#handicap van

[cooterxp]

[jemineye]

you know, just because you can park in handicap spaces, doesn't mean you have to be an asshole and park halfway on the crosshatch lines. those spaces are critical and need to be clear for everyone who needs space. if you can't handle not taking up that space, you shouldn't be behind the wheel. simple.

[yallemagne]

Everyone: "Man, how does Van Helsing know so much about Dracula and vampires?? Must be a personal connection between him and the Count."

Me: *pulling my hair out trying to rewrite the September 30 meeting scene* "IF YOU ACTUALLY FUCKING READ HIS MONOLOGUE TWENTY TIMES OVER YOU WOULD KNOW HE KNEW NONE OF THIS INFORMATION PRIOR TO THE STORY."

Maybe not none. But. Let me just. Most of the shit he says is filler. "Let me tell you, it's gonna be fucking spooky" is what he says like fifty times over in twenty words or more each time.

"Alas! Had I known at the first what now I know—nay, had I even guess at him—one so precious life had been spared to many of us who did love her."

Van Helsing says that if he knew all the info he's about to dump on us about vampires, they could have saved Lucy. Meaning he didn't know jack shit. He most certainly didn't know who Dracula was.

"Even friend Jonathan, who lived with him for weeks, did never see him to eat, never! He throws no shadow; he make in the mirror no reflect, as again Jonathan observe. He has the strength of many of his hand—witness again Jonathan when he shut the door against the wolfs, and when he help him from the diligence too. He can transform himself to wolf, as we gather from the ship arrival in Whitby, when he tear open the dog; he can be as bat, as Madam Mina saw him on the window at Whitby, and as friend John saw him fly from this so near house, and as my friend Quincey saw him at the window of Miss Lucy. He can come in mist which he create—that noble ship's captain proved him of this; but, from what we know, the distance he can make this mist is limited, and it can only be round himself. He come on moonlight rays as elemental dust—as again Jonathan saw those sisters in the castle of Dracula. He become so small—we ourselves saw Miss Lucy, ere she was at peace, slip through a hairbreadth space at the tomb door."

Then finally he starts saying things that he may have already known since he cites no specific examples: night vision, requiring invitation, no power in the daytime, the sunrise and sunset bit, etc.. He does cite an example of what "unhallowed ground" vampires can enter uninvited, but that's just to illustrate his point. But then he talks about his friend Arminius.

"I have asked my friend Arminius, of Buda-Pesth University, to make his record; and, from all the means that are, he tell me of what he has been. He must, indeed, have been that Voivode Dracula who won his name against the Turk, over the great river on the very frontier of Turkey-land. If it be so, then was he no common man; for in that time, and for centuries after, he was spoken of as the cleverest and the most cunning, as well as the bravest of the sons of the 'land beyond the forest.' That mighty brain and that iron resolution went with him to his grave, and are even now arrayed against us. The Draculas were, says Arminius, a great and noble race, though now and again were scions who were held by their coevals to have had dealings with the Evil One. They learned his secrets in the Scholomance, amongst the mountains over Lake Hermanstadt, where the devil claims the tenth scholar as his due. In the records are such words as 'stregoica'—witch, 'ordog,' and 'pokol'—Satan and hell; and in one manuscript this very Dracula is spoken of as 'wampyr,' which we all understand too well."

Van Helsing is really just like me for real oh my god. He sounds like me after just having gone on a Wikipedia binge. He knew absolutely nothing about Dracula before, and he really wants to capitalize on all the new shit he just learned.

"We know from the inquiry of Jonathan that from the castle to Whitby came fifty boxes of earth, all of which were delivered at Carfax; we also know that at least some of these boxes have been removed. It seems to me, that our first step should be to ascertain whether all the rest remain in the house beyond that wall where we look to-day; or whether any more have been removed. If the latter, we must trace——"

*gunshots* Anyway.

More fucking fuel for the stop fucking painting him and Dracula as mortal enemies fire. He's literally just an old man who reads a lot, he's not a badass vampire hunter, Dracula didn't kill his gf or some shit, and he's probably never successfully dealt with a vampire before. Also, more ammo for my if you deny Jonathan's importance to the story one more time-- gun.

[disabled-not-dead]

https://rdbl.co/47gppMi Rebubble

https://bit.ly/3uBt9JG Teepublic

[teddy-bear-naps-and-random-snaps]

[2t2r]

Les collages oniriques et surréalistes de Elianne van Turennout

Nouvel article publié sur https://www.2tout2rien.fr/les-collages-oniriques-surrealistes-elianne-van-turennout/

Les collages oniriques et surréalistes de Elianne van Turennout

[precisemobilitys-blog]

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[foldingfittedsheets]

A few years ago my dad got hit by a car. He was on his bike when a van merged into him and smashed him up pretty good. I found out because he posted it on Facebook, along with a comment that he’d just walk home.

