work victims


Here is something: After two men in the Netherlands were attacked while walking home from a party holding hands, straight Dutch politicians everywhere are showing their solidarity by walking around holding hands. 

The top photo is of Dutch leader of the Democrats 66 party Alexander Pechtold and D66 financial specialist Wouter Koolmees; the second photo is of the men from the Dutch Embassy in London; the bottom photo is of the male staff of the Dutch mission at the United Nations in New York. Cute, gents; I hope you’re also working hard to protect victims of hate crimes, create a culture of inclusivity in your communities, and make sure this doesn’t happen again.

(via the Huffington Post)

Today is one month until the 18 year anniversary of the tragedy. This is just a reminder that the victims are to be respected and talked about softly. The family’s pain is still very real and raw, please make sure to not talk about them in a flippant, casual way. People are still grieving, and the hurt will magnify especially on that day.

HERE! Obli-wan! This is for you ;;;3;;; hon, I had a really hard time with your multicolor hair but it was a lot of fun!~ Hope you like it  💙 💙 💙

@oblivion-times *smooches* love you~  💙

anonymous asked:

How realistic is stopping a knife from killing you by grabbing the blade with your hands?

Kind of. It’s realistic in the sense that it can and does happen. At the same time, it probably won’t save your life. Knife wounds to the palms, (called, “defensive wounds,”) are fairly common when someone has been attacked by a knife wielding opponent. Usually, what happens is they’ll attempt to block the knife by putting up their hands, palms out, and their palms and fingers will take the initial assault. That I’m most familiar with the term from autopsies should say a lot about how well this usually works out for the victim.

If you’re dealing with a situation, where someone’s trying to stab you and your only option is to catch the blade with your hand, it is better than dying. However, it is also a very temporary solution, and one you can’t repeat after using. It’s also, probably, not your best option.

When you bleed, your body is trying to do two things; first clean the wound and expel any foreign objects in it, then seal the wound over to allow the tissue to heal. Fresh blood is aggravatingly slick. Once exposed to oxygen, blood becomes tacky and coagulates over the course of a few minutes. (Specific clotting times vary based on a number of factors. For example: if your character is an alcoholic, their blood’s ability to clot will be severely impaired.) It only remains tacky for a few minutes, and will then harden into a solid mass, so the window here is fairly narrow.

When you take a knife to the hand, you’re going to bleed all over your hand. That means your hands will get slick, and have a harder time gripping the blade. This is before you consider the part where your hand is actually getting cut to pieces. Eventually the blood will clot (whether you survive long enough to see this or not), at which point gripping the blade would become easier, but that’s not a realistic consideration because the fight won’t last long enough to get there.

As I’ve said before, your body functions on a kind of pulley system. Your muscles pull on tendons which in turn tense against your skeleton, causing your limbs to move. When you start cutting tendons, the pulley system starts to break down. Some of the most delicate pieces of this system are in your hands and feet. Start carving those apart, and your hand will not work. This isn’t an, “oh, I can force my way through on sheer willpower,” situation. The mechanical components critical to making your hands work will be damaged or destroyed. The spirit may be willing, but the flesh has been turned into butterflyed steak. Catching a knife with your hand will stop that strike, but it means your hand will not work again. Yes, if you survive, it can be repaired surgically, but that’s not going to keep you alive.

The better option, if you have sufficient manual dexterity to catch the blade is to catch your opponent’s wrist instead. Again, this isn’t a great position to be in, and wrist grabs are some of the weakest and riskiest holds, but it is far better than trying to grab their knife. Your arm or hand might get nicked by the blade, but that is vastly preferable to taking a direct blade to the hand. Going for the wrist is a legitimate strategy and a part of some knife fighting doctrine. Granted, your best option would be to maintain distance, and never let a knife wielder get close enough to attack, but that’s not always a practical option.


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Today my lawyer basically told me I needed to forgive my abuser so I could heal and move on.

Yeah. No.

