange situation, but you felt somewhat comfortable, so you didn’t mind talking to him more. "Teenage years. Then it was better for a while but now all I mainly do is sit in my apartment all day and think about ending it."

"You're copying my life story? How rude for someone who just told me to jump over the railing." The boy joked next to you, and you chuckled. "That's the first time in a while that I was able to laugh at something." You said and let go of the railing. "Glad to help."

You two turned to face each other and take in every detail. The guy was good looking, those eyes were absolutely stunning despite the sorrow they held, golden hair that poked out from under his beanie and framed his face in a beautiful way. A bright blue hoodie with stars for a top and casual sweatpants with vans for bottom.

You wondered if he inspected you so thoroughly too and judging by his eyes wandering over you he might.

"Thank you." You said, unsure if he'd get it but going by the faint smile on his lips he did. "No, thank you." And with that, you each turned to get going home. -------

With heavy steps you made your way to the space you dreaded and loved at the same time.

You had been away for a week. But today it was too much again and so you returned to probably stare at the water again, pussy out and then go home to continue lying in bed. A heavy sigh was let out and you took a deep breath of the cold night air. Just as you were almost at your usual spot you saw the guy from a week ago.

He was next to the bench in his wheelchair, staring out at the city. You contemplated turning around, not wanting to bother him or anything, but your sluggish steps dragged you to the bench in the end to plop down next to him. "Hey." "Hey." You two greeted each other as if you were friends. In reality, you didn't even know each other's names.

"Rough week?" He asked and turned to look at you. "Doesn't even begin to describe it. Judging you're here yours was shit too?" He nodded. A moment of silence passed.

"I don't know whether or not to be glad to have met you again. Because while I like talking to you... Meeting here, at this place at this time of night..." You knew what he was implying.

"Meeting here is bad, because it means we are here to do something else originally." He hummed in approval. "What's your name?" You finally asked him. "Johnny."

"Y/N." You answered before he needed to ask. Now you sat there in silence. "Do you have therapy?" You eventually asked him. "Yeah. I have to otherwise I'm sure my friend would kill me. "Sounds adorable."

"He's a good friend, but I feel like he doesn't really know what's going on in me." "I know what you mean." You mumbled and thought about your friends who had claimed to be there for you only to immediately turn once you weren't happy go lucky. You two fell in silence again. A comfortable one. -----

Weeks passed. Sometimes you were alone at the bridge. Sometimes by coincidence, Johnny was there too. You had learned quite a lot about each other by now. Johnny is a university student. Before that he was a jockey and a good one at that.

But an incident which he didn’t want to elaborate on, left him paralyzed from the waist down, which ended his career prematurely. He comes from money but has cut ties with his family and now lives with his best friend, an Italian medical student.

You also told him about yourself, your home life, which also wasn't the best, how you were now living alone in a tiny apartment to try to fix your life but that didn't work out so now you continuously came to this bridge to end it all. Johnny did it because he struggled massively with his depression and self-hatred. Meeting him had already become the best thing in your life because talking to him grounded you, made you feel valuable. Like you mattered to someone. Today when you came to your usual spot it was empty. Nothing surprising, Johnny and you never agreed on times to meet, it was by coincidence. Yet when you reached the bench, you normally sat on next him there was a paper taped to it. "-⭐ 559-xxx-xxxx "

The star. Johnny wore stars on his clothing and beanie regularly and his last name was Joestar so potentially... He left the note here earlier for you to have his number? Nervously you got your phone out and typed the number in to shoot him a message. "You're lucky I found it." Not too long after a message came in. "Y/N?" "No, the pervert who found your message. Yes of course it's me." "Thank God. I was nervous once I got home you might not come today, and the note would get destroyed." "You're a lucky one." You typed and decided to walk back home already. "I know I am. How are you?" ------

The next time you met Johnny was on his home turf.

You had texted with him a good chunk before, and he invited you over to his place. To say you were curious and nervous was an understatement. You'd meet Gyro, the Italian Johnny lived with, see his apartment, and room and deepen the strange friendship you two had.

It was a weird feeling, since you had previously only meet on a bridge both of you wanted to jump off to end your life. You pressed the doorbell nervously and waited a few seconds before a tall, blond man opened the door. He had long beautiful hair and shining green eyes with a flashy smile thanks to the gold grills.

"Gyro I assume." You said, somewhat intimidated, unsure how to carry yourself. You offered your hand and Gyro pulled you into, giving you a friendly hug, making you almost trip over in the process.

"So, you're the bridge friend! It’s such a pleasure to finally meet you, Johnny talks a lot about you!" Gyro proclaimed and your blood ran cold. Did Gyro know? "Johnny is over in his room, second door to the left. I'm busy cooking for us tonight, so I'll catch you in a bit yeah?"

Gyro had something about him that made you feel comfortable despite everything. His energy and smile were a little infectious and you could easily tell why Johnny liked him. "Thank you. Good luck with the cooking." "I don't need luck, it's in my blood." He grinned, before disappearing in the kitchen. You grabbed your backpacks strap a little tighter before you went to Johnny's room, knocking before you entered.

You didn't know what you thought his room would look like, but it certainly wasn't like this. White Ikea furniture, a big desk with his wheelchair in front of it. On it a high-tech computer. Big wardrobe, opposite to it and to the right, right next to the door was his bed with Johnny on it.

"Glad you could make it." He said, a smile on his lips. "And miss out on seeing your room and getting to know the funny man that just pulled me inside? Wouldn't miss it for the world."

On the wall next to Johnny’s bed were several framed pictures which you quickly inspected. Many were of his horse, Slow Dancer, some were with Gyro and Johnny on horses, riding, or doing some fun stuff together.

"Describing Gyro as Funny feels like a hate crime." Johnny said dryly. "Aw, I like him. He seems fun." You saw a glint of jealousy flash over his face. "No worries, I like you even more." You sat down, next to Johnny on his bed and looked away.

"Did you tell him why we met? He called me bridge friend."

"No, no, don't worry. He thinks I just go there to relax and get out. If he knew what I originally went there for, he wouldn't let me leave the apartment without him."

"Okay, good. I was afraid for a second."

"Don’t be, I'd never tell him anything you told me that you'd probably don't want him to know. All he knows is pretty much that I met you while out and kept meeting you there. He also gave the idea with the note."

That was very nice of him. Being immediately branded as "mentally ill", "unstable" or anything was one of your worst nightmares. Before you could say much, Gyro popped his head in. "Dinner is almost ready!" He proclaimed before leaving again.

"Come on. Let's go." Johnny just said and went to get the crutches near the bed end that you hadn’t noticed until now. You quickly went to grab them for him as you were closer. "Didn't know you could partially walk."

"I don’t like bragging with dat Physical therapy. I'm also not very good at it, still relying on my chair a huge chunk of the time." "That's still progress though." Johnny tried his hardest to suppress the smile on his face. You just went for the door, opening it for him.

"After you M'Lady." Johnny rolled his eyes and went ahead so you could follow him to the living room where Gyro had set up the tiny dinner table. You took a seat next to the window with Johnny next to you. Next to him and the window too would Gyro then sit, who now came in, cursing in Italian, probably because the stealing bowl in his hands was burning them.

"Cazzo." He said as he put it down and you curiously eyed the dark green bowl. Spaghetti. You had to smile. "Well then, I hope it tastes as good as it is hot." Gyro mumbled, taking his seat opposite to you. The first few minutes you simply sat in silence since you were still a little nervous and didn't know what to do.

"So, your name's Y/N?" Gyro asked with a smile, flashing his grills again. You nodded, forcing an awkward smile. Johnny eyed you, noticed your discomfort and sneakily slid his free hand under the table to take yours. A kind smile adorned his lips, he was trying to make you comfortable, and he easily succeeded at that. Not that you’d let him know that he had too much of an ego already.

"What a pretty name!" Gyro said resting his head now on his hands. "Thank you. Gyro is pretty and quite unique too. You're from Italy Johnny mentioned?" "Naples to be exact. So, you and Johnny are friends?" Before you could answer said blond chimed in.

"Yeah, but I might need to reconsider because they called you funny." Gyro happily clasped his hands together, his smile growing wider. "Oh Johnny, we both know you’re laughing at my jokes too. You just don’t wanna admit it!"

The evening was one of the nicest you had in a long while. Gyro and Johnny were incredibly comfortable to be around and got you out of the hardened shell you had developed.

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You unlocked the door with the spare key Gyro and Johnny gave you a while ago. Your backpack was uncomfortably warm by now, so you were happy when you dropped it off once in Johnny's room.

Can you come over, spare some time? It's a bad day.

Johnny had sent that to you, and you made sure to not lose time before dropping by.

"Hey." Johnny mumbled. He was entangled in his bedsheets, his head messy, and expression tired. "Hey." You answered and began opening your backpack, a familiar smell immediately invaded Johnny's nostrils. You placed the red box carefully next to him, waiting for his reaction.

"Did you seriously stop by a McDonald's on the way here to bring me a fucking happy meal of all things?" Ah good, his snarky side was still intact.

"Yeah. Thought you might like the toy and you apparently need a Happy meal today." Johnny chuckled, falling onto his back and hiding his face with his arm. "You're crazy."

"That's why you like me."

"Did you bring Gyro something too? He'll be pissed if he gets back and sees he didn't get anything." You laughed and went back to your backpack, grabbing another happy meal.

"Of course. Lemme bring it to his room, be back soon." You said and left for Gyros room. You opened the door and placed it on Gyros messy desk that was cluttered with medical books and papers. You pushed it a little aside to not place the meal on anything important and then marched back to your blond friend who needed you today.

"Did you get it for the “My Little Pony” toys?" He asked as he spun around the plastic horse in his fingers. "Yeah. Got you Rainbow Dash and Pinkie Pie for Gyro."

"You're ridiculous. Just because we both ride?" You nodded proudly and went to grab your single burger. "Eat, you need it." You reminded him as he begrudgingly shoved some fries in his mouth .

You both sat against his headboard with Johnny soon resting his head on your shoulder as he chewed on a cheeseburger. "What has you down today?" You finally asked, curious why he had asked you to come over.

"Today is my accidents anniversary." You furrowed your brows. "You shouldn't keep track of that." "I'm not. The date’s just engraved in my brain. Whenever I wake up on this date, I'm immediately reminded of it."

Oh Johnny, you thought and went to grab his hand. It was nicely warm, and you intertwined your fingers with his. "Then how about we make it a habit of doing something fun that day. Get your mind off it?"

With a hesitant and lazy nod Johnny agreed and you pulled out your phone to save it in your calendar. You checked the "Yearly reminder" option and went to type in the name of the appointment. "Johnny Day" you named it and heard a chuckle from you shoulder.

"A whole day dedicated to me?" Now you nodded and smiled as you went back to your Home screen which was a picture of you Johnny and Gyro together, just doing funny faces. You tossed it aside, as it wasn't important as the blond next to you. Seeing as Johnny was done with his food, you put it away, and then gestured for him to properly lay down.

As he did as asked, you did the same, resting you head on his shoulder, one of your arms draped around his waist. Johnny's arms also found your frame, pulling you close to him. "You know..." You began as your hand lazily drew circles in his side. "I had a horrible day too. But being here with you now... It made it an okay day." Johnny smiled lazily. "Knowing I made your day better makes mine better."

You two remained like that. Just holding onto the other and enjoying the warmth and comfort that was provided.

"I'm home!" Gyro called out into the dark apartment feeling bad for not being able to be there for Johnny today. He knew very well what day it was and when Johnny didn't even really speak to him early that morning, he just knew what was going on. But he unfortunately had important classes today that he absolutely couldn't skip no matter how bad he wanted to.

Once in his own room, Gyro was confused by the happy meal box placed on his desk. He giddily looked inside finding a pony toy and some food that has been cold for a while now. Gyro immediately had a suspicious who might have deployed that there.

With whispered nyo-ho-ho’s he tiptoed to Johnny's room, carefully opening it, only to completely forget his mischievous plans as he saw Y/N and Johnny cuddling together on the bed, soundly asleep. A dreamy smile painted his expression as he just couldn't believe how adorable they were.

As silently as he could he closed the door again, going back to his room to see if he could heat up his nuggets again. He made a mental note to thank Y/N for their kindness tomorrow.

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You let your head crash against Johnny headboard. Your phone bored you, so you tossed it aside and listened to the mechanical keyboard sounds Johnny made while typing.