I have a long history of haranguing my father about his health but this really took the cake. I called him to insist he get a ride home and go to urgent care. I was summarily ignored and once shock wore off he was in a lot of pain.

He had a cracked pelvis, fractured fingers, and a dozen scrapes and bruises. Over the course of his legal battle to get his medical shit covered there’s been several small battles. The first was his cane.

He refused to use it for ages. The physical therapist insisted he should but he stubbornly repeated, “I’m strong enough!” It took months for him to give in and walk with it, but he eventually thanked me as it makes his life easier.

The current fight is getting him a handicapped placard. He’s finally admitted after a year that he needs one but still hasn’t done it.

So we recently went to pick up my nephew from the airport and I was like my dads assigned disability advocate. We got to pass through security to meet my nephew at the gate but my dad tried to put his cane up on the conveyor and I grabbed it right back, loudly addressing TSA to ask if he really needed to scan that. The guy said he supposed not, the agent could check it out at the scanner.

Then as we were refilling our pockets and getting belts back on a TSA agent was chiding us for holding up the line. I snapped back, "My dad is disabled, he needs a minute." She glanced at him and reluctantly backed off while he slowly got all this belongings back on his person.

We had to take a train to my nephews gate. It was pretty full and a lady who'd gotten on before us plopped into one of the only handicapped seats. "Excuse me," I said as we got on, "Can my dad please use that?" She clocked his cane and moved without apology and my dad gratefully sat down.

At no point in any of those stages was he prepared to advocate for his own needs, he just decided suffering was the only recourse. I wish the world were softer, and I wish he didn't just accept hardship but I definitely know where I got it from.

[ezrydesg]

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[contlis12]

death/dark feederism story

Coles cheeks burned with arousal and embarrassment as Ronnie followed behind him through the Walmart parking lot. It had been over 4 years since he had been anywhere near his old town and being back here 300 pounds fatter than he was the last time was like some kind of fantasy and embarrassing nightmare rolled into one. It didn’t help that Ronnie had put on a great show for his old work place. Ronnie and Cole had been in a relationship for over 4 years and theres was definitely not the typical one. Cole was Ronnie’s feedee. They were monogamous, lived together, and were in a committed relationship but they were not a “couple”. The relationship dynamic was too skewed for Cole to be considered his boyfriend in Ronnie’s opinion. He was his feedee, his piggy and his property. They had first met on an extreme gaining forum centered around death feederism and hit it off instantly. Cole moved half way across the country and became Ronnie’s live in feedee spending all day under his feeders care and had blown up from a already hefty 280 pound stoner nerd to a nearly 600 pound wheezing hog that was on the verge of immobility.

Ronnie had decided to celebrate the upcoming milestone with something special. “I want to take you back to your home town piggy, I want people who used to know you to not even recognize you. I want to live out all those fap fantasies you had in the bedroom with me.” Cole was nervous, as hot as the idea of public humiliation was he also dreaded the idea of an old friend seeing him in his current state but it didn’t change the fact he was immensely turned on by the idea and was helpless to serving his feeder. He had been conditioned to be a good piggy.

When they first arrived in town Ronnie had went straight to Walmart, Coles last job before he had left town. Normally Cole would use a walker to go anywhere but Ronnie made him struggle from the handicap van spot in front of the doors to the entrance where he had parked one of the stores mobility scooters and the probably no more than 30 foot walk had Cole pouring sweat and hyperventilating. Ronnie had been sure to dress him in the tightest smallest tank top and sweat shorts Cole had that showed off his melted ice cream cone figure as much as possible. Amazingly nobody in the store did recognize Cole but he was a spectacle none the less. Ronnie had been sure to load Coles mobility scooters basket up with the most fattening treats on the shelf. At one point Ronnie had stopped in the aisle and cracked a two liter of rootbeer and unwrapped two snack cakes “baby you don’t look so good, here eat these to feel better. You need some food in you”. A few aisles later and a few more suggested snack cakes and Cole had polished off the whole two liter and family sized box of chocolate covered Twinkie’s. The whole trip through the store was mortifying to Cole but amazing aswell. The feeling of submission to his feeder was intoxicating, he felt like a helpless fat pet and loved it.