First off, a lot of therapists who work with victims of abuse would tell you that forgiveness is not necessary for moving on and that telling someone they need to forgive their abuser can be detrimental to recovery. 

But on a more personal level, I gotta say that not forgiving him is actually a huge part in actively aiding my recovery. 

Because for the first time in my life it’s an option I’m allowed to take.

I don’t HAVE to forgive him. After all the times I forgave him just to keep the peace, or because I thought God demanded it (back when religion was a factor - it’s not anymore), or because I felt I had no choice, or to keep him from getting angry, or whatever…not forgiving him is one of the few spheres of power and control I can now hold onto. The very idea of forgiving him yet again doesn’t bring me peace. It makes me feel victimized again.

Also, just fuck the notion that people should grant forgiveness to somebody who will never ask for it because they’ll never believe they did anything wrong.

Forgiving somebody who didn’t know they fucked up because you chose to let it go without telling them they wronged you, sure. I can see how that can be beneficial in some contexts. 

But that’s not the same as forgiving an abusive egomaniac who honestly believes he’s justified in everything he has ever done to you because you’re garbage.

Forgiveness is a gift. I’m not giving it to him. I destroyed my soul for years endlessly giving to him and believing that anything less would have been selfishness on my part.

Not forgiving him is my gift to myself.

Every time I talk about my research into sexual assault laws and my advocacy work for victims of sexual assault, I have to listen to some man ask me the same question 

“Well what about the men who get falsely accused?” 



There is an entire system set up for you. There are barriers in place and safeguards and double checks and a whole system designed to try and make sure only guilty people pay for crimes. 

Would you ever ask me 

“Well what about the men who get falsely accused of stabbings?” 


Because you’re a law student and not a fucking moron 

So why

why why why 

Do you think that’s the appropriate question when I’m telling you about the overwhelming number of women who don’t report instances of sexual violence, or the fact that sexual assault trials effectively force women to relieve their assault as a public spectacle multiple times, or the gross underfunding of sexual assault crisis centres 

News flash 

‘Playing Devil’s Advocate’ is just a fun way of saying ‘but what about the men’ 

No matter how you dress it up, you still tell me you’re a dickbag 

HACKED {DELINQUENTS: Yoongi Series; Part 1}

You looked at Yoongi’s photo. Something about it made you linger for a moment. He just didn’t seem like the type to be convicted of a crime. But then you thought on all of your patients that didn’t seem like the type to do anything, and you sighed. Logging into your patient log, you began inserting your notes, when you got an alert.

Your account has been hacked. Please change your password. We have notified your superiors. You stared at the message. In the past 4 years, this has never happened. You weren’t the best at changing your password, but still the system was practically impenetrable. Then you looked back at your documents. Min Yoongi’s face shot into your mind and you flipped to his file once again.

SHIT! You screamed to yourself. It said right there in bold print that he had been caught seven times, hacking into various systems, you should have known better. Looking at your account, if he was the one to have hacked the system, then all of your patient information was at his disposal. You clenched your fists. That information wasn’t some laughing matter, and you would not allow him to use you like that. With that in mind, you were ready for battle before you even walked into the house.

The next day, a policeman came and picked you up. It was explained to you that it would be best for you to not drive your personal care and to always have an escort. Walking into the house, the policeman summoned the inmates. The seven men stood in front of you, their hands behind their backs, in a military at-ease position. You scanned the seven of them and your eyes met Yoongi’s. He looked positively bored out of his skull, but when you continued to stare, he became piqued with intrigue.

Hello, my name is Y/N. I have been practicing abnormal psychology for 4 years, and I work mainly with victims of addiction disorders. From today forward, I will be with you all from 9am until 5pm. I will hold meetings with all of you personally. It will be an hour each day, and if I feel it is necessary, you will stay longer. Are there any volunteers? You asked, expecting no one to raise their hand, but Yoongi’s hand shot up. You raised your eyebrows. Alright, Inmate Min Yoongi. You will be escorted to my office. The rest of you can go back to your rooms. You watched as the rest of them walked back to their rooms, a look of complete shock on all of their faces. Making your way to the first floor office, a policeman stood there with Yoongi.