You contemplated just dipping, going home to live your depressive episode in your own four walls without having to worry about Johnny and Gyro. It has been a shit week kind of.

Nothing went right, pure stress from all sides, stuff that would have anyone down, but you just felt particularly exhausted and drained. Even coming over felt like a chore today and it wasn’t much better than Johnny was a busy bee, typing away code and text without much of a pause.

You looked over to the blond who downed his third coffee of the day and read something on his screen. Maybe you bothered him? Was he secretly hoping you'd finally leave? Probably not, you knew him well, but intrusive thoughts are intrusive and often illogical, so you were stuck with that. But knowing you'd probably rip him out of his flow you decided to just remain on his bed, not making the effort to leave.

From the other side of the wall, you could hear Gyro cursing in Italian, he probably got something in his online questionnaire wrong. Somehow that was soothing. The silence with the keyboard sounds and occasionally sounds of a strange Italian man made you feel at ease, so it was better to remain here and not sit in silence in a dark lonely apartment.

You shifted and went to rest your head on Johnny's blue pillow that smelled just like him. It involuntarily made you smile a little. You simply closed your eyes trying to get some rest and recharge energy by simply trying to relax. And it worked wonders. Your head felt empty and light, letting you just lay there, taking in the sound of Johnny typing away.

Until the typing stopped. You looked over, wondering why the typing had stopped only to see Johnny looking at you worryingly. To your further surprise, he got up from his wheelchair, which he prefers to use for his desk, and made the few steps over to the bed, using the desk for support before dropping on the bed.

Once on it he crawled up to you, carefully pressing your back against his chest. "What's with you, you have been so silent all week." He said and you felt bad for making him worry and stop in his work. "Just a shit time. You know how it is." You heard him exhale through his nose, signaling his approval.

"No need to worry. You gotta work on your assignment." You tried to remind him, not wanting to keep him from more important tasks and to be frank, you felt like the very least important thing all around. But Johnny's grip around you only tightened.

"Not happening. I'm staying right here with ya. You have been there for me so much recently, the last I can do is be here with you. Also, I have been coming along so well today, I can easily take a break." Absentmindedly you nodded and took hold of his hand. "It's important though Johnny."

"Right now, you're the most important thing for me. Let me be there, okay Darlin’?" Arguing with the Kentuckian was pointless you knew as much. He was a stubborn asshole, and therefore if he decided to lay with you on the bed, nothing could change his mind.

"What has you feeling down?" He asked you just shrugged, carefully to not accidentally hurt him by doing so. Death by a shoulder into his face was certainly not cool. "I dunno. I guess everything? This week has just been me making a fool of myself everywhere. From me missing appointments, forgetting my stuff and lots of added stress on top of all that... It's just a lot currently. Lots of people tell me I’m bothering them."

You turned to lay on your back, Johnny remained on his side, studying you face. You just looked up at the ceiling, as you continued. “I’m not bothering you or Gyro too, am I?”

Johnny quickly rebutted, “Never. I’d rather you are here and give me an excuse for a break than you sitting alone in that apartment of yours, hear me?”

You nodded, feeling the breaking point coming as tears build up in your eyes. Crying in front of Johnny wasn’t embarrassing at least, he too had cried in your arms before. It was no big deal.

“Stay the night yeah? M’sure Gyro won’t mind cooking for one person more. Right?” The last part he screamed, loud enough to summon the Italian from the next room.

“What was that?” Gyro asked once he too was in the room. You crying, while cuddling with Johnny wasn’t even odd to him anymore. He had walked in on you two doing weirder things, like getting drunk together and quoting old memes.

“I said you wouldn’t mind cooking for one more person when Y/N stays the night.” “Of course not. You’re always welcome here!” Gyro proclaimed and you thanked him for it before you noticed something.

“Every time I’m here Gyro cooks. I’m starting to get the feeling Johnny doesn’t cook at all, because he can’t each the top shelves.” Gyro began crackling like crazy and Johnny immediately deadpanned. “I-It’s because he can’t look into the pots o-on the stove!” Gyro managed to press out between his laughs and you laughed like crazy too.

“I hate you two so much.” Johnny mumbled and let go of you to sit up. “Making fun of my height when I’m in a wheelchair. That’s offensive I’ll have you know!” “Gyro is also taller when you’re standing though.” You argued and earned a flick to the head from the blond man.

Gyro finally managed to get a grip and made his way to the kitchen, still laughing. “How mean of you, I offer you to spend the night, in my bed of all things and you make fun of me!” Johnny complained and you went to hug him.

“Im sowwy Jownny.” He was cute when he was pouting. “At least you’re laughing, so I accept you making jokes at my expense. For now.” You smiled and kissed his cheek. “There ain’t much to make fun of though. I’m better when I make fun of Gyro.” Johnny raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Yeah. Come on get in your chair, lets bully him back while he cooks.” Johnny did as asked and let you roll him into the kitchen. Normally he didn’t like someone rolling him around. You though?

You were allowed pretty much anything when it came to him. Even making fun of him.

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You huffed and puffed as you moved the boxes.

"Il mio Dio, Y/N." Gyro mumbled as he went to grab one away from you. "What's in there?" He asked as he watched the poorly scribbled note. "My anime figures." He looked at you with a deadpan expression that you were only used to from Johnny.

"Ah come on, you already moved in last week. Don't judge me." You complained and grabbed the last two boxes of your own. "Yeah and thanks to us, you won't even need to care about setting up the furniture, we already did that." You bickered with Gyro a little more until you two finally set the boxes inside your new room.

A while ago Johnny and Gyro had asked you if you wanted to move in with them, in a bigger apartment of course, as it became a totally normal thing to spend a huge chunk of time there already. You happily said yes, excited to not sour in your old apartment anymore but instead to live with your two closest friends.

Johnny was busy unpacking some of your stuff already while you and Gyro went to get the last boxes from your old apartment with his pickup truck. Once in your new room, you felt content with how Johnny was decorating things already.

"I'll hang up the pictures though, we don't want them at waist height." You joked and earned an elbow to the ribs from him. "Come on you can't even complain at my work so far."

You really couldn't. He had set up your plastic plants nicely, made your bed already, however he managed that, Gyro and you must have taken a while, and put the bedside lamp on the table. "No no, you're doing fine. Can't wait to unpack everything and get settled in."

"Can't wait to finally rest in someone else's bed." Johnny joked. In the time you have known one another Johnny has never been in your old apartment. It was simply a good bit away, wheelchair unfriendly, and super cramped.

Even Gyro said so and he was in the already empty rooms.

And it was a regular thing that you and Johnny shared a bed. Gyro considered you two a couple already, besides not officially being one or anything. The blond Italian simply enjoyed watching you two dance around one another, feelings clearly blossomed in both of you.

"Who said you're allowed in my bed, Johnny?"

"I did and I know i am."

"That attitude of yours will be your death someday."

Silence lingered as you two kept unpacking and sorting. You let Johnny keep on decorating your boards and table, while you were busy stuffing your clothes into your new wardrobe.

While you were busy trying to get your hoodies into the tiny space, Johnny found something in your box that peaked his interest. A tiny book decorated with Stars and a horse, probably drawn by you.

Johnny checked over his shoulder, you were still busy and cursing, trying to fit stuff in so he decided to have a look. At the first page his note with his number was taped in.

He flipped ahead to check what else was here. Receipts from when you guys went out , movie tickets, pictures of you, Johnny and Gyro. You had collected memories in here, he concluded and flipped towards the end. There was a picture of him and you on Slow Dancer that Gyro had taken. Underneath it read "Keep going. For this." Around it you had doodled pretty stars.

Johnny had been so amazed by this that he didn't notice your looming presence over him. "Weren't you taught not to snoop." You spoke, making Johnny almost jump out of his chair.

"Sorry, sorry, i was just intrigued." "Dummy." You mumbled and flicked his head, taking the book away into your bedside table drawer it wandered. "It's cute." He spoke. "Thanks. My therapist advised me to try to visualize what keeps me motivated and Honestly ever since I met you, it's been wanting to make more experiences and memories with you." You confessed casually. "Same here." Johnny said with a faint shade of red on his cheeks.

The buzzing of the apartment door had you both snap out of the situation, and you knew what it meant.

"Pizza is here!" Gyro proclaimed, setting the boxes down on the couch table. Johnny was already going through Netflix's catalog to pick something to mindlessly watch.

Once decided, you three sat there, watching some parody movie. Gyro was seated next to Johnny, and you sat on the floor in front of the paraplegic. Dinner was silent, except for Gyros occasional bad jokes as he found the movie not entertaining enough.

His two friend were soon sick of his antics though, so when Gyro offhand mentioned he still had to go and study some more, the other two silently thanked god for it.

At first you were alone in your new room, just stretched out on the bed, enjoying the way Johnny had set up things so far, but you knew you'd make it even more homely in the next few weeks. This too would soon come into the book.

A knock on the door soon interrupted your train of thoughts and you moved to look who entered. It was Johnny to no one's surprise and he casually came over, having taken his crutches from his room.

"You're getting better at it." "Stop lying." You chuckled. Johnny hated being complimented on his walking progress.

He described it was "patronizing. No one compliments you when you're normally walking either so why now?" You knew it was mainly Johnny's self-hatred that made it hard for him to accept compliments, so you made sure to give him enough to get used to them.

Johnny sat down on your bed, the mattress shifting a little as he did and put away his crutches before he scooted over closer to you, embracing your figure in his arms. "Are you happy?" "Now I am." You answered, a chuckle escaped Johnny's body, as he held you closer.

"I was mainly talking about your room and the apartment but alrighty." You inhaled Johnny scent as you were pressed against his chest, your head resting in the crook of his neck. He felt like home. He and Gyro did. The two had taken prime slots in your heart and you were always in better mood with them around, even on your worst days.

"Johnny?" "Mhm." He mumbled, obviously just as tired as you. "I love you." "Me you too darlin'." He squished you a little and you gave his neck a kiss in return.

It was nothing but a casual confession. Just words to properly express and define your feelings towards him now. The lines between "Friend" and "Lover" had long been blurred already. You two didn't need labels.

You were simply Y/N and Johnny, who found deep appreciation for one another when you met on a bridge you wanted to jump off.

#jjba johnny x reader #johnny joestar x reader #johnny x reader #jjba x reader #jjba johnny #jjba gyro #mhmm yes comfort #johnny lovers unite

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forlornmelody · 3 months

Text

Outlaws Chapter 3 – Teenagers

Rating: E (language, graphic violence. Smut in other chapters.)

Fandom: Titans (2018)

Ship: Jayrose, Jayroy, Rose/Artemis, Poisonquinn, Bella Garten/Pamela Isley

AO3 Links: First Chapter. // This Chapter.

Summary: Poison Ivy has agreed to help with the search for her copycat killer. Or is it a copycat?

Notes: Chapter title comes from the My Chemical Romance song of the same name.

----

“Where’s my cash?” She wraps her arms around her bare middle. Walking the streets and the alleys in these clothes is a lot easier in a Gotham summer. By now the trees have all but turned, and there’s frost whispering in the air.

“It’s comin’, sweets. Things are just a little tight right now.” He’s plenty warm in his leather coat and silk scarf. And his beemer probably has seat warmers. If she plays it right, she might get to hitch a ride home. Well, part of the way home. She’d be a fucking idiot if she told this john where she lived.

“You promised me you’d have it by today.” Strangely, the plant behind them doesn’t seem to acknowledge the change of the seasons. It’s as green as spring, if not greener. It almost seems to glow.

“Shit happens. You know I’m always good for it.”

“I need to pay my rent, Danny.”

“And Danny says you need to shut your fucking mouth before he breaks those pretty little teeth.” He wraps his big hands around her neck, lifting her off the ground.

“Danny! I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry,” she starts to plead.

“Maybe Danny needs to teach you a lesson, bitch.”

The vines of the plant stir from their other prey, stretching out like spider silk.

“Danny, I–” she screams as Danny’s feet are snatched from beneath him. They envelop him like a net and then they squeeze until Danny’s screams stop.

—

“You cannot be serious.” Barbara fixes him a stare before rummaging through her desk drawer. Where’s that scotch when she needs it?

“She makes a point.” Jason shrugs.

“She’s terrorized Gotham multiple times.”

“And she’s more likely to know who the copycat is.”

“If it’s a copycat.”