When they were back in the van Ronnie had a final destination in mind before they left town. They had hit up multiple fast food joints, Ronnie wanted a spread that would look outrageous and eye catching. Before they had gotten out of the van and loaded Cole in his bariatric wheelchair they kept in the back for any sort of travel further than across a buffet parking lot Ronnie had rolled up Coles tank top and tucked it under his moobs fashioning it into a belly shirt. He pulled his sagging gut out of his shorts and let if flop heavily over the waist band of Coles way too small sweat shorts “comfy piggy? Get that belly ready because I’m going to stuff you hard. Everyone is going to watch you swell up like a blimp for me”. Cole was too nervous and excited to say much besides “ok” sheepishly as he felt his stomach pool across his lap and the warm summer breeze on his exposed stretch mark covered gut. Ronnie wheeled Cole to a pavilion in the middle of the park, people were around walking their dogs and playing in the park but nobody has really seemed to notice the two of them. Leaving him at the table with a couple bags of McDonalds and Burger King Ronnie gave him a firm smack and jiggle on his stomach before deeply kissing him “okay piggy I’m going to get the rest of the food from the van and we will start in a minute” as Ronnie walked away Cole looked down almost appearing naked in his vision past the rolled up tank top seeing nothing but wheel chair and pale stretch marked cellulite.

“Cole?!” as soon as he heard it his already food filled stomach dropped “oh my god, is that you?” He closed his eyes for a moment trying to become invisible “it is you!” He opened his eyes in time to see two women appear from around the side of the chair into view and Cole recognized one of them immediately. It was a very short term girlfriend from high school named Bree. Cole was speechless for a moment before finally simply saying “uhh hi”. Bree and the girl both stood staring wide eyed barley even trying to hide their disgust and amusement. “What happened to you? I wouldn’t have even recognized you if I didn’t remember your tattoo!” She said not even beating around the bush “are you okay? I knew you were a bit heavy before but you look ready to pop now!”. Cole stammered for a response “uhh yeah I put on a lot of weight, I had a medical” but was cut off as Ronnie walked up and introduced himself.

“Well hello, do you guys know Cole?” He said as he walked over and placed the other bags of fast food before putting a hand on Coles shoulder. “Yeah I was friends back in high school with him but I hadn’t seen him since then, hardly recognized him.” She said still grinning and looking in pure amazement at how fat Cole was. “Oh yeah Cole has put on alot of weight, I hardly recognize old photos of him when we first got together. He really blew up” Ronnie said reaching down and squeezing a fat roll on his stomach. “Oh are you his boyfriend? I didn’t know he was gay” Bree said looking at all the food on the table. “Oh no I’m his feeder” Ronnie said proudly as Cole felt his cheeks turning red. “His what?” Bree said laughing. Ronnie grinned looking at his piggy trapped like a fat whale as they talked about him like live stock “his feeder, it’s a fetish that is about weight gain. He’s a submissive to me and I make him fatter. I’ve put almost 300 pounds on him and we are trying to get him as fat as possible.” Ronnie grinned looking at their amazement. “Wow, I don’t really know what to say to that” Bree said wide mouthed at the sight before her. Ronnie just smiled back at her “well if you guys are done catching up he needs to eat” before going back to Cole “Okay piggy you hungry? Because I’m going to stuff you until you are ready to pop baby”. Bree and her friend laughed and jeered as Ronnie stuffed burger after burger into his piggy.

Looking up Cole seen them snapping pictures and taking cell phone videos knowing this would be all over their Facebook pages for everyone in his hometown to see. “Feed me make me so huge I break my wheel chair!” Cole moaned “I need to grow for you!” Cole let out wild snort and swallowed the food as fast as he could as he felt more dominated than he ever had before and he loved it. “I hope he has to bring me in a bariatric bed to the park next year” Cole thought as more messy gobs of burger and mayonnaise were shoved into his bulging cheeks.

[thatguywhofedme]

Scooter bound

I looked in the rear view mirror as I see you stuffing yourself with your second family size bucket of chicken, tearing into it like an animal with gravy all over your face and clothes

You saw that i was enjoying the show and decided to lift up your shirt to rub and squeeze that big gut of yours with your hand covered in grease and chicken crumbs

"glad... You're..... Happy.... With the...... Results... Frrrrttthhh..... Ufffff...... Of your...... Deeds....."

You couldn't help but blow a kiss towards the direction of your massive partner while they continued

"I.... Know.... You..... Wanted me..... Big....... UUUUUuuuuuuurrrrrrppppppp........ Mmmmmhhh....... But you've...... Made...... Me..... Gigantic......"