I will hold him out here until you’re ready for him to come in, ma’am. The officer said, but you cringed a little.

He can come into my office. And don’t call me ma’am, that’s only what people call my mother. Just call me Y/N. You replied and the officer gave you a megawatt smile. You could feel your cheeks blush a little, but then looked back at Yoongi, who was now making himself comfortable on the couch. Oh, boy. You muttered to yourself and closed the door behind you.

So you’re the doc. You seem a little young to be working with criminals. Yoongi said without looking at you. His eyes were closed and he muttered the words. You rolled your eyes and sat down in the chair next to him.

I’m well qualified and my superiors thought it was best that I take on this project. You said simply and grabbed your pen and paper. Oh, and I will not be logging your notes for this project. You added and Yoongi’s eye opened.

You’re not logging my notes. He repeated and you nodded.

If you would like to hack into my logs, I don’t appreciate it. But if you read them, I simply use the log’s as a notebook. I don’t put my hopes for your behavior. You replied. Yoongi sat up.

So you’re smarter than the others. He responded, scoffing a little as he shook his head.

I wouldn’t say I’m smarter. I don’t try to mold you like other doctors. I just want to break you of a habit. You wrote down his behavior. It was easy to see right through him. He was guarded, but his tactics were somewhat juvenile. The state wants you to stop hacking into systems … You started but Yoongi put up his hand.

They want me to stop hacking into THEIR systems. He emphasized a word and you looked up from your notepad. I’m not going to go into detail on that. Just know that they don’t give a shit as long as I don’t hack into their system anymore. You gave Yoongi a nod and went back to your notepad.

So when did this hacking start? You asked and Yoongi went silent. You looked up and were met with a gummy smile.

That has to be the dumbest question I have ever heard. Does that actually work on people? You want me to tell you when I started “hacking” jeez, I wish they would bring an IT guy in here. At least they would understand my crime. He spouted off and you rolled your eyes. Hey aren’t you supposed to show no emotion, keep a poker face? He asked and you shook your head.

I can show emotion. Like I said, I’m not like other doctors. From your reaction, I would say that the hacking started relatively early on, probably high school. From your physique, I can tell you aren’t much of the athletic build so that tells me you spent a lot of time on the computer. Rather than getting an adrenaline rush from some form of sport, you found it in hacking into various systems. From my inference, mixed with the look of sheer panic on your face, I would say that the first person’s account you hacked into was either the girl you were in love with or the guy who stole her away. You said to Yoongi and his pale face went sheet white.

It was the guy who took her away. He responded. How the fuck did you do that? He whispered more to himself, with widened eyes.

Welcome to the big leagues. You responded and shrugged your shoulders. Now that I have when it started and why, let’s get down to business. And with that, you started your session.

ADA Rafael Barba; His Woes; and Carmen.

This is a selfish, quick, prolly lackluster, not-really-edited piece because work is really busy but I want this to happen SO BAD.

Originally posted by eighthmark

Psuedo-spoiler alert; mention of Barba’s “secret” & the results of such.

Directly after his meeting, and learning of his ‘punishment’ for the misdeed he had committed and subsequently went to cover up- he had gone to advise her. Better him than anyone else, he figured. He had asked her to join him, poured them both drinks, directed her towards the little sofa so as to provide comfort despite the unsettling news.

Then, Rafael Barba told his long-time assistant everything.
About the trial; about the woman, the addict; what he gave her, what happened, how he’d known. He told her how it worked, the success, then the grand fall. Then the daughter, and how he’d been guilt ridden since.

Carmen had stayed silent for a long few minutes, nursed her drink and ran fingertips along the rim. After about five of those quiet ticks of the clocks, she rose to her feet, boldly took the scotch from his hand and discarded both of their glasses onto the table.