Jason leans against the desk. Barbara is half-convinced he’s drunk already at 10 am. Tim told Dick as much after his crash course. Can she blame him, though? It’s a miracle the kid’s alive after all this. “You got any other leads, Babs?”

Scratch scotch. She needs something stronger. “I’m telling you Jason, something’s off. Ivy can’t be trusted.”

“I know.” Jason smiles softly. “I know her better than anyone on your team. She’s my baddie, remember?”

Barbara snorts. “You’re an ex-con yourself.”

“Exactly. I know how these guys–er–gals, think. I’ve got it handled, Babs.”

She sucks on her teeth, already feeling a familiar tension in her shoulders spreading to her neck and the back of her head. “Giving Dick free reign with Crane is exactly what got you into that mess.”

Jason flinches, just for a split second before he recovers. But the damage is done.

“Jason–”

“I’m not Dick.” And there he is. The terrified teenager that Bruce picked up off the street, still trying to look braver than he feels.

Barbara should say no. But it’s impossible to say no to family, isn’t it? “Fine.” Doesn’t make her hate herself any less, though.

The tension eases from Jason’s shoulders, and he sways ever so slightly before he catches himself. “Thanks, Barbara.”

“Don’t.” She wheels herself away from her desk. “This conversation never happened.”

“Never does.”

—

When Babs and Jason get to the van, the rest of the team is already there. Jason moves to get in the backseat, but the driver stops him. “Sorry. The inmate’s gonna go in the back. Arkham rules.”

Jason eyes the rest of the van while Babs maneuvers into the shotgun seat. He folds and hands over her wheelchair without a second thought. And then he sinks inside. There’s only one seat available if Pamela and her two guards are taking the backseat. And it’s next to Deathstroke’s kids. Donna meets Jason’s eyes and winks at him. Winks. Muttering under his breath, Jason settles in next to Rose, who doesn’t even seem to register that he’s there. In fact, she can’t even keep herself awake, despite the energy drink in her hand. The moment Jason buckles his seatbelt, she nods off, resting her head on her brother’s shoulder. Even though there’s at least two inches between them, Jason swears he can feel that familiar buzz of energy between them. Like sticking his finger in a socket. Fuck, this is going to be a long ride.

“Is this really necessary?” Ivy shifts between a male and a female prison guard, flashing them her trademark smile.

“Standard procedure, Isely.”

“But Gary, you know I’m harmless with this little accessory.” Arms bound; Ivy cranes her neck to draw attention to her inhibitor collar.

“Rules are rules.”

“Stop flirting, Gary.”

“Just having some fun, Cheryl.”

The guards drag Ivy to the backseat, and when her seat belt clicks into place, Ivy leans forward. “You mind?” Inexplicably, she has a tube of lipstick between her teeth. Roy shrugs and applies it to her lips with ease. Almost as if he’s done makeup before. Hm. Ivy eyes herself in the reflection of Artemis’s ax, smacking her lips with a pop. “Thank you.”

“Hey!” Babs snaps. “Give me that.” She holds out her hand until Roy and the rest pass her the stick of lipstick.

Ivy rolls her eyes. “You know the lipstick itself isn’t toxic, right?”

“Just take us to the crime scene, Carl.”

“Yes ma’am.” The driver gives her an idle salute as the van rolls down the road.

“You teamed up with Scarecrow!?” Ivy shrieks. The van swerves. Rose jerks awake, her arm bumping into Jason’s.

“Ivy–” Jason starts to say–

“Scarecrow!?” she says, louder this time. Before anyone can say anything, Ivy continues. “That motherfucking, narcissistic, patronizing asshole. You teamed up with him?”

“Look, I know it was a mistake–”

She manages a sniffle. “I thought I was your favorite.”

Jericho snorts.

—

Jericho’s lost track of how many times he’s hit the bag. He’s barely keeping track of the Queen album blaring in the speakers. Right now, Freddie Mercury’s belting about his love for “Fat Bottom Girls,” and Jericho Wilson is trying to locate the same joy in Freddie’s voice. But all he feels at the moment is rage.

Five. Fucking. Years.

A throat clears behind him, and Jericho misses the bag completely. “Your right hook needs work.”

Jericho stops, staring at Adeline pointedly–the punching bag swaying back and forth across his face. “Do you want to talk, or watch me train? Because I can’t do both.”

“It’s been a while since we had a chat.” Adeline Kane sits down on the weight bench, placing a tray with a tea kettle and two cups on the nearby bench press.

“What do you want?” Jericho grabs a towel, drying his face. T makes it easier to look in the mirror. But it also makes him sweat like mad. Worth it.

“How are you feeling?” She says it sweetly, but her eyes are almost devoid of warmth. Something happened to her in those five years. Almost like she’s angry with him for dying. Like it’s his fault, and not his father’s.

His hands stop. Adeline doesn’t waste breath. Not anymore. “Takes some getting used to, I guess.”

“It’s a miracle you’re alive, you know.” Adeline pours them two cups, handing him one. “It’s not easy bringing a body out of cryostasis.”

Jericho blows on his tea, not sure where she’s going with this. “Considering all this family put me through? Yeah. A fucking miracle.”

“Language.” Ripe coming from the woman who has likely committed war crimes.

“The words you use shouldn’t matter. It’s how you use them.”

Adeline sighs. “Just spit it out, Jericho.”

He quirks his head, holding up the cup.

“You know what I mean.”

“Why did you lie to me about my dad?”

“I was trying to protect you.”

“Bullshit.”

“A son needs to love and respect his father.”

“You just didn't want me in the business!” Most would throw the teacup and shatter it, but even on his angriest days, Jericho prefers to avoid violence. So, he sets the cup, untouched, back on the tray, and storms out.

—

“Have you slept?” The team medic, Doctor Maya Owens, checks the vitals of her least favorite patient. Her brow furrows skeptically as Rose yawns.

“Nothing but, Doc.”

Dr. Owens eyes her through her glasses, pressing on Rose’s wrist for her pulse. “Have you slept well?”

Rose lifts her arm begrudgingly, so the medic can wrap the compression sleeve around it, as she considers the question. “Maybe?”

“Blood pressure’s low. How much caffeine have you had today?”

“Five cups. You think it would work better if I sweetened it with cocaine?”

“I think the cocaine would kill you.”

“You’re no fun.”

“It’s not my job to be fun.” She sighs as she makes some notes in her chart. “Looks like you’re suffering from adrenal fatigue.”

“So, what drugs will you give me?”

Dr. Owens rubs her forehead with her thumb, swiveling her chair to face away from her. “Just lay off the caffeine and try to relax.”

Rose shifts her spinny chair in arcs from side to side. “Not my job to relax.”

“Well, my job is to keep you alive.”

She snorts. “I’m not easy to kill, remember?”

“Death comes for everyone eventually, Rose. Don’t go around tempting him, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.”

—

“Daddy!” A five-year-old girl beams at Roy from his computer screen.

“Hi Lian,” Roy smiles back, his hand shaking just slightly beneath his desk, where she can’t see. Damn, she looks more and more like her mother every day.

How fucking dare you, Roy Harper.

I have to do what’s best for her, Jade.

Taking a girl away from her mother?

I’m taking her away from both of us. Making sure she turns out nothing like us.

“Daddy?” Lian’s eyebrows crease. “You went away again.”

“Sorry, Lian.” Roy swallows, plastering what he hopes is a brave smile on his face. “Daddy’s just tired.”

“I love you, Daddy.”

“I love you, too.” Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t– “Why don’t you show me what you made class today?”

Lian holds up a monstrosity of a construction paper creature, all clashing colors. “Look! He has five teeth!” She holds up five fingers, beaming. “I’m five, too!”

“Yes, Li. Yes, you are.”

Lian’s bedroom door opens, and an apologetic middle-aged woman gently puts a hand on her shoulder. “Sorry, Mr. Harper. But Lian’s got school in the morning.”

Roy glances at the clock. “Oh, sh–crap. Right. Sorry.”

Lian’s foster mom looks up at him. “Same time next week?”

Sooner? Roy wants to say, but he knows they’re busy. Knows he’s busy. “Yeah, that works great. Goodnight Lian. Be a good girl for me, okay? I love you.”

“I love you too, Daddy.”

—

Ah, finally. Donna’s tea has cooled enough to drink. She shouldn’t have caffeine this late at night, but the chai was calling to her. And these leads on Poison Ivy, or not Poison Ivy, as the villainess herself keeps insisting, aren’t going to follow themselves, are they? Just a little pick me up at the ARGUS computer, and Donna will be all set to go. Just as she’s going to take her first coveted sip, Donna hears a knock at the door jamb behind her. The tea comes this close to spilling onto her lap, and it’s only her reflexes and training that land the mug right side up on the desk.

“Yeah?” Donna calls out after she stops reeling.

“Can I talk to you about Rose?” Artemis chews her lip. How very un-Artemis-like.

“Shit. Did she set the kitchen on fire? Hack the computer again? Booby trap Jericho’s roo-” Artemis stops her with a hand on her shoulder, and Donna, out of habit, violently shrugs it off. She might have accepted the other Amazon as a teammate, but they sure as hell aren’t buddies. Not now, not ever.

“She hasn’t done anything wrong.” Artemis clears her throat. “That I’m aware of.” It might be the hum of the computer, but she swears she hears a crack in her voice. “This is more personal in nature.”

Donna finally turns in her chair, staring at Artemis. “You’re asking me for relationship advice?”

“Why not? You’ve had lovers before, have you not?” Artemis leans against the door frame, her head nearly bumping against the top.

“I mean, yeah, but–” Did a largely un-acted upon whirlwind romance with Garth count?

“Then you can help me.” Artemis leans on the desk, folding her arms. Donna imagines it’s supposed to look confident, if not intimidating but even with the other Amazon’s muscles, she can still see the slouch in her shoulders and the crease in her eyebrows. Now this was not a look she ever expected from Artemis of Bana Migdahl.

“Eh–”

“How do I get Rose to–how do you say it– ”get serious” with me?”

Donna spits out her tea. “Rose? Wilson?” She sets her mug down, clearing her throat. “You’re kidding.”

Artemis, always completely centered in her gravity, shifts on her feet. “Is that one of your sayings or?”

“You know what she did to Jason, right?”

“She “fleeced” him for information, did she not?”

Donna snorts. “Mythology puns, really?”

Ah, there’s that trademark Artemis smirk. “We both know it’s not a myth.”

Donna rubs her temples. “Right. Okay. What I’m getting at is I don’t think Rose is…. all that romantic.”

“Oh.” Artemis deflates, damn her.

“Wait, hold on. Does Artemis of Bana Mighdal want romance?”

Artemis levels her a familiar glare “Is that so surprising?”

“It’s just…. you never seemed to stick with one partner very…long.”

“Never mind.” Artemis turns to leave. Donna grabs her hand, stopping her short. She looks up at her, all that fury and resentment of all their years pitted against each other still burning in her eyes. “What?”

“Have you thought about talking to her?”

Artemis doesn’t answer–-she just slips into the hall, letting the door close behind her.

—

The van pulls up to a drainpipe, teeming with greenery. Long, white, and spidery vines crawl over every plant in sight, trapping them like a net. One net contains a distinctly human shape.

“Oh god.” Donna covers her nose, turning a bit green about the edges.

Barbara must have completely lost her sense of smell by now. “Fresh crime scene. Have at it.” She waves in the body’s general direction as Jason puts her wheelchair on the ground.

They fan out, and Ivy clears her throat. Jason meets Barbara’s eyes, and her lips press into a thin line. “I better not regret this.”

“Best behavior, Ivy,” Jason murmurs, as he presses the deactivator on her power-dampening collar.

“Always.” Ivy winks, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath.

She steps forward, turning back to look at them. “Hurry up, would you? I don’t have all n–” Ivy chokes on her next word, and then she doubles over.

“Is she–?”

And then Ivy screams. She doubles over, falling to her knees. Gasping for air, she chokes out, “I should have had more time.” Her skin pales and glimmers with sweat as she shakes.

“Ivy?” Jason frowns steps toward her. “You okay?”

Ivy sways as she stands up directly in front of him. The plants around her writhe as she spits out. “Your seas are rising, and your forests are on fire. What is the fucking point of this? As far as I’m concerned, you’re running out of ground to stand on, Robin.” Rose pulls out her swords, Artemis her ax. Roy reaches for his quiver. Even Donna readies her lasso.