Indeed that's exactly what you've done, with your incessant need to stuff more down your piggy's throat with all the takoeout imaginable and literal lard shakes, in seven years, you've transformed a skinny twig into a 694lbs slob that only wants to eat, fuck and get fatter each day

"that's the goal dearie, but you're still too skinny for me, I mean you're still able to come shopping with me and that's unacceptable, we need you pinned to your bariatric bed instead of using that scooter to go anywhere"

The scooter was barely able to move under its own power anymore, it's not that easy to transport almost 700lbs of blubber, who would've guessed

It was fitted with an oxygen tank in the back with a cannula that was needed pretty much all the time

While you heard a moan from the back because of what was said, you saw your destination approaching

"we're almost there sweetie, you better finish that bucket quickly"

You said as you saw your partner eating even faster, finishing the bucket as you parked the custom van in the handicap spot

You open the sliding door and wait for the ramp to lower itself as your partner move the scooter down the ramp and you two head towards walmart

"you better be ready to fill this basket of yours, you're going to need all the calories you can to reach 700lbs in at least two weeks"

"yes........ Daddy........."

You both got into the store, picked up a shopping cart and began feeling it up full of frozen pizza's, cakes and other unhealthy treats

After a while, you felt someone squeeze your butt from behind

"honey....... I'm..... Uuurrp... So Hungry....."

You thought about it and had an idea

"follow me"

You heard the scooters engine struggling to work with all the added weight but saw your feedee following you nonetheless

You got to the bathroom and held the door open for the scooter

"get into the handicap stall, I'll be back in a sec"

You said winking at your morbidly obese partner

You came back with a box of cupcakes, a cake, a bag of chips and a 2 liter of orange crush

You got into the stall and locked the door behind

You began feeding your partner the bag of chips by hand, which was empty in not even a minute

Then it was time for the cupcakes, plopping one at a time in your partners mouth while chewing them

And finally, it was time for the cake but.....

"honey...... I'm...... Getting..... Really..... Full...... I...... Dont think...... I'll be...... Able........ To...... Do..... This...... Bwaaaaarrrrppp"

You looked into their eyes and they knew exactly they had fucked up

You took the 2l bottle, opened and began pouring the content down their throat

After 2 minutes of hearing your partner struggling to drink the fizzy content, you took the bottle away from their lips when the content was empty and waited for their stomach to release the air

After a few seconds, you heard a loud

"BBBWWWWWWUUUUUUUUUAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRPPPPPPPPPPPP.......Aaaaaaaaahhhh"

Then, you uncovered the cake, put your hand behind their head and pushed their face in the cake

"don't you dare say that to me, you WILL eat everything I put in front of you piggy whether you want to or not"

You heard your partner chewing as fast as their chubby cheeks would allow them and that's when you both heard it

The sound of the door opening with footsteps coming towards your stall

You knew you were fucked if they discovered you had "stolen" some food to feed your partner

Fortunately the door to the stall next to you opened and not even five minutes later, they were gone

You looked at your partner and realized they were very horny

Rubbing your legs and wanting a sloppy kiss

You obliged and that's when they spilled the beans

"this...... Was...... So...... Hot...... Fuck....... Me......... Uuuuurrrrppp........ Now......."

You started kissing your blobby partner while reaching between their huge thighs and finding what you were looking for

You both began breathing heavier, well, your partner was more panting and wheezing like the fat pig they are

You then got your hands in the cake and began feeding them the rest of it by hand

"you sexy pig, look at you, so fat you're not even able to get yourself off properly, at least you got me to help with this little issue of yours, which I'm sure you don't mind"

To clarify your point, your partner put their hand behind your head and pulled you in for a kiss, exchanging bits of cake while making out

Your partner then began oddibly moaning and when they were about to cum, you put their face in the rest of the cake to make it even messier, but also to muffle the scream of ecstasy coming out of their greedy mouth

Seeing your satisfied partner panting like never before, you began cleaning the mess and licking all the frosting from their face and fingers while catching their breath

"now....... That..... Hit...... The....... Frrrrttthhh........ Spot........"