“Mr. Barba, I knew about the money-” Her voice was calm, warm, and somehow initiated sparks of tears in the corners of his eyes. “I didn’t know or understand why or who that girl was, but I monitor your statements… I just assumed it wasn’t my business.”

Of course she knew. Rafael hid his eyes behind his hand, bit back sniffles to try and maintain the facade of stoicism. She always knew everything.

Though it had happened often, it had never been like this; in his moment of weakness, Carmen came to his rescue. When he wilted, she reached out, gripped hard on his biceps over his suit, forced him to stand tall. “Mr. Barba; I am so proud of you.” Delicately, she straightened his jacket, rocked forward to run fingertips through his hair to correct the mussed strands. “Since the day I met you, I knew how honorable you were. I have no doubt that you did what you had to in order to get villains off the street, and I think no less of you-”

“I’m going to be suspended,” he choked it out, somehow managed to stay stiff in the spine- stuck in the soldier boy position she had manipulated him to. “Thirty days. You- if you want to stick around, you still have your position, of course; If you’d be willing to forgive me, we can get back to how things were.”

Nodding, Carmen went to gather her purse and their coats. Without responding, she shrugged hers on then held up his. Rafael obediently slithered inside, went to quick work slipping buttons through loops. “Let’s go eat, you need dinner before you hit the scotch too hard-” she suggested, brightly, as if they were planning a happy hour after winning a case instead of the dire situation he’d conjured for himself. “We can discuss the dates you’ll be away, what I can do while you’re out, how we can best prepare… I can work to consider a PR plan if it’s needed, but perhaps you should take the time to get away,” while still rattling off her mental to-do list, she began to head to the door- “we can find you a hotel room somewhere sunny, get you out of New York for a bit…”

Carefully, Rafael gave her purse strap a tug, causing her to pause and twist to look at him before working to open the door. “Carmen,” he waited for her to catch his stare, didn’t even try to hide the tears that had fallen. “Carmen, I’d be lost without you.”

With the pad of her thumb, she brushed away the wetness on his cheek. “It’s what I do, Mr. Barba.”

It had been such a long month without him.

Of course, his suspension gave Carmen time. To think, to consider, to re-organize and breathe. She actually used some of her stockpile of collected ‘paid time off’ to take her niece to the park, an art gallery, some little coffee shop to listen to music. 

Naturally, she had forgiven him. In fact, there had never even been reason or need for his apologies. Carmen was in his corner, would likely always be, and his act of thin-lined valor didn’t sway her in the least.

While he was gone, though, she made certain to keep the place pristine. Carmen would go into his office, dust off his desk accessories. She switched out pens and highlighters for new ones, gathered up loose and irrelevant papers so she could comb through them for the important bits, even went out and purchased a fancy new Keurig to keep in his office… that coffee pot was getting old, and with him gone long enough not to notice, she wasted no time getting rid of it.

His inbox was stacking up; but Carmen had been certain to flag the actually urgent correspondences, and to settle any little fires she felt confident handling on her lonesome. All of his case files were now alphabetized, the updated ones had special tags on them in order of relevance and importance. His plants had been watered, dead leaves trimmed off, and she had brought in a rather colorful arrangement to brighten the place up a bit.

He deserved it; her diligence, her care, her respect.

On the day of his planned return- Carmen was awake earlier than usual. Before getting to the office, she had made a few stops, came in an hour before her typical clock-in time with bags dangling from her arms. This morning, she moved quicker than she did most, was nearly out of breath by the end of it all.

Rafael Barba came in in a hurry; eyes heavy but mind sharp. At the sight of her, typing diligently away at her keyboard, he could only smile. “Carmen!” Shamelessly, he discarded his briefcase, and leaned up against her desk. “My miracle worker, oh I’ve missed you so!” 

She had certainly missed him as well. “Did you enjoy your time off, Mr. Barba?” To give him a good look over, she stepped back, was grinning more than she had been able to the whole time he was away. “You look happy to be back.”