Jason swallows. “I’m not Robin anymore.”

“Then why are you still acting like a fucking bat?” She glares at Barbara as she gasps for air. “Why are you still running around with pigs like her?”

Jericho steps forward, his eyes losing their color. Roy stops him with a hand.

“Ivy. I know you’re in a lot of pain. And you’re angry. As you should be.” Jason holds up both hands, his guns still in their holsters. “But right now, I need you to breathe.” He counts to four with one hand, breathing in slowly, holding it for another four, and letting it out at the same count, and holding it for another.

Ivy’s eyes lose their glow, and the plants around her settle. “Who taught you box breathing?”

Rose looks at Jason, but he avoids her eyes. “Did you see anything we could use to find who murdered those people?”

Ivy turns back to the glowing cuscata, feeding on the basil. She shakes her head, stepping toward it. “One moment,” she says shakily. Stretching out her hand, Ivy says softly, “Hello, little one.

“She talks to them?” Donna whispers to Roy.

He shrugs. “Don’t ask me. I’m not her bestie like Jason is.”

“Ow.”

“Something wrong?”

Ivy sucks the wound on her thumb, furrowing her brow. “I’m not sure.”

“Aren’t plants supposed to be your thing?” Rose folds her arms.

“It’s like she doesn’t recognize me,” Ivy mutters, and then jerks her head in their direction. “HEY. They’re not just my thing! I am an agent of the Green–”

The amarbel shivers.

“That isn’t funny. I’m not being funny.” Ivy turns back to the parasitic plant. “What do you mean I’ve been here before?”

Jason’s eyes widen.

“No, I haven’t.”

Jericho looks at him. Had Ivy told them the truth or not? Was the former Robin’s faith in her misplaced?

“FINE. Show me who you saw here this morning.”

The amarbel unfurls from its meal, twisting and turning until it takes the shape of a woman, roughly Ivy’s height. She fumes, her fists white knuckled at her sides. “I already told you. It wasn’t me!”

“You gotta admit, Ivy. The resemblance is uncanny.” Roy murmurs softly.

Jason steps forward, stopping at her side. “What’s that on her head?”

That stops Ivy short, as if she’s truly taking in the form of it for the first time. “It’s a crown.”

#titans #rhato #jason todd #poison ivy #pamela isley #dc comics #jayrose #rose wilson #jericho wilson #artemis of bana mighdall #roy harper #donna troy #adeline kane #hoo boy this chapter took forever #sorry about that #melody writes

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artsyarcane · 2 years

Text

Ravenloft headcanons:

Both Rudolph and Erasmus van Richten are really good at trick shots. (It’s a skill that comes in handy surprisingly often.)

Alanik had a habit of pacing the room while in deep thought. This habit resulted in wearing pathways in the floor. Being wheelchair bound did not stop this habit.

Ez has terrible taste in romantic partners.

The only things Strahd is still capable of feeling genuine affection for are his nightmare and the bats that hang out in his castle.

Azalin Rex is a giant troll and was allowed by the dark powers to escape Darkon because he only ever wants to fuck with people and doesn’t actually do anything truely “evil”… anymore.

Alanik gets super excited when people try to kill him. It’s his favorite part of working a case because it’s an indicator that he’s close to the truth. He’s always deeply disappointed when it doesn’t happen. Arthur is usually terrified by his excitement but has slowly become accustomed to it.

Erasmus (as a ghost) enjoys making his loved ones laugh and it always confuses the hell out of his father.

Erasmus has a suspiciously fey-like affinity with animals. When he was alive, he’d befriended a flock of ravens. He even kept one as a pet. A one-eyed “hell bird” named Hades who had a habit of biting Rudolph for no particular reason. After Erasmus died, Hades stayed with Rudolph for almost 20 years before dying of natural causes.

Rudolph makes dad jokes. He actually has a rather dry sense of humor and is surprisingly funny if you can get him to open up.

If Erasmus is resurrected, Gennifer and Laurie smother him with an almost embarrassing amount of affection though he isn’t shy about reminding them that their “little cousin” is roughly 20 years older than they are. They do not care.

When the detective duo first started their relationship, it was Alanik who made the first move (spurred by Erasmus), causing Ez to lose a bet with Rudolph. Later Arthur proposed using a puzzle box.

Ez and Erasmus both have a massive sweet tooth.

Arthur has in-depth conversations with the corpses he autopsies and sometimes even tries to involve Alanik in said conversations. Alanik finds this practice entirely bizarre but deeply insightful.

(Part 2)

#van richten's guide to ravenloft #erasmus van richten #rudolph van richten #ezmerelda d'avenir #azalin rex #strahd von zarovich #alanik ray #arthur sedgwick #dnd npcs #headcanon #d&d shenanigans #i’m just having fun

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strings0fcontrol · 8 months

Text

Hannigram – Post-Fall (12)

Hannibal moved with measured grace, pacing slowly as he sketched out his new plan.

He delved into the hospital's security protocols, schedules, and layout, crafting a convincing disguise that allowed him to masquerade as a hospital employee, complete with a fabricated ID and uniform. As a diversion to confound both security personnel and law enforcement, he orchestrated a series of unrelated incidents and emergencies in the vicinity of the hospital. This plan encompassed fake bomb threats, anonymous tips, and even a seemingly unrelated crime spree in the area.

A fundraiser was in full swing, providing impeccable timing as it would draw the focus of hospital staff and security. Even in his desperation, he couldn't afford to be careless and jeopardize their cover. Not at this crucial juncture, not when he was on the verge of securing Will.

This meant that despite the fact that his adversaries were all around him, seated right in front of him as usual, they would be utterly engrossed in other matters, affording him the perfect opportunity to glide through their midst. Moreover, this positioning was strategically advantageous for his cover-up.

Chiyoh had readied a van, and Bedelia, for the time being, was safely confined.

Thanks to the handmaiden’s astute efforts, it appeared that Jack remained blissfully unaware of their current whereabouts, at least from what Hannibal could discern. Alana, on the other hand, seemed preoccupied with more immediate concerns, likely leaning towards defensive measures before contemplating any offensive moves. She was undoubtedly wary of drawing attention to the precious little family she had constructed, one that Hannibal had promised to wrest from her grasp. This raised the possibility that Du Maurier had indeed conversed with Crawford, but the puzzle pieces didn't quite align. Until Bedelia disclosed the missing information, he found himself at an impasse, staring down a vexing dead end.

The hospital held the promise of unraveling the enigma surrounding Will's condition.

At this point, he could manage the journey, with Will comfortably settled in his wheelchair. Hannibal regarded him thoughtfully, his mind churning with contemplation.

With all his essentials in hand, Lecter stepped outside, fully prepared.

Seated in the back with Graham, their destination under Chiyoh's capable guidance, his gaze narrowed. It felt as though, for the first time in ages, he pondered the alternate paths their lives might have taken if his actions had veered in a different direction. His eyes descended to the gently swaying floor, his clasped hands betraying the tumultuous thoughts that stirred within. He briefly reached for his small notebook, flipped it open, and perused his calculations. He had earnestly ventured into the realm of time travel. It appeared to be the sole concept that truly confined his abilities. Time, it seemed, only flowed in one direction, while we resided in our own glass box. We could observe what lay behind us, and with keen vision, predict what lay ahead, but we remained impotent in influencing the motion of the box itself.

Indeed, we can conceptualize time machines, but the majority of these seemingly workable ideas demand the existence of negative energy or negative mass, elements that appear to be absent in our universe.

Numerous alternative theories about time travel have been posited, but the vast majority of them remain rather unreliable at this stage. The behavior of time itself, much like our comprehension of reality, remains one of the many concepts that we have yet to fully grasp. In essence, even a higher being, one existing across more dimensions than we can perceive in our current form—much like how a two-dimensional figure would remain unaware of our existence in three dimensions—would, hypothetically, relinquish most of its characteristics tied to those higher dimensions if it were to adopt our dimensional parameters. This transformation, akin to our own loss of depth when rendered as a two-dimensional image, signified that even the devil himself would be powerless against time as long as he inhabited a mortal shell. He possessed the mathematics, in a sense, the spell inscribed on his pages, but he lacked the dimension within which he could harness its magic. Reversing time, therefore, proved to be an ineffective solution.

'I was so confident in my ability to help Will, to solve him, …''To save him.'

He longed for Will's return, and that single desire eclipsed all else. Everything once deemed paramount now took a backseat as his world appeared to have turned itself completely upside down. Will had left an indelible mark on him, just as he had on Will, sparking introspection.

The question loomed in his mind: Were the constructs of fate truly as immutable as society perceived them to be? A faint smile lifted his lips. Clearly not. Hannibal didn't seem to mind that Will's influence had infiltrated him. It imparted an oddly human sensation, although he'd never openly confess to such vulnerability. Even in his last moments, Will had remained a captivating enigma, both embracing and defying Hannibal in a quantum dance of existence.

The irony lay in the unchanging state that persisted while Hannibal observed Will. According to the principles of quantum physics, when an object is observed, it collapses into a specific state.

Will, on the other hand, appeared to do the opposite. He became more chaotic, changing between them.

A rather intriguing observation, he mused.

In truth, Will defied the conventional laws of psychology, occupying a realm that strayed far from established norms. His hyper-empathy, like a particle in quantum superposition, existed in an elusive state of unpredictability. This unique trait endowed him with an uncanny ability to feel the pain of others, to grasp their motives, and to immerse himself in their experiences as though they were his own. Yet, it also ensnared him in a paradoxical pattern of pathological behavior.

Did his compulsion to assist others stem from an innate desire to offer what he himself had lacked—a savior of sorts? Or was it a means of exerting control? Kindness, he understood, possessed a subtle power, a tool of manipulation veiled behind a gentle, charming smile, masquerading as the desire for the best outcome for everyone. The balance of intensity was a delicate tightrope walk, where perceptions oscillated between charming and creepy. For someone genuinely kind but overly enthusiastic, they risked appearing needy, even draining, undermining their sincerity. People often found it difficult to take such individuals seriously, their motivation seeming at odds with the ego.

Conversely, subtle gestures of kindness could easily go unnoticed, taken for granted. To wield kindness as a weapon required a masterful touch—an intricate and precise presentation—striking a delicate balance that allowed it to serve as both a shield and a sword.

Exercising unconditional kindness was among the most disruptive actions one could take.

Compassion entailed the logical understanding that things could cause hurt, without necessarily being a participant. Empathy, on the other hand, meant feeling as the other person did, intimately sharing their pain in every dimension. Hence, his motivation concealed a degree of selfishness that others might fail to grasp. He intervened to alleviate the suffering of others, not solely out of altruism, but to safeguard himself from becoming an unwilling participant in their ensuing chaos.

There were no boundaries, no safeguards. If he found himself in the proximity of someone enduring excruciating pain, it would overflow into every fiber of his being. He assisted others not only to shield himself from their pain, but also as a means to pacify his conscience. It served as a perpetual reminder of his identity as a virtuous individual.

However, paradoxically, using this altruism as a lure often proved to be an almost futile tactic. Will wasn't blind to this weakness; he displayed a keen awareness of it. Despite the awareness of the lurking monster behind the bait, he would, with full knowledge, unapologetically approach the trap. Anxiety coursed through Will, yet bravery shone brightly within him. Despite the grip of fear, he pressed onward undeterred. While others might have turned tail and fled, he forged ahead, driven by a singular sense of purpose: to move forward. It appeared to be the sole direction he comprehended—an intriguing anomaly.

Nevertheless, that represented only one facet of the coin; the flip side was considerably darker.

Empathy, oh, it wielded a power far more potent than most could fathom. In its unbridled, uncontrolled form, it was sheer torment to bear the weight of others' pain. But when coupled with a desire to inflict harm, or spite, a masochistic inclination enabling him to endure the suffering he sensed in others while perpetrating it, that was the zenith of empathy—the dark side of its spectrum. When harnessed for offense, it granted him the ability to pinpoint the source of agony, the wound itself, by using his own agony as the map. Instead of healing it, he could ruthlessly rend it open, systematically draining a person of their life essence.

When one finds themselves unable to control the pain that threatens to consume them, the only route to survival is to master the art of deriving pleasure from its agony. Or to endure the suffering, much like Will did, as he steadfastly resisted succumbing to his ominous inclinations. Will was acutely aware of the destructive potential within him but was apprehensive about harnessing it. And he was only inflicting pain upon himself in the process.