You kissed them and began making your way out of the stall while watching your partners ass sag off to the sides and grabbing some blubber in the process

You continued your shopping for more gluttonous treats to feed your piggy later on

[howtofightwrite]

Clothes Followup

Hi there. Professional sportswear outfitter and part-time athelete here just chiming in on how these choices are perfectly believable, in my humble opinion: #1 SHOES "sneakers" is a loose definition. but, if the character is wearing casual/lifestyle "sneakers" like jordan lows, vans, etc., these type of shoes are FLAT (not narrow running shoes). Flat soled sneakers are often preferred training shoes for mixed arts or lifting at the gym. You could wear boots, but you're sacrificing agility. As a female, I can say that a female character likely would not inflict such a handicap as BOOTS on herself. Feet are very resilient and resistant to pain and injury. Being able to move on your feet matters a lot more than protecting them does. PASS #2 PANTS. you are not punching someone's pants while boxing. and have you watched fight club? they mostly wear jeans. they're durable, wick moisture (although it feels unpleasant), and if they're fitted properly, they're not going to get in the way of your agility. Jeans are light armor if you're speaking in tabletop rpg terms. PASS #3 SHIRT. a good tshirt of a decent quality will wick moisture, will not be bulky or baggy, and will move with its wearer. tshirts are not expensive and are the best option outside a sleeveless top or topless for martial arts. Especially if you have boobs. Boxing in only a racerback sports bra is also viable, but a tshirt will provide light protection to the skin, which is a good idea in amateur boxing. If they're WEARING GLOVES, nobody is grappling anyone's shirt so there is no risk of clothes-grabbing violations happening there. If this ring is literally underground, it's probably cold. Clothes can be shed between matches, but it's often more important to be clothed appropriately so as to prevent both overheating and chills. Becoming chilled between fights is a greater danger to performance than getting sweaty is. PASS I also have questions as to the type of boxing gloves being used. Are they full padded gloves? Light knuckle pads? Do the boxers wear headgear? Mouthguards? What areas are allowed to be hit or is it a free-for-all? Maybe you think these details are mistakes, but I disagree. Half my job is punching boxes all day. Hot, sweaty, fully clothed, wearing comfortable shoes. Lots of moving around. If I am going to punch boxes (or faces) for hours, that's exactly how I'd dress. The rest of my job? Literally outfitting people with boxing equipment. Literally selling people clothing for athletics. I am also a footwear specialist. Thank you for taking the time to read this. :) -lilkittay

So, apologies in advance, lilkittay, but you're about to get dragged. This might come as a shock, but I actually have a copy of the novel Fight Club. I just found it wedged between a copy of Hell's Angels by Hunter S. Thompson, and the Demolished Man by Alfred Bester. I'm not going to try to figure out what lead to that sorting peculiarity. The book is exceptionally good, and if you've never read it, it's an easy (if somewhat unpalatable) recommendation. Stick it up there with books like Native Son, or Ivan Denisovich, in that it covers some really ugly subject matter, but discusses a problem exceptionally well. And, in the 27 years since the novel was originally published, it has proved itself fairly prescient. It's not about the violence, it is an excellent discussion on the underlying psychology of toxic masculinity.

Now, the last time I mentioned Fight Club, someone immediately piped up with, “you've lost all credibility.” That's their problem, but I didn't actually define it, and it is a term that gets thrown around without being defined. Toxic masculinity refers specifically to an individual who cannot engage with their own emotions, particularly painful ones, in a healthy way, because they view those behaviors as effeminate. As a result, they respond aggressively and, or, violently. That's the toxic part. You get dumped. Your pet dies. You get passed over for a promotion at work. And, instead of dealing with that in a healthy way. In any healthy way. You go out into the world and try to make someone else suffer. That is toxic.

Unfortunately, Fight Club is not the grown up version of Calvin and Hobbes, though that is an amusing fan theory, and something that holds together better in the film thanks to Brad Pitt's costuming decisions.

I'm saying all of this to point out, the characters in Fight Club have no idea how to fight.

More than that, jeans are not light armor. Motorcycle leathers? Sure, those would be light armor. In fact, I'm pretty sure they're described as light armor in D20 modern. But, the only place I'd expect to see denim categorized as light armor is a game that used, “light armor,” for mage gear, “medium armor,” as rogue's leather and chain, and, “heavy armor,” as warrior gear. Which is to say, yeah, that's not how that works at all.

The problem with jeans as armor is, they're really bad at it. Someone with a crowbar? Yeah, jeans aren't going to do anything about that. Someone with an axe? I've heard about the aftermath, it was not pretty. Against a sword? Nope. Against a knife? Personal experience says the knife will win without issue. In an underground fighting arena against someone driving a shin kick into your knee? Yeah, your jeans may look fine after the fact, but you're probably not using that leg again anytime soon.

But, that RPG comment made something click together a little, so back to footwear for a second.