Time off… Rafael laughed at her choice of words. Suspension, time off, same difference- isn’t it? “I’m not sure about being back, but I am happy to see you,” as he had done every morning they worked together, he went for her ‘Barba Box’ and gathered up the stack of notes and messages. “I did enjoy it a little, I suppose- but I also enjoyed the care basket you sent. Your sister is a brilliant baker.”

Carmen nodded, and took her seat so she could reach for hidden files he needed to address sooner than others. “I’ll forward the compliments to the chef, I’m glad you liked it.” Noticing his brows furrow together, she quickly took away the stack of papers. “Don’t worry about all those yet, I told most of the other counselors you wouldn’t be back until tomorrow.”

Happily, he accepted her direction, shot an appreciative wink and went to abscond away to his office so he could start to get through the sure-to-be-chaos. “You’re a genius, Carmen. I’d be lost without you.” 

While Rafael went and closed the door behind him, his assistant stayed silent, even choosing not to respond with her typical retort…

He wouldn’t have really been able to hear her, anyways.
Not over the sound of his files dropping hard on his table top.

On his desk, the new lovely bouquet of rainbow flowers. Four balloons, two smiley faces / one with a gold star / and another sporting the words ‘WELCOME BACK’ in comic-sans; all tied together and connected to a blue weight near his chair. A new coffee mug, black with a gold trim around the rim and along the handle- he gave it a twist to read all the words on the sides: ‘Coffee. Tea. Bourbon. Depends on the client.’ A nice bottle of scotch, his favorite actually, she must have taken note of the most-touched one he kept in his collection; with a bright red ribbon tied around the neck.

Celebrating his return was not what the ADA had expected. 
Leers, judgment, frustration from all ends maybe.
Suspicion, anger, or maybe even disappointment…

But, of course, he should have known better.
He should always expect the best from Carmen.

All of his files made sense, there was no mess to clean, everything was where he had left it but just a little bit better. After managing to sniffle back tears, damn her for making him well up both the last times he’d seen her, Rafael slid out of his office. Of course, she pretended not to notice him, as she would have done any time he wandered throughout their little corridor. As if nothing had ever changed.

This time, instead of dropping off papers or asking about schedules, Rafael Barba threw his arms over her shoulders, pulled her back so her rolling chair hit his chest and he could kindly embrace her. Oh, and Carmen smiled, even though he couldn’t see; she placed her hands over his as they collected near her sternum, let him give her a friendly peck on the cheek.

“Thank you,” he whispered briefly, just before standing and patting heavy palms on her shoulders. “Sincerely, Carmen, thank you: you’ve kept the place together and you’ve… well,” he had never been great with sentiments, and really wonderful friends were so hard to come by. “Carmen, I’d be lost without you-”

“You’re welcome, Mr. Barba.” She glanced up at him over her shoulder, pat at his knuckles to prove she truly did understand his gratitude: and she’d do it all over and over again if it really made her employer (and, friend) so very happy. “It’s what I do, Mr. Barba.”

Originally posted by minidodds

tags (I’m trying to get better at this I’m so sorry): @yourtropegirl @havvkeyes @blown-transistor @esparza-army @booyahfordhamlaw

Hey, followers, mutuals, and random internet peeps: could ya’ll be praying for my cousin? He’s a nurse, and he just got confirmed to go to Iraq in less than a week, to work with victims of the violence near Mosul for a month. I’m proud of him, but also worried – please pray for his safety and for the people he’ll be working with while he’s there.

anders & meredith

so i mentioned earlier that meredith and anders have really similar character arcs, and i guess i’ll back that up now

i didn’t MEAN to write this much but oh well #yolo?

we don’t get any info about meredith’s childhood in-game, and we get precious little about anders’, so i’ll lay out the basic points for ‘em here (all of which comes from either World of Thedas or Anders’ short story):