Balancing the delicate chemistry just right, it was the art of deception he had mastered. Skillfully posing seemingly benign inquiries, discreet prods veiled beneath the guise of altruism, all the while crafting outcomes that best served his own interests or, on occasion, simply for the sheer amusement it provided.

For a virtuous individual to authentically desire to inflict harm, he had to acquaint them with the flavor of it—the authority it held. It was a relatively straightforward task for someone with loose morals. If he cloaked it in enough excitement, self-serving motives, and rewards, most people would succumb. However, an autistic mind exhibited greater resistance to such influence. It adhered to a stringent justice system, a clearly defined sense of right and wrong, individually crafted, no doubt. But once those definitions were established, they proved nearly impervious to manipulation. Autistic individuals were more inclined to unwaveringly uphold their self-defined rules, even when doing so placed them at a direct disadvantage, simply because the rule held more sway than any offered reward. They did not easily compromise their morals, irrespective of the exact shade. Manipulating this mindset proved considerably more challenging, as it stubbornly recalibrated itself if the person had sufficient time to reflect upon it. The ceaseless activity of an autistic mind ensured that it questioned not only its environment but also itself. It required significantly more time to deviate from its customary calibrations and did so with great reluctance, only when presented with an exceedingly logical rationale. Or so he observed. Naturally, this didn't apply to all segments of the spectrum, but it did pertain to a very specific and limited range within it.

In contrast to the relatively uniform organization of brains in individuals without autism, his studies had revealed that when it came to connectivity between regions, no two autistic brains were alike. The spectrum was remarkably versatile, with instances where two autistic individuals could seem like polar opposites. It wasn't a simple linear progression from black to white; rather, it resembled an entire color wheel with numerous sliders. Each adjustment to a slider caused a complete shift in the overall shade it represented. Sometimes these sliders even moved fluidly, making it a dynamic and complex spectrum. There was no straightforward definition, and it was precisely this complexity that infused it with such vibrant diversity. No two autistic individuals could be identical; they might share similarities, but they could never be identical.

This rendered Will entirely unique, as Hannibal had come to realize. There was simply no substitute for him.

The challenge lay in the fact that, in a condition like this, he had to proceed with utmost caution. An autistic brain was fundamentally distinct, leading to different patterns of behavior. Most scientific experiments and standards were primarily designed for non-autistic individuals, which occasionally made it quite difficult to anticipate how an autistic mind would respond to specific medications or procedures that might work effectively on a non-autistic individual.

These beautiful minds became something of a Pandora's box from a medical perspective due to the limited and uncertain knowledge surrounding them.

These humans, these captivating beings, had always held a special allure for him. Their idiosyncrasies fascinated him endlessly, their little thought processes. He had only begun to peel back the layers of their psyche, to unearth the depths of what lay hidden beneath, steadily working towards the day when he could exert unmitigated control over their minds.

Will seemed to hold a genuine desire to help others, to a degree, but he stumbled in the manner of translating it to the outside. He remained ignorant of the art of wielding this power effectively – the precise timing, the strategic placement, and the controlled intensity. Perhaps, the world should count itself fortunate that no one had ever instructed him in the mastery of this formidable weapon. While it tore him apart from within, it was prevented from unleashing its wrath upon the world.

The world had chosen to label him as a monster, oblivious to the fact that he was the one pursuing the true monsters. What a bitter irony it was.

Will stood as the polar opposite, the yin to his yang.

He remained in a perpetual state of evolution. In his fragility lay an extraordinary resilience. With every scar and crack, he grew more beautiful, more complete.

It was reminiscent of kintsugi, the art of golden repair—a traditional Japanese craft that not only restores an object's functionality but also elevates its beauty by adorning the cracks and repairs with precious metals. This art form embodied the philosophy of embracing imperfections, acknowledging that breakage and mending were integral aspects of an object's history, meant to be celebrated rather than concealed.

Every shattered fragment of him, Lecter would tenderly gild with gold.

It was a breathtaking spectacle to witness the extent to which his mind could stretch, unfurling its little tendrils to weave these peculiar connections—an absolute masterpiece of nature's design. Always voracious, forever learning, ceaselessly observing and dissecting, much like Hannibal himself. It marked the first occasion he had encountered someone who evoked such a sense of belonging.

To him, others were perpetual strangers. He moved through the throngs of humanity like a ghost in the daylight, his facade carefully cultivated to blend with the cacophonous world around him. The world, in all its ostensible vibrancy, held little allure for him. His tailored suit was but a veneer, a mere disguise to shield his true self from prying eyes. For in the depths of his being, he was the antithesis of those who surrounded him.

Their conversations, their laughter, their joys and sorrows, they were but fleeting echoes to him, mere hollow reverberations of a life he could never truly understand. The world danced with its inhabitants, but he saw through the web of pretense that concealed the yawning void within. None among them cast their eyes to the heavens, questioning: What secrets do the stars hold?

Narrow minds, and he held no fascination for comprehending sheep; his sole interest lay in savoring their succulence.

As Hannibal adjusted his posture, he sensed the van gradually decelerating. His attention shifted towards the front, where a modest-sized hospital came into view. While it possessed the essential equipment he required, its current late hour promised minimal activity, making covert entry a plausible endeavor.

Donning a white coat and exuding an air of confidence often worked like a subtle enchantment. It was as if, by not questioning his own presence, he rendered himself immune to scrutiny, a trick that often cast a protective shroud around him even when he was under watchful eyes.

He could stride boldly into their midst, no mask needed, and the radiance of his confidence would dazzle all who surrounded him, obscuring the fact that he was, in reality, an outsider in this very milieu.

The brilliance of the Morningstar's light was most potent when directed squarely at those who dared to face it head-on.

He had already assessed Will's reflexes and observed his reactions to pain stimuli. While his pupils displayed appropriate responsiveness, the lack of reaction to pain was perplexing.

This anomaly could potentially be attributed to specific neurological conditions, such as locked-in syndrome or severe variants of Guillain-Barré syndrome, both of which could induce profound paralysis and an inability to respond to stimuli, including pain. Yet, individuals with locked-in syndrome typically preserved their cognitive functions and sensory perception, maintaining an understanding of their surroundings, even though their physical capabilities were severely restricted. This made such conditions appear less likely but still hovered on the fringe of potential explanations.

Hannibal remained watchful for signs of coma or seizure activity, as these remained high on his list of suspected causes for Will's enigmatic condition.

A comprehensive evaluation was in order, and Lecter planned to initiate a battery of tests. This included conducting a CT scan and MRI of the brain, which would help pinpoint any structural abnormalities, detect bleeding, tumors, or other cerebral issues. Additionally, an EEG would be employed to measure the brain's electrical activity, aiding in the diagnosis of conditions like seizures or irregular brain rhythms that might account for Will's state of unconsciousness.

His meticulous approach extended beyond these imaging and neurological studies. Hannibal intended to leave no stone unturned, delving into every aspect of Will's condition, right down to the molecular analysis of his blood. This undertaking promised a busy night ahead.

Meanwhile, Will had reconciled himself to the eccentricity of the pie set before him, complemented by a glass of honey milk. Despite its unconventional appearance, it didn't assault his taste buds with awfulness; rather, it offered an unexpected blend of flavors. He chewed thoughtfully, occasionally savoring the soothing chill of an ice cube to alleviate his inner turmoil. Though it may have possessed the flavor of mere paper, the simple act of chewing was a source of peace. Each deliberate mastication brought a measure of contentment, accompanied by a mindful swallowing, a soothing balm for his sore throat.

It was the first day when, even in the midst of the unusual, something remotely akin to normalcy had descended upon his world. Even though, it followed the most abnormal moment by far. Yet the more he strained to contemplate, the room's kaleidoscope of colors intensified, their vibrant onslaught growing increasingly overwhelming. Sensory overload. Which demanded a decisive intervention. He realized he had to impose a full stop, allowing his mind the respite it so urgently required before it combusted into flames of chaotic cognition.

Could one, through sheer force of thought, will themselves into unconsciousness? The notion held a certain peculiarity that piqued his curiosity. However, he deemed it a venture best left for another time, certainly not on this particular night.

Imagining it as a miniature snow globe resting on Hannibal's desk, the situation appeared only half as terrifying. Strangely, encapsulating it within such a diminutive frame brought a measure of solace to his restless mind.

At the very least, it presented a transitory form that he could tuck away, a shape where its overwhelming terror felt marginally less daunting.

Contemplating grand ideas had become an excruciating exercise, one that drained him of an excessive amount of energy. So, it was time to cease the relentless cogitation and surrender to rest. Perhaps, sleep could serve as a respite, a means to regain some semblance of sanity and reconnect with the tumultuous events that had unfolded around him. Even as he recognized his state of dissociation, the sensation persisted. Awareness, in its cruel paradox, could be a curse in its own right. One could eloquently recount their own suffering yet remain impotent in the face of its relief. It was as if the mind harbored a penchant for tormenting itself.

Will relocated his plate to the sink and transferred the pie to the fridge once it had sufficiently cooled. He then settled onto the couch, fashioning a makeshift cocoon of comfort using a pillow, two towels, and several blankets. The weight of these layers served as an anchor, grounding him in the present and hopefully preventing him from unwittingly casting them aside during the forthcoming onslaught of nightmares. Up until now, he had been largely spared from his dreams, sheltered by unconsciousness. Yet, he understood that this sanctuary would likely wane, and the anticipation of that transition made the prospect of falling asleep an uneasy endeavor. The dilemma loomed large, for if his body were to grapple with such a monumental task during rest, it would either render him utterly incapacitated upon awakening or unleash a deluge of excruciatingly vivid nightmares that would violently jolt him from the cocoon of his bed. The looming question remained: which of these unsettling fates would befall him tonight?

Undoubtedly, he had the option to slumber in the bed situated upstairs. However, this ground-level arrangement held a peculiar charm, evoking a semblance of his own home, a haven of comfort amidst the disarray of his current existence. Here, he could pretend that he had sole dominion over the kitchen and the living room, with occasional forays to the upstairs bathroom. The unexplored rooms beyond remained shrouded in a veil of potential unease, and his convalescent state necessitated prudence. He resolved to minimize his movements, to conserve his precious energy, deeming that grand adventures could bide their time for now.

If he couldn't rely on his mind when it was awake, could he place trust in it while it slumbered?

He had diligently secured the door and ensured the windows were firmly latched, determined to prevent any unplanned midnight escapades. With the lights extinguished, all that remained was to surrender to the embrace of sleep.

That, of course, being the easiest part of it all, stood there in mocking script.

Here, amidst the familiar, he harbored a sense of relative safety. He could simply allow his eyelids to drift shut, placing his trust in the notion that all would remain well. Over time, he had acquired the skill to tread carefully through the minefields of his life. By adhering to the principle of avoiding sudden movements, he could maintain the delicate equilibrium that promised security and serenity.

Yet, at that precise moment, a swift and unexpected touch grazed his hand, sending his eyeballs into a frantic dance and his heart into a relentless sprint, as if his very soul had contemplated to eject itself. He could almost hear a celestial choir, believing he had transcended into the afterlife in that very instant.

Aloneness in the dark was already an unsettling prospect. Not being alone in the dark was an even more harrowing ordeal.

An eerie chill crept up his spine.

He remained motionless, as though the world had stilled around him. His breath held in abeyance, he silently beseeched himself to summon the courage to draw in a slow, deliberate wisp of air. His chest felt as if it might congeal into stone, and his heart, in its fevered palpitations, threatened to crush his throat in its rhythmic screams. With painstaking caution, he pivoted his eyes, seeking to discern any shapes without the slightest movement of his body.

Complete stillness enveloped him. If he remained still, it wouldn't detect him, right?

Then, he sensed another touch, this one feather-light, akin to the delicate caress of a slender plastic thread. In response, his entire body recoiled as if he were a pinball ricocheting off a flipper, his jumping heart nearly propelling him off the couch.

In the realm governed by the laws of monster interaction, his movement had sealed his fate—

Time to sprint for the light switch.

Whatever limb hits it first wins.

It was a marvel, the sudden awakening of the mind in a mere heartbeat, spurred into frantic action by the buzzing static of anxiety.

He was lightning, he was speed, there was a pillow in his way, he was on the floor, tumbling and flailing, but still moving forward, albeit a little less elegantly.