Why would someone wear boots? Now, personally, I wear motorcycle boots in my day to day life. Not because I'm a rider, but because I find them more comfortable and convenient than normal dress shoes, and so long as I keep them buffed out, they pass for men's dress shoes at a glance. The interesting thing about this is that my heel has a wide, flat, block of wood under it at all times. If it was a matter of life and death, I could probably grind off a significant chunk of my heel bringing a bike to a stop without suffering any injury. Now, I bring this up, because driving 200-300lbs of force behind a sharply edged wooden mallet into your unarmored instep will not improve your agility.

In the real world, armor doesn't work like D&D. There's no equivalent exchange between mobility and being able to soak a hit. (And if you think there's an irony in substituting a term from one RPG for another... well, yeah. You're not wrong.) If you think someone's going to stomp on your foot, bring steel toed boots. What you lose in agility today, you make up for in your ability to walk without a cane tomorrow.

The paradox of humans is that we are both stupidly resilient, and horrifically fragile, at the same time. Now, at this point, I do want to say something genuinely nice to you, even if it sounds a tiny bit condescending. You've never looked at another person as 150-250lbs of ambulatory meat and considered the best way to take them apart with your hands. And you know what? That is a good thing. Embrace that, and don't let go, because never finding yourself in that kind of a place is a credit to you, and the world you've been able to live in.

All of that said, fighting another human being is not a workout. It's engineering. You're looking at an organic machine with roughly the same parts and pieces you have, and your goal is to make that machine stop thrashing around, screaming, and leaking on everything, before it does the same to you. It's not better. It's not worse. It's different, and it comes with different considerations. You don't dress to look good or stay comfortable, you dress to avoid life altering injuries if at all possible.

Competitive fighting does land at a meeting point of these two considerations however. The fighter wants to come out intact, the sponsors want good show, one that will draw an audience. This leads to things like fighting in a sports bra. Yes, it may be the most, “agile,” option, but if you're going to be in a fist fight, a heavy leather jacket, preferably one with fiberglass plates may not breathe, but it will take far more abuse than your body can. (Actually, I think sometimes the inserts are made out of memory foam these days, which should also take a hit pretty effectively, especially against an unarmed foe.)

This isn't a major issue, but it is something to consider, when thinking about the temperature of the arena, it's important to remember that human body heat in a crowded space is somewhat cumulative. So, a room that starts out at around 60 degrees, could easily warm up to a comfortable temperature once the spectators are present. There's actually consistent math for calculating what you should set the thermostat for in an amphitheater when it's unoccupied so that the temperature is comfortable when the seats are filled, but I can't remember the numbers, and can't find it on short notice.

You do bring up a good point, the original Anon did not specify what kind of gloves were used. I assumed those were nominally regulation boxing gloves, but those could be something like the UFC gloves from a couple decades back, that left the fingers exposed while armoring the knuckles. The armor on those gloves allowed the wearer to inflict all kinds of horrific injuries on one's foes. In an event Michi is quite happy to recount, her younger brother almost lost an eye to a skull fracture from one of those during a poorly supervised sparring bout. It's fairly credible to suggest that an illegal fight club might use those simply to excite the crowds with actual bloodshed.

Now, as someone who has worked in shipping, I know full well that sometimes boxes do hit back. However, they are the exception rather than the rule. There's nothing wrong with practicing on punching bags, but boxes aren't trying to break you. At worst, they may just want to take a nap on the floor without regard to whether you're in the way or not. Live opponents? They're looking at you as however many pounds of meat machinery, and trying to end you. Looking good doesn't make their job harder, but armoring up does.

Anyway, like I said to the original Anon, nothing in their explanation was outright wrong. A lot of it was non-optimal, but not to such a degree as to shatter belief. The mistake you're making, and I really do say this with respect, is that you're looking at it like any other physical activity. As I said, combat is not a work out. Combat as a hazardous environment beyond the reach of OSHA. You wear protective gear (if you can) because that protection may be the difference between walking out alive and (basically) unharmed, or never walking again. You wouldn't (or at least, really shouldn't) take a bike out on the freeway at 60mph in jeans and a tees, you really don't want to get in a fight wearing them either.

-Starke

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[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

The Uncanny Valley: Part Two

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.3k

Summary: Therapy isn't something you're taking too well, but if you want to keep your job, you'll continue to go. you're forced to confront thoughts and memories of your own family when you come across the father of the unsub.

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill

Season Five Masterlist

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there are any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them.

x

As soon as the plane lands, Derek and Emily talk to both victim families. They were confused as to why they needed to bring pictures of their daughters but they followed the rules regardless. The loved ones of the victims didn't understand the importance of the pictures but it's because the unsub is looking for a specific body type.