Keep reading


The Story of the Gloves

Rachel Scott was not perfect and did make mistakes. Among all the things found after Rachel’s death, there was a story she wrote that captures her compassion for the underdog. It is called “Gloves of Conviction.” I don’t think she wrote it for a class at school. I don’t even think she wrote it for anybody else to read. Rather, it was something she wrote out of her heart after failing to care for somebody as she felt she should have. The story is about a needy-looking woman who came into the Subway sandwich shop where Rachel worked. I think we have all been in similar situations, and typically many of us prefer to turn away and mind our own business rather than reach out to someone who obviously looks as if she could use our help. For Rachel, this one episode of failing to help someone who was more vulnerable than she was, troubled her deeply and inspired her to write this story.

Gloves of Conviction

I was opening that day for work. On Sundays, no other employees come in until 11:00, which meant I had two hours of work to do by myself and then open the store for another hour alone with customers.

Usually no one comes in until about 11:30 on a Sunday morning anyway, so I always have plenty of time on my hands. I couldn’t believe how windy and cloudy it was. The cold of the breeze alone could bring you to a chill.

It was 10:00 so I flipped the switch for the open sign and unlocked the doors. It must have only been five minutes after that when I heard the doorbell ringing, telling me I had a customer. I went out front and began to put the gloves on, ready to make the first sandwich of the day.

I looked up and saw a woman who must have been in her late forties. She was wearing several layers of clothes. They were torn and dirty. Her face was dark from dirt. She was shivering, and then she began to cough in an almost uncontrollable manner. She looked up at me after she was all right and she gave me such a warm smile.

“What can I do for you, Ma'am? I asked?

She looked at me pleasantly and said, "Oh I was just wondering if you happen to know what time the busses were coming. I have been waiting out in the cold for two hours. You think they wouldn’t be so late, especially on a Saturday.”

I felt bad when I told her it was actually Sunday. She looked at me with such embarrassment and shock.

“Oh no,” she said. “I need to get back down town. I thought it was Saturday. Do you mind if I just sit here for a while until figure out what to do?”

I told her no problem, and she sat at the table in the far corner. As I looked at her and the situation more carefully, I realized she must have been so poor, and maybe even homeless. She was dressed in the dingiest clothes that hadn’t been washed in a while. She had a snug, winter hat on, three layers of flannel, baggy pants, worn through tennis shoes, and gloves. Her gloves were turned inside out. They had fringes coming off all sides.

I felt right then and there that I should have made her a sandwich free of charge. Then I should talk to her, telling her that whatever she did, God loved her and wanted her to trust him and fall into his arms once again. I knew where all of this was coming from. I knew God was giving me these words and asking me to go talk to her. But what if…what if…the usual questions and doubts about why I shouldn’t.

I went back to work, trying to forget about it, and hoping she would leave soon. My next customer came about an hour after that. She was a woman in her early thirties. She was well dressed in what looked like a work outfit. She had her hair pulled up nicely, and she was laced with perfume.

I made her some sandwiches, and we were at the cash register when she asked me how long the other woman had been sitting there. I told her about an hour.

“Did she get anything to eat?” the lady asked me.

I said no, and told her about the busses. Then the lady asked me if I wouldn’t mind making one more sandwich. I looked at her and smiled.

I never made a sandwich with such happiness and at the same time guilt. I told the lady no charge, and handed her a bag of chips to go with it. She thanked me and then went to the other woman.

She handed her the food and began to talk to her. They must have talked for two hours before I saw them leave. As I was cleaning the tables and feeling bad for not talking to the woman myself, I noticed that she had left her gloves.

I told God that I was sorry for disobeying him. He told me something that will always give me boldness to those situations, something that will never make me hesitate to tell other of him.

“You feel like she missed something because you lost your boldness, but she didn’t lose her opportunity. The other woman is sharing with her right now and she will not lose out on me.”