Graham's hand crashed onto the light switch, and he contorted his body to scan the room. As everything flooded with light, it revealed absolutely nothing. An absence so profound that it sent another bone-chilling shiver coursing down his spine.

This unnerving void left him questioning whether he had plunged into complete insanity or if some stray hair or ethereal thread had toyed with his senses. Perhaps even the very carpet beneath his feet had conspired to unsettle his fragile equilibrium.

Or – He inched closer to the couch's edge, peering over it cautiously. But just as he did, he felt a presence on his back, causing his heart to, once again, lurch with a start. Initially sharp, it then softened, gently dipping onto his neck with an affectionate touch. The sensation exuded warmth and life, accompanied by a melodious chirp that serenaded his senses.

It was a fucking cat.

His posture gradually relaxed, and his eyes shifted ever so slowly.

Perched upon his shoulder, an entirely black feline now seemed to reign, as if it had found its throne.

Will's thoughts swirled. Why had his mind conjured a cat when, logically, it should have gravitated toward dogs? The enigmatic feline returned his gaze with an inscrutable expression. What secrets might it hold?

Slowly, he stood, the cat gracefully adjusting its balance to mirror his movements.

Fine, he thought.

He flicked off the light and retreated to the couch, where he gently set the cat down, cocooning himself once more beneath the blankets. The feline perched itself atop his curled leg, a little sentinel in the dimness.

He stared intently at the cat.

From whence had it emerged? How had it infiltrated his house? Had he inadvertently left a window unsecured, providing an entry point? Or was there an alternate ingress to the house concealed from his knowledge?

Its mere presence had begun to stoke the embers of paranoia within him. What if this feline wasn't the only other living entity sharing the island with him? Oh, no, no, no, unwelcome thoughts, unwelcome thoughts. Sleep would elude him tonight.

Speaking of, was he truly awake, or had he already slipped into the realm of dreams? Perhaps, he considered, he was in the midst of a dream within a dream, much like in the film Inception.

Huh.

As he pondered this possibility, his head inclined slightly, veering toward a thought taking shape. Before it could fully materialize, however, a shrill noise cleaved through the air, instantly diverting his attention in its direction. The sound seemed to emanate from one of the windows, although none of the nearby trees reached far enough to make contact with them—certainly not enough to cause any disturbance from the swaying of branches in the wind. The cat, too, had turned its keen gaze toward the source of the sound, confirming that he wasn't conjuring it from his imagination.

High alert.

Will propelled himself upright, his frantic gaze ricocheting between the windows, the door, and the staircase. He had meticulously locked every entry point, taking pains to double-check them earlier. Right? His hand instinctively dropped to his hip, closing, only for the stark reality to hit him – he wasn't carrying a gun. His gaze followed, fixating on the empty space where his hand had grasped at nothing.

Fuck.

Did the house hold any weapon, aside from his modest kitchen knife and, as he examined it closely, this clawed marshmallow?

He hesitated to step off the couch. Paradoxically, it was the only location within the entire house that seemed to offer a semblance of safety, regardless of how illogical it appeared.

A safe haven. The floor, on the other hand, felt like searing lava.

His mind remained on high alert for a compelling reason, one he couldn't, and most certainly shouldn't, disregard.

The cat, too, had shifted its position, its gaze locking on. Its ears stood at attention. Something lurked outside. If the trajectory held, whatever it was, it seemed to be inching closer to the main door. Then, the cat arched its back and let out a hiss, every hair on its body bristling in a vivid exhibition of visceral hostility. That was the only confirmation he required. If the animal was frightened, then he had every reason to be afraid as well. Will gently scooped up the cat, his movements swift yet eerily soundless as he advanced towards the door. As he drew nearer, the door began to shake violently, as if something was hell-bent on breaching it. A surge of fear coursed through him, threatening to send him tumbling as he reached the first step. His body contorted to keep the door in view, one hand clutching the cat, the other tightly gripping the staircase railing, all the while maintaining his precarious balance.

Strangely, the key still lingered in the lock, a detail he had carelessly overlooked earlier. This oversight magnified the room's already palpable tension as the key began to twist on its own, the sound a gradual, spine-chilling creak, sucking away his air. He had braced himself for a forceful breach of the door, but this uncanny turn of events unnerved him far more than any straightforward assault ever could.

Will hastily ascended several steps further, his gaze transfixed on the gradual, eerie rotation of the key. With each step, he could feel his heart pounding louder. As he neared the top, the door suddenly swung open, exposing a pallid figure that lurched into the house from the shrouded abyss outside. The intruder hesitated for a moment upon entry, its peculiar, slightly off-kilter movements hinting at a careful appraisal of the unfamiliar and dimly lit surroundings.

The hairs on his neck bristled, and the cat in his grasp had almost petrified in terror.

Will’s heart pounded so thunderously that he didn't just feel the drumming in his throat; he could taste its rhythm on his tongue, pulsating in his eyeballs, and ringing in his ears.

Every fiber within him whispered a single imperative: run.

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capricorn-0mnikorn · 2 years

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On the last day of Queer Pride Month,🌈 and the Eve of Disabled Pride Month ♿🐉

Here’s a post I originally made on r/lgbt, back in May, with slight edits:

Being Disabled in the [Gender, Sexual, and Relationship Minority] (LGBTQIA+) Community

This is a tricky thing to talk about. On the one hand, the GSRM community has fought long and hard against any link between our identities and orientations and physical or psychiatric illnesses, and so many folk in the community are leery of any association with Disability.

And on the other hand, heteronormativity itself demands that you not only desire the "right kind of people" in the "right kind of way," but that you be the "right kind of person" to be desired. Your intimate relationships could be as straight as a flagpole and as vanilla as soft serve from the mall's food court, but if your body and/or mind falls too far outside the bounds of normativity, your sex and your gender will be seen as "kinky" by the mainstream.

And so, many Straight Disabled people (but certainly not all) are also leery of any association with Gender, Sexual, and Romantic Minorities. Outside the small corner of Disability Studies in Academia, there's little discussion of gender, orientation, or relationships in those places where disabled people go for support and services.

Yet Disabled GSRM people exist. It's kind of like Schrödinger's identity: Disability and GSRM identities exist independently of each other (Nothing about being GSRM is pathological, and nothing about being Disabled 'causes' someone to be GSRM). But they're also deeply linked; how we understand who we are and how we relate to other people is shaped by how others treat us.

For example, I'm not Aroace, Panalterous, and (aspirationally) Polyamorous because I'm disabled. But, because of how people have acted around me as a disabled person, I spent the first 52 years of my life convinced I was the Token Straight Ally™ in nearly every one of my friend groups. 🙄

Also, in general, Disabled people share a lot of common experiences with GSRM folk:

We're likely to be minorities within our own families

We're apt to face the same prejudices at home as we do in the "outside world"

There's often a sense of shame around disabilities, and families are often reluctant to admit they have a disabled family member

There's often gaslighting of the Disabled family member, especially if they're a minor ("You're just lazy," "You're just complaining about how hard it is, because you want attention," "There's nothing wrong with you, it's just growing pains," "You're faking," "You wouldn't be bullied in school, if you tried harder to fit in," etc.).

And there's often pressure to "cure" the disability, even when there is no cure, so that if you're a kid, any free time you might otherwise have is taken up with therapies (Did you know that Applied Behavior Analysis -- a "treatment" for autism -- uses the same techniques as Conversion Therapy?)

Disabled people are often reliant on those ableist family members to get access to the outside world (needing parents to drive the wheelchair van, cancel the therapy appointment so there can be time for something else). And social events designed to be accessible to different disabled people are often run by church groups, or other organizations who have a homophobic (and transphobic) bent.

So even though I understand (and empathize with) the GSRM Community's reluctance to associate itself with the Disability Community, I wish it weren't so. Because it makes Pride Month all the more ironically isolating when the events and venues aren't accessible.

---

That’s where I’d ended the original post. But I’ve since had a “post-script thought” that’s less generous to the Normate Queer community:

Historically (at least from what I’ve witnessed) a lot of Queer Culture is celebrating the ✨Absolute Fabulousness✨ of the human body, and human sexuality. I know this is in response to, and a repudiation of, the cultural attitude that we are “Filthy” and “Shameful.”

But it also means that the presence of Disability, in the middle of all that celebration, is an awkward challenge to that -- with bodies that drool, and slump, spasm and get fatigued, with voices that stutter, or go silent, with minds that turn foggy.

And that makes it so much easier to “forget” that disabled queer people exist.

But a slogan popped into my head that might become an art piece for next year’s Pride Month(s):

Disabled Queers: Queering Queerness.

#queer #Disabled #queer pride #Disability Pride Month ♿#2022

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chaoswithkaycee · 1 year

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Hellfire and Honeysuckle, Chapter 12 - Final Chapter

Honey

In the days and weeks that followed, Honey was happy. Not happy like she had been during summers with Aunt Lilah; no, this was happy like she had never known - or at least, didn’t remember knowing. She settled into a new schedule and routine for her days, now that the full truth was out. Every morning, she rode to school with Eddie, meeting him at her front gate for a kiss and help into the van. Every afternoon, rain or shine, snow or sleet, he brought her back home - insisting on carrying her backpack. Thursdays and Fridays were reserved for study group and Hellfire, Wednesdays for band practice, and Mondays and Tuesdays - well, she knew he was selling after he brought her home. He chose to keep her away from that.

The first week back to school was the hardest - he insisted on fully lifting her into the van instead of letting her climb up herself, and fully lifting her out instead of letting her climb down. On top of that, she was overly aware of the stares and whispers of her classmates. During her two weeks of recovery at home, she’d almost forgotten that the rest of the world didn’t know about her disability yet - Eddie knew, the Party knew, and that was world enough for her. But now, back in class, rolling around the school in her wheelchair - now she was back in the real world, and she remembered why she’d kept it a secret.

She was stopped between every class at least once by someone she’d never spoken to before telling her what an inspiration she was for just going about her life - or she was told to stop faking. People grabbed the handlebars of her wheelchair without asking to push or pull her through the halls, even when she asked them not to touch her chair. On the other end of the spectrum were the people who pretended they couldn’t see her at all - often walking in front of her and stopping so that she very nearly slammed into them, or bumping into her and not even doing so much as apologizing.

She chose not to tell the others about this aspect of wheelchair use. Mama was only making her use the chair at school for a week, and she was determined to get through the week without complaining about people. So she didn’t tell Eddie, the Party, or Mama about the unsolicited opinions on the validity of her disability, the unsought ‘help’ moving her chair, the whispering, the stares, the struggle. And when the week was up, she put her foot down with Mama; she was using the cane, not the chair.

And she did. The second week was better - she still received the verbal harassment claiming she was faking and the well meaning but ultimately insulting pathetic glances of pity from her classmates - but she had more control over her movements now. Aside from the incident where John-Michael Turney decided to grab her cane and run off in her third period class (before he was immediately reprimanded by the teacher, who returned the cane to her), her second week was a marked improvement over the first. She once again made the executive decision not to tell Eddie about the cane-snatching.

Week three was even better. The pain in her hip was more of a dull ache at this point, with an occasional lightning bolt of pain up her back - but she could walk almost completely unassisted (although she continued using the cane), and she was able to pay attention to her teachers now that the pain wasn’t so bad. Additionally, the awkwardness that had surrounded the Party had finally subsided. They had all come to terms with the fact that Honey and Eddie were a couple now - and really, no one was surprised. Honey had seen Stephanie slip a $20 to Gareth - apparently she’d won a bet against him regarding their relationship - but otherwise, they had all simply smiled and moved on with the conversation. Knowing that the next week of class would be cut short for the holidays, and that both Lucas and Dustin were going to be traveling out of state for Christmas, Eddie decided to hold their last Hellfire meeting of the calendar year that Friday. God bless Fridays, she thought, watching her boyfriend’s dramatic storytelling, building up to the reveal of the BBEG - it was the librarian, the whole time! The room filled with gasps and one squeaky “I FUCKING KNEW IT!” from Dustin. Honey just smiled, looking around the room. This was happiness. This was love.

Her favorite part of the new schedule was on Friday evenings, after Hellfire. Mama had already left for work by the time Eddie brought her home for the evening, and wouldn’t be back until after sunrise. This gave the two of them the perfect opportunity to spend an evening together once a week, and if Mama knew? Well, she never said anything to Honey about it.