Stacia went to the gym about three times a week because she took pride in every aspect of her appearance. She often went to high-end boutiques that were very expensive but because she was so tiny, she had to have everything tailored to fit her right. When presented with her death photo, Stacia's mother explicitly stated that Stacia would never wear something like that.

Rita worked out just not as much as Stacia. She liked to shop around but only in thrift stores. She and her husband didn't have a lot of money so she tried to save as much as she could where she could. Her husband didn't notice if she ever tailored her clothes to fit her better, but he took one look at her death photo and immediately told Derek that she'd never wear that dress.

Not only is the unsub dressing them how she wants them to be dressed, but she's also posing her victims in a place that represents childhood and innocence. Most serial killers don't particularly have a happy childhood. Your guess is she wants them to have the fun she never got to have.

Despite finding a potential motive, how is she getting these women from her car to where she dumps their bodies? It has to be in the middle of the night so she doesn't get caught, and she must need a vehicle that can give her the privacy she needs like a van or an SUV. Still, that's a lot of ground to cover once she parks. Even if those women are light, she risks getting caught carrying a corpse.

If she has a medical background, she might be using a wheelchair to transport the women from the car to the dump sites. If she has a wheelchair, that means her van or SUV has a lift. If it has a lift, then she has to have a handicap placard. That placard would give her the closest parking spot which means less ground to cover.

Spencer has been so patient with you but you feel like you're not doing enough for him. You're constantly nervous but being with him helps even if it's just a little bit. With gloved hands, you touch the hair of both victims to try and connect with the unsub's energy. What you do gather isn't good.

"She's seriously mentally ill, Spencer."

The ME scoops Rita like a bride from her morgue bed and lays her on the examination table.

"Once I have the knees bent, I can get leverage under her. Normally, an assistant helps me but I can do it by myself if I need to."

"I'm assuming the unsub would have this training, too. Let me ask you this, is there anything specific about it?"

"No, any caregiver out there can do this like doctors, nurses, and orderlies."

"Where do you think she's getting the drugs that she's using? Do you think she could be manipulating a doctor or a pharmacist, maybe?"

"He'd be criminally negligent if she was."

"It's possible, though, right? Doctors order things through residents, nurses forge signatures, and prescriptions fall through the cracks."

"That's a lot of drugs and a lot of cracks. She keeps these women paralyzed for two months."

"Your report said both of them had hair extensions clipped in, right?"

"Yes, to hide the fact that clumps of their real hair had fallen out."

"If they were fed through an IV, their hair flailing out wasn't from malnutrition. Why did it fall out?" you ask.

"You see this a lot in bedridden patients. Loss of motor function especially in a young woman like this."

"Of course," Spencer says and looks at you. You have your thumbnail in your mouth which you are nervously chewing. "Psychic shock. The mental effects take a physical toll." Spencer grabs your hand that's by your mouth so you're not ruining your nails. "One last question. In your professional opinion, do you think the hair extensions were clipped on before or after death?"

"Before. You know the old wives' tale about your hair and nails growing after death? What's really happening is that dehydration is shrinking your skin and pulling it back. Based on where she put these extensions, they were definitely still alive."

"Thank you. We should get going." You two leave the ME's office and back to the car. "How are you doing?"

"Better when I'm with you."

You lean up and kiss him, holding onto that feeling of hope. He is everything you need and you don't want that feeling to go away. He takes you back to the station and meets up with everyone. Once everyone explains what they found, you can discuss the next steps.

"Now, we know this unsub is stuck in a rich fantasy, right? An incredibly detailed delusion. We don't know what the delusion is, but we know that it involves remaking these women and it begins the moment she has them drugged."

"So, she has them paralyzed and she can do whatever she wants? Why is she killing them?"

"Maybe they don't fit her idea of beauty," you say. "It looks to me like these women are dolls that she wants to dress up. I don't think she means to kill them. The brain is a machine designed to respond to stimuli. If you keep the brain awake but the body immobile, it breaks down and loses its hair. After two months, it eventually strokes out. Death isn't the unsub's goal. It's just an unfortunate side effect."

Derek and Emily come back, eager to tell everyone what they found.

"What did you find?" Hotch asks.

"Both Rita and Stacia were clothes hounds, but because they were petite women, they had a lot of their stuff altered. It could be how our unsub is finding her victims. She gets her hands on their measurements, but we've exhausted tailors and alteration shops. There's no overlap."

"The tailors might send specialty items out to third parties. Dig deep into extended employment records and see who they might be subcontracting to."

JJ walks into the room with her phone to her ear.