“You lost. You passed up the chance to gain something. You just let a wonderful flame to past you and into the hands of another. Let this be known, child when you do not follow through with the boldness and knowledge I have given you, more than one person is affected by it. You are as well as they.”

Dangerous Woman

A female unsub kidnaps Spencer as the team is close to catching her and she discovers, slowly and intimately, that she quite likes his company. 

A\N: written in third person because it felt right to have a degree of separation? But the woman is never named, so feel free to imagine yourself :D

Warnings: no smut but suggestive throughout ;) also language


Ohh, she’d done good this time. Really good.

He was sitting in the same chair as the other men before him, wrists cuffed behind him and head hanging low with unconsciousness.

She’d taken the eye-catcher. Not the typical dreamboat who had far too many women who would immediately notice his absence. No, she’d focused on the meekly handsome one with delicate features that she wanted to feel for herself.

She studied the way his hair sat in tendrils that almost wanted to curl, how he was indeed alive from the way his chest rose and fell under his striped dress shirt, she even noted the new scuffs on his shoes from where she struggled to drag him into the room with a smile on her face. That heaviness came from some muscles she was delighted to discover on his lanky frame.

All at once he sharply inhaled and lifted his head, his attention then quickly drawn to her watchful eye. They both stayed quiet as he tested his restraints and once he gave up he spoke.

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Imagine Rafael being your secret admirer

(A/N: For @autumnslioness-dearie, I hope you and everyone else enjoys this. Sorry if this isn’t my best and that it’s short. I know my imagines are short recently but I’m just super busy and want to get everyone’s request done so they aren’t waiting too long. Also , ’m super tired writing this but I didn’t want you waiting any longer because I know I take ages!) 

Imagine Rafael being your secret admirer

The day the first one arrived, you definitely needed it. Without a doubt, it had been one of the worst days of your career. Everything was going wrong, evidence thrown out and cases dismissed, to even mentioning the fact that all of these things were scheduled back to back. So when you finally dragged yourself back down to your office for the first time that day it was about 7:00 in the evening. Your assistant had gone and switched on the lights expecting the office that you had left over twenty-four hours earlier. And for the most part, it was expected, except for one thing.

A bouquet of flowers, on the corner of your desk.

Your assistant obviously had brought it in but you were confused by it nonetheless, mostly because you hadn’t expected it. There was no card but it didn’t even matter because they were your favorite flowers, tulips. The same sort of ones you would plant with your mom when you were a kid. They did bring a smile to your face and the next day when you asked for the card from your assistant she said it didn’t come with one.

You assumed it must have been a mistake or it was a bunch that was delivered late that were intended for your birthday a few weeks earlier. You liked having them there, you usually hated having live flowers because they died in your care, but you took good care of them. They lasted two weeks.

Even your colleague complimented them.

Keep reading

Being Peter Maximoff’ Partner In Crime Would Include:
  • Helping him with every single prank. 
  • You’d be the mastermind of it all. Making sure it could actually work out.
  • Cause’ his mind runs 900 miles per minute and he doesn’t think before he acts.
  • Peter would never admit it but you really pull everything together.
  • Basically the whole school hating you two when together.
  • But being find when you are apart, since you’re much less harmless when alone.
  • Being the main reason he doesn’t go to jail.
  • Since, (Again) he doesn’t think things through very well.
  • Let’s just say you’ve lied a lot to get him out of things.
  • And you’d think because he’s so fast that he wouldn’t ever get caught.
  • But you would be quite surprised at the things he does that completely expose him just to get twinkies. 
  • Giving him a hard time about it until he gives you one of the twinkies. Then not caring less about what he did.
  • High fiving when a prank works well.
  • Your main victims being Scott and Warren.
  • Just because they get so annoyed so easily.
  • And don’t do much about it afterwards.
  • You learned the hard way with Ororo when you poured water over her head once.
  • Let’s just say you two were in deep shit.
  • You also make sure you don’t actually hurt people. Too badly that is.
  • You two make the best power team ever. And most dangerous.