Usually, they just laid together, cuddling and kissing. Honey found that she slept better with their fingers laced together, listening to his soft snores and feeling his warm breath tickle the top of her head; he, on the other hand, always seemed wide awake until the moment his head hit her pillows. He’d stretch out, take a deep breath - and before Honey could turn off the lamp, he’d be half asleep.

This night though, he sat up against her headrest, holding her in his lap, both of their lips swollen and red from kissing and nipping at each other. One hand was on her bad hip, applying pressure so it wouldn’t start hurting in her current position; the other hand was wrapped in her curls at the base of her skull, holding her face to his.

“You taste like strawberries.” He whispered against her mouth, nudging her nose with his.

She snorted, putting her hands on his chest to pull her head back and laugh. “Strawberries? Really?”

He pulled back, chuckling with her. “Yes. Like strawberries and whipped cream. Why, what do I taste like?”

“You taste like those sour candies and salt.” Seeing the face he made, she quickly added. “I like it. It reminds me of that first lunch we had together.”

He cocked his head. “How so?”

“You were eatin’ french fries and you kept lickin’ the salt off your fingers. Now when I taste the salt in your kiss, I just remember that was the first time you tried to get me to open up. Kinda feels like the start of everythin’, you know?”

She watched the smile split his face as he pulled her in for another kiss. “I can’t believe how far we’ve come.” He muttered against her lips, and she felt herself smile in unison.

“I never thought we’d be here at all.” She whispered back.

Another hour passed before he spoke again.

“So, Christmas plans?” He’d been afraid to ask, in case her plans included being away from him.

“Mama’s workin’ at the hospital all through Christmas Eve and Christmas day, so she and I are gonna do our Christmas tradition the day after. What about y'all?” She answered, letting her head rest on his shoulder.

“Uncle Wayne’s got Christmas Eve and Christmas Day off, the whole plant does. Do you want to come over to ours for Christmas?” He asked, absentmindedly rubbing circles on her lower back.

“I’d like that a lot. I don’t have gifts to bring, though.” She admitted, closing her eyes and sighing in pleasure at his touch on her back.

“That’s alright, neither do we. But we can have dinner and watch some movies, the trailer next door usually plays carols for a few hours from their stereo. And we just got a new heater so the trailer will be nice and warm.” He kissed the top of her head. “Sound good?”

“Sounds perfect.” She answered, eyes still closed. “Will you take me to see fireworks too?”

“What?” She heard the confusion in his voice and sat up.

“I heard Mike talkin’ to Lucas about the New Years Eve fireworks show that Hawkins does. I thought maybe we could bring in the new year together, goin’ to see fireworks. If you’d like to, that is.”

He smiled. “As long as it’s with you. I’d sit out all night watching fireworks. Absolutely.”

Honey smiled back, laying her head on his shoulder again. “It’s a date, then.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Eddie

And that was how they’d ended up here, in the back of his van, overlooking the town. It was cold, in the single digits, but they didn’t mind. They were laying together on their sides, Honey in front of him with her back to his chest. They’d laid a quilt beneath them and wrapped multiple blankets around them to keep warm. The heat in the van still wasn’t working, but he didn’t mind. It gave him an excuse to keep her pulled against him and bury his face in her neck when the wind blew around them outside. They’d draped a blanket over the open doors of the back of his van, giving them a little window to watch the sky outside as it had slowly filled with stars over the hour that they’d sat out here, waiting. The lights of the city had gone off one by one, until only one small area was still lit up - the park where the fireworks would be set off from.

Eddie glanced at his watch for a split second. Any minute now, 1985 would end and the sky would be lit up with all the colors and noise that came with a firework show. Honey huffed and he looked down. “What?”

“Why’d you take your hand off me?” She feigned offense, pouting.

“I was checking my watch, Honey.” He laughed, nuzzling into her neck.

She giggled back. “Well I guess that’s okay then. How much longer?”

“Mm, few minutes.” He nestled down further into their tent of covers, pulling her closer to him and listening to her sigh in contentment.

She turned in his arms, so that her back was to the open van doors and she was facing him. He smiled down at her, pushing one of her curls behind her ear. For the thousandth time since the night she’d admitted her crush, he found himself marveling at where they had found themselves.

“What’re you thinkin’ about?” She whispered, turning her head to kiss his palm where it hovered over her cheek.

“Thinking about how far we’ve come.” He whispered back, still feeling her lips in the palm of his hand. He flexed his fingers, but couldn’t shake it. The ghost of her kiss sat in his palm, even as he brought his hand to rest on her cheek.

“Again?” She looked up at him, her head resting on a balled up sweater.

“Honey, I think about it damn near daily.” He answered, letting his fingers trace down her neck, over her shoulder, under the blanket and around her waist to pull her to him. “I think about how pretty you looked, walking into Hellfire. I thought you were lost, looking for a different club or room. No way such a pretty girl was into D&D.”

“Aunt Lilah bought me the player’s guide a little bit before my father found her. I hadn’t even finished readin’ it when I met you.” Honey admitted, biting her lip.

“Oh, I believe that. You were clueless. But that’s okay. I got to sit next to you and teach you, watch you smile and count on your fingers-”

“Math’s not my strongest subject, I did my best.” She pouted, pulling the blanket up to her chin as the wind blew louder outside.

He laughed. “I know, Princess. I know. And I love it. I love everything about you, even the things you don’t love about yourself, because I love you. Endlessly and unconditionally.”

And cue the tears. He could almost perfectly predict when she’d cry now, and confessions of love? Top of the list. She was looking up at him with glossy eyes and sniffling now, and he couldn’t help the fond smile.

“You laughin’ at me?” She asked, wiping her face.

“Of course not, Honey. It’s just something else I love about you.” He kissed her forehead, holding her against him. It dawned on him that in all the times he’d seen her cry, none had been out of sadness or anger. She might sniffle, her voice might wobble - but tears really only slipped out when she was happy. He wasn’t lying, either. It was something he loved so much about her, the way she couldn’t keep her love or gratitude inside and let it come out through her eyes.

She shifted against him, draping one arm over his hip. He hissed as her cold fingers made contact with his lower back, but held her arm in place when she tried to move it. He glanced at his watch again. “Two minutes to go.” He whispered, watching her face. Her teeth were chattering and she was shivering, even with all the blankets. “You okay?”

“I’m fine, just a little chilly. We can leave as soon as the fireworks are over. No point in leavin’ now, you know.” She answered, teeth clicking together as she whispered back to him.

“You got it, Princess.” He shifted, trying to share more of his body heat with her. “What’s your New Years resolution?” He asked, hoping to distract her from the chill in the air.

“Well, graduate for one. I’d like to get into the habit of takin’ daily walks, it’s supposed to help my joints stay strong. You know, just like 15 minutes a day. Um, maybe get a dog. Mama’s been talkin’ about gettin’ me a service dog.” She answered, yawning. “You?”

“Graduate next to you. Get the band famous. Get a place with you.” He answered, without thinking.

“And you wanna do all that in one year?” She asked, pressing her face into his chest.

“I’m gonna do it all eventually, regardless. But yes, the goal is as soon as possible for all of them.”

“Even the moving in together part?”

“Especially that part. I want to come home to each other from now on.” He checked his watch again. “One minute.”

Honey grunted, rolling herself over so that she was facing the open van doors again to watch the sky. Eddie pulled her back flush against him, arranging the blankets around them.

“This is gonna be your year.” She stated, tilting her head back to look at him. “I just know it. You’re gonna accomplish all your goals, you’re gonna have an amazin’ adventure. 86 is gonna be your year.”

10 seconds. “Yeah, I think you’re right.” He whispered. “This is my year. I can feel it.” He felt her jump as the first explosion of light cracked the sky. He pressed a kiss to her temple, staring at the bright red and yellow lights shimmering above. “‘86, baby.”

#eddie munson #stranger things #actually disabled #disability #ehlers danlos awareness #fanfiction #eddie munson smut #friends to lovers #plus size girl #disabled #final chapter #new years #I cant believe I did this

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neli-draws · 6 months

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How Wheelchair Van Conversions Empower Independence?

Wheelchair van conversions play a pivotal role in empowering independence by providing individuals with customized transportation solutions that cater to their specific mobility needs. These conversions facilitate seamless entry and exit, incorporating features such as wheelchair ramps, lifts, and accessible seating configurations. By offering a comfortable and secure travel experience, they enable individuals to navigate their journeys with increased freedom and autonomy. Through the integration of user-friendly design and adaptive technologies, wheelchair van conversions not only promote physical independence but also foster a sense of empowerment and self-reliance, allowing individuals to maintain an active and fulfilling lifestyle with the freedom to travel and participate in various activities.

Customized Accessibility Features for Enhanced Mobility

Wheelchair van conversions offer customized accessibility features that enhance mobility for individuals with physical limitations. These conversions include wheelchair ramps, lifts, and lowered floors, allowing for easy and seamless entry into the vehicle. By tailoring these features to the specific needs of the individual, wheelchair van conversions ensure that users can access the vehicle comfortably and independently, fostering a sense of empowerment and self-sufficiency.

Freedom of Travel and Exploration

By enabling individuals to travel with ease, wheelchair van conversions provide a newfound sense of freedom and autonomy. These conversions allow users to embark on various excursions, whether for leisure, social engagements, or essential appointments, without relying on external assistance. The ability to explore new places and participate in diverse activities without constraints or limitations promotes a sense of empowerment and encourages individuals to lead an active and fulfilling lifestyle.

Seamless Integration into Daily Routines

Wheelchair van conversions seamlessly integrate into individuals' daily routines, enabling them to maintain a sense of independence and self-reliance. These conversions facilitate easy transportation to work, school, recreational activities, and social gatherings, ensuring that individuals can actively participate in their daily endeavors without facing mobility-related obstacles. By providing a reliable and accessible mode of transportation, wheelchair van conversions empower individuals to structure their lives independently and engage in various activities with confidence and convenience.

Personalized Configurations for Optimal Comfort

One of the key benefits of wheelchair van conversions is their ability to offer personalized configurations that prioritize user comfort. These conversions include adjustable seating, ergonomic designs, and additional features tailored to the individual's specific needs and preferences. By prioritizing comfort and convenience, wheelchair van conversions enhance the overall travel experience, allowing users to journey with ease and comfort, thus promoting a sense of independence and well-being.

Promoting Active Engagement in Community Activities

Wheelchair van conversions play a vital role in promoting active engagement in various community activities. By providing individuals with the means to participate in social gatherings, community events, and recreational pursuits, these conversions foster a sense of inclusion and belonging. The ability to attend community activities independently enables individuals to build meaningful connections, foster friendships, and contribute to the social fabric of their communities, thus empowering them to lead a more fulfilling and socially connected life.

Encouraging Self-Determination and Decision-Making

Through the empowerment of independent transportation, wheelchair van conversions encourage self-determination and decision-making for individuals with physical limitations. These conversions allow users to make choices about their travel plans, destinations, and activities without the constraints of relying on others for transportation assistance. By promoting a sense of control and autonomy, wheelchair van conversions enable individuals to assert their preferences and lead their lives according to their own terms, fostering a heightened sense of self-confidence and personal agency.

Enhancing Emotional Well-Being and Quality of Life

Overall, wheelchair van conversions contribute to enhancing emotional well-being and the overall quality of life for individuals with mobility challenges. By providing a reliable and accessible mode of transportation, these conversions alleviate the stress and limitations associated with mobility constraints, allowing individuals to experience a greater sense of freedom, happiness, and fulfillment. The ability to independently travel and engage in various activities fosters a positive outlook, enhances self-esteem, and promotes a greater sense of satisfaction and contentment in daily life, ultimately contributing to an improved emotional well-being and overall quality of life for individuals utilizing wheelchair van conversions.

Conclusion

In conclusion, wheelchair van conversions serve as transformative solutions that empower individuals with limited mobility by providing customized accessibility features, fostering freedom of travel, seamlessly integrating into daily routines, offering personalized comfort, promoting active community engagement, encouraging self-determination, and enhancing overall emotional well-being. By prioritizing user-specific needs and preferences, these conversions enable individuals to navigate their journeys with increased independence and autonomy, fostering a sense of empowerment and self-reliance. The ability to travel freely and participate in various activities without limitations not only promotes physical independence but also contributes to a heightened sense of personal agency and improved quality of life, emphasizing the profound impact of wheelchair van conversions in fostering a more inclusive and empowering transportation experience for individuals with mobility challenges.

#Wheelchair van conversions

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babyheroeclipseweasel · 1 year

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Conversations With The Flesh.

Thinking of a conversation with friends and cultural associates, Watson and Pepe Valle at Watson's place. I met Greta Isadora, Pepe's sister, Watson, Juan, Emiliano Tamayo and many other friends at the Philosophy and Letters School, UNAM in México. Years later Emiliano Tamayo and I visited each other in Wisconsin. I had moved to the US, in Madison and he lived part of the year in Milwaukee. In his later years, he was studying Film and Video at the University of Wisconsin, Milwaukee. He died before graduating due to his muscular dystrophy disease. He made some great home movies before even thinking of becoming a filmmaker. Some of us friends had the privilege of sitting in one his chairs, made out of stolen market karts. His ideas were intelligent, aggressive, transgressive, calm, beautiful ends and means. We had to execute his wishes to break the law. Even the straight arrows. He loved adrenaline and Saturday Night Live. His van running an avenue without traffic, speeding. Opening back door and released the grocery Karts on the road while filming. You could see his excitement mixed with the rigor of his life in his beautiful pale blue eyes. He was a proud Puma and was at UNAM's Stadium México 68 across the street every other week, when Pumas played home. His father (who he called El Chapulín in secret) was an economist next door in the UNAM's Economy School. Coyoacán was his home. Near the Alberca Olímpica. His dog was an Akita called Akira. In 2018 and 2019 I wrote a few words and started performances in the streets of Chicago. ¨Dude, where is my Kart?¨ At the end of the day, sometimes I would run the kart against police patrols, cars, or go in the opposite direction of traffic. Waking up in the hospital in the morning. Getting dress and starting my day all over. Later it became ¨Dude, where is my wheelchair? ¨. Going back to Emiliano, eventually his movement was reduced to a few fingers of his right hand in his final days and the oxygen tank made the communications have a different paste. Our communications became slower. We made more physical stops to get electricity to recharge things like his oxygen machine or his heavy wheelchair (not often.) Sometimes we did that a at a Chicago's VIP gentlemen's club or wherever was necessary. One time he came with friends from México. He traveled with them from Milwaukee to Chicago where I had moved. Cuahutli y David Arcadia (Robocop we called him) entre ellos. We went to Giordano's in Chicago, he really wanted to try their pizza and liked it. At the end of the dinner, the family sitting next door explained they had stayed all day at a cheerleader conference at the Bulls Stadium, leading to the Bulls game that night and gave us their tickers for the event. They explain to us that they were just too tired to make it to game and their cheerleader kids were also tired. I don't remember the game, or the score. I have always been curious if Emiliano knew who won that night or against who we played. Greta and Watson introduced me to Pepe. Pepe, Watson and I were avid readers of literature and philosophy, and I believed we were very vocal atheists at the time. Pepe and I were writers and years later we both became movie directors/visual artists. I haven't seeing Watson for some time. His dream was to marry a person from Argentina. He worked for me briefly in the United States. My father spoke with him in Fitchburg, Wisconsin. The last time we know of him. He had married an Argentinian woman and had a son with her. His plans for Europe were the same. One-time Pepe was arguing with Watson who was convinced that things like fashion magazines and the cheap softcovers-like books were not worthy of study to understand culture. I sided with Pepe for a number of reasons (Vanidades, Reader's Digest, Playboy, El Esto, María, Video Risa, etc…). Fruitful conversation over the years. Pepe and I shared the love for Marquis de Sade, Cioran, Nietzsche, Borges, Cortázar, Adolfo Bioy Casares, Roque Dalton, Carlos Fuentes, Gabriel García Márquez, Thomas De Quincey, and a little Marx, without thinking of a long list. The film references we share might be similar but few. We are bathed in migrant issues along with war stories even though our interests are widely varied. 30 years ago Pepe told me and Watson the story of a Robert De Niro movie just like if it was a professional pitch. I have the images of that movie I have not seeing in my head. Pepe has always been a great story teller. He spoiled it for me, but as my great friend Alexander Radosavljevic, PhD says, you better tell me what's about. What if I never get the chance to see it? Here's a link to ¨El Milagro del Papa¨ del mexicano, Pepe Valle. https://mubi.com/films/the-popes-miracle #love #culture #like #fashion #school #writers #communications #university #video #film #share #economy #electricity #references Luis Sánchez Ramírez. © 2023.

#LSR. 2023.

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morning-walk · 2 years

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I just came in from a walk with my Friend. Our talk led me to this.

It will be so sweet if you share this around.

So Patricia and Mitsy, old friends with deep affections, were visiting. They do that regularly. This time I was mentioned.

I need to tell you about that.

Patricia, also known as Boots, is a remarkable woman. She is strong of body, deep of faith, and tender of heart. Like a lot of us she is a primary caregiver for grandchildren. In her case, four grandchildren. One of them, Trinity, is entering his sophomore year. When he was two months old his mom died in an automobile accident. He was severely injured in the accident and is a quadriplegic with trauma induced cerebral palsy. Patricia has bathed him, fed him, dressed him, made sure he was in school, and transported him to appointments, therapies, and any other need that came along.

You see, she loves that child.

It shows.

Thing is, the aged van she has driven for years has given out. Every week there is the frustration of pouring good money after bad. There is also the risk of being stranded in unforeseen but certainly unfortunate places.

Patricia shared this with Mitsy. Mitsy is rock solid, the sort of go to friend that folks approach with deep needs and great hope. She reminds you of another Friend.

Patricia and Mitsy thought I might be able to help raise money to buy a van.

Don’t ask me what they were thinking!

I talked to Mitsy. I talked to Boots.

Then I needed to talk to this Friend who keeps it real. That conversation happened as I walked Friday morning.

I told him my circle has gotten much smaller in the last few months.

He mentioned a guy named Gideon whose circle kept getting smaller until it had nothing but faith to lead it forward to the victory.

I explained about all the projects he already led me to tackle in Haiti, Florence, Rogersville, and Toonersville.

He reminded me what Uncle Dowe led me to accept…”you don’t know how many water jugs the Good Lord will fill until you put them out there.”

I reminded him (he seems forgetful) of my age, my diminished strength, and my declining cognitive ability.

He laughed and told me a lively story about Abraham and Sarah. Maybe you know where that led.

My walk was a bit of a struggle.

Then, quite suddenly, absolutely without forethought or conscious intention, I just said “thank you for giving me this good thing to do.”

And my walk got so much easier.

It was like I was floating, flying, and free. Before I knew it I was home and wondering how I got there,

So here it is my friends.

$70,000. New minivan with retractable wheelchair lift, lockdowns, and warranty.

Impossible. Right down our alley. We are calling this “Wheels and Wings”.

Before I could go public or even say go $5,400 was committed.

Let’s get Trinity and Boots some wheels.

And get ourselves some wings.

You know what I mean?

Your move.

Brother Pat

Send checks to

The Gathering for Goodness, (note wheels and wings) POB 756, Rogersville AL 35652 100% will get where you meant for it to go.

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agentcable · 2 months

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Law & Order Special Victims Unit Season 22 Ep. 11 "Our Words Will Not Be Heard"

Benson is facing a court case related to Jayvon Brown that could result in her losing her job. SVU is helping activist Suzette Gunn locate her missing sister, Victoria Janicki. Additionally, Benson and Garland are collaborating to effect change within the NYPD. Finally, Kat receives a promotion from officer to detective.

If you want to watch the series for yourself, stop reading! This post contains spoilers to the storyline.

Garland informed Benson that he received advance notice about the Jayvon Brown case. Jayvon declined a settlement offer because he desires a change. The department's leadership opposes his request. This situation places Benson in a difficult position, as both the department and Jayvon's legal team may blame her. Benson must take proactive measures to defend herself.

A woman in a wheelchair is singing, and a little boy is giving her money.

During a conversation, Fin accidentally reveals that Kat is being promoted.

Later, a mother offers a ride to a woman in a wheelchair and her partner. Although the partner hesitates, the family insists. Suddenly, two armed emn appear in the back of the car and force the couple to have sex on camera.

Benson speaks with IAB representative, who unofficially confirms that the department will clear her of any wrongdoing. Benson took the woman's words seriously. The IAB will be moving some officers who have engaged in racist behaviour. Change must come from within. Benson is asked by Fin why she is not happy. She responds that 1PP is resisting change. Fin is unsurprised and suggests that they take action themselves. Additionally, he inquires if Benson has informed Stabler about her involvement with Tucker, as Stabler was informed that she was with someone while he was away. Benson does not believe that Stabler is preoccupied with that matter.

Carisi brings an advocate to see Benson. Nicole's sister is missing, and she believes it's a retaliatory kidnapping due to her advocacy work. According to Sara's roommate, Sara has a White girlfriend name Alicia, who uses a wheelchair, but she didn't inform Nicole. The police attempted to contact Alicia and called an EMT. Alicia has been located.

Alicia reported that two armed men entered the van and forced her and Sara to have sex before throwing her out. Benson informed Nicole, who was shocked to learn that Sara had a partner for over a year without her knowledge. Fin and Kat discovered a video from a white supremacist group that was auctioning Sara to the highest bidder. Nicole is concerned about the lack of FBI involvement and media coverage. Benson believes that giving these people publicity is not a good idea. Nicole plans to take action, and Carisi follows her, leaving Fin to wondder if Nicole and Carisi are involved.

Nicole visits Garland, who states that Benson cares deeply about victims. Meanwhile, Fin and Kat pursue a white supremacist who makes racist comments about them.

During a deposition, Benson explains to Jayvon that they share a common agenda and that the courts will need to mandate anti-bias training. Jayvon doubts there are any real allies in the department. The lawyer enters, and it turns out the racist guy is an undercover. They ask him about the video, and Packer recognizes the kidnapper from Florida. No one in the group uses their real name. Packer recognizes the name Forest but says he has nothing in his notes about them. Fin claims to have worked undercover and understands that there may be information that cannot be documented. Packer reports that he conversed and flirted with the wife, and then searched through her purse. Alicia identifies the wife from a police photograph.

It took three hours to locate Sara's whereabouts. The suspect refused to speak and requested legal representation. Carisi argued that exigent circumstances applied, rendering Miranda rights inapplicable.

The team presented Molly with the video, and she stated that her husband was intelligent and worked for affluent individuals, including Jewish people. She denied any knowledge of Sara's whereabouts or the identity of the other individual.

Nicole accused the NYPD of not allocating enough resources to her case due to her race during a news interview. Despite the pressure, Molly maintained that she did not know the kidnappers' location. Unfortunately, the kidnappers were watching and live-streamed a threat that Nicole's sister would never be seen again. Sara intervened by kicking the camera, causing the feed to show the floor. Benson and Fin believed that Molly should receive the death penalty. Molly wants to see her son. Benson tells her that if she does, she will face the death penalty and her son will be placed with an immigrant family. Molly explains that she cannot contact her husband, but she can page her brother. However, during a live stream, Molly's husband kills her brother for being a traitor.

Carisi took Nicole back to the station. Alicia called Nicole over and informed her that they were going to tell her something last night. Benson explained to Nicole that she had agitated the kidnappers. Nicole promised not to leak anything to the press. TARU located the phone. The canvassing area is limited to five blocks in Chelsea, and the canvassers have one hour to complete their task. When questioned, the man claimed to have no knowledge of the incident. Gunshots were heard coming from the basement, and upon investigation, a man was found shot. Benson threatened the man, stating that he must talk or face dire consequences, and subsequently cancelled the ambulance.

The kidnapper livestreams the NYPD's arrival and releases Sara, using his viewers as witnesses to his arrest. Rick is arrested without incident, but Sara attempts to attack him.

Nicole and Alicia visit Sara in the hospital. Nicole thanks Benson and apologizes. Benson understands and is relieved that Sara is okay. Nicole says she will continue to push Benson to search for other Black women. Benson agrees. Nicole attempts to apologize to Carisi, but he assures her that it's okay. She hugs him.

Benson examines pictures of missing Black girls. Garland enters and informs her that Jayvon had a list of requests, as if someone had instructed him what to ask for. Additionally, he received a call regarding Stabler. There is a perception that Stabler is going rogue. He believes that she should maintain distance from Stabler because the department is under close scrutiny.

#USA #TV Serie #Crime #Drama #2021 #Law and Order #SVU #Law and Order Special Victims Unit

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