"Garcia needs to talk to us."

"Go ahead," Hotch says once she is on speakerphone.

"Hello, my pretties. I have finished my missing persons sweep. I've got nothing on the medical vehicle, but two new matches on the clothes make the woman front. Cindy Edmundson was abducted outside a thrift store, and Maxine Wynan was last seen at the Hillridge Mall."

"Sounds like our girl. Any surveillance footage at the mall?"

"No, it was an outside parking lot."

"What's their physical type?"

"They look pretty tiny to me. I'm gonna send you pictures. Also, if it pleases the court, I would like to direct your attention to exhibit 'A', the calendar map. Both of these new victims were abducted one week ago, exactly one day before the bodies of Rita and Stacia turned up."

"She doesn't let a body go until she has a replacement," Hotch sighs.

You'd hope that the unsub got who she wanted but another report of a body turning up came through. This time, she was left on a public park bench for everyone to see. The detective on the case meets you at the park that has already been cleared out and sectioned off.

"Her name is Mary Newsome. She was abducted two months ago and found on this bench first thing this morning."

"It looks like her style," Emily says. "The fabric is Chiffon and it's sewn to fit. If she's disposed of this body, it means she's recently taken a new victim. I'll call Hotch and we'll comb through missing persons reports from the last forty-eight hours.

"I'll pull them," the detective offers.

Spencer puts a glove on and inspects Mary's head. He frowns when he sees sewing threads on the base of her hairline.

"These aren't hair extensions. This is a wig. Kanekalon, I think. It's synthetic hair. There's nothing special about it. It's used in wigs all over the world. She sewed this wig on."

Local police take over the crime scene so your team can head back to the station to discuss further.

"Hey, I think we found who was taken last night," Derek says. "Her name is Bethany Wallace. Her husband says she never came home from the dry cleaners where she stopped off to pick up some clothes."

"Did anyone at the cleaners see anything?"

"The employees were busy locking up, but they did mention that they do farm out work to tailors who work from home."

"Good. We can match records based on who worked on Bethany's clothes." Hotch's phone rings and he looks at the message Penelope sent everyone. "We just got the pictures of the two recent abductions from Garcia. "Line up the photos of the new victims next to the bodies they replaced. That might help us with the timeline."

"Do you see this?" Derek asks.

You turn to look at the photos and see similarities between the women she's taken versus the women she's dumping.

"She's matching up the victims physically one to one. She's a collector."

"I told you. She liked dolls," you shrug.

"We're ready to give the profile."

The detective collects all of his men and women so they can hear the profile. You're sitting off to the side and letting your team handle this one. Even talking is exerting too much energy for you. Hotch knows you're in pain and will do whatever he can to help you, and you appreciate him so much.

You hate how much you're hiding in the shadows lately.

"The unsub we're looking for is a woman. She's a collector. It's a psychopathology similar to hoarding. When we say collector, we're not talking about stamps or baseball cards. It's not what your kids, or even you, might pursue as a normal hobby. This is an attachment to objects that's become obsessive by someone who is antisocial and extremely introverted."

"These people attach a part of themselves to their collection. If you try to separate them from it, they will react violently, even psychotically. This unsub has suffered damage to her prefrontal cortex. That's the part of the brain that regulates basic Freudian fantasy/reality. She can still function, like drive a car, go to work, and even do her taxes. In fact, she excels at goal-oriented jobs like the precision of sewing or the details of an abduction."

"However, she's lost her ability to categorize the difference between living and dead. That has been irreparably destroyed," Rossi says.

"You're saying she's collecting women?" the detective asks.

"We think she's collecting dolls, or more accurately, replacing them," Spencer answers. "We believe that she lost the originals sometime within the last three months. This is what served as her stressor. She searched for a replacement and when she couldn't find them, she started abducting the closest possible surrogate, women of different ethnicities but of similar physicality."

"The drug-induced paralysis is part of the fantasy. She puts her victims in a position where they can't talk back so she can fetishize them like the objects she's lost."

"Look, I respect your analysis but this woman kidnapped six women and killed three of them. You're telling me this is about dolls?" the detective scoffs.

"This unsub stitched a wig onto the scalp of her latest victim. It's a technique used to attach hair to porcelain dolls. Keep in mind that collectors and serial killers do share certain traits. A lot of serial killers take trophies, attaching the same significance to them that this collector does to objects."

"This unsub's intent isn't violence," Rossi adds to Spencer's thought. "She needs this collection to be complete so she can feel in control of her life, probably to overcome some trauma she experienced."

"She really only feels that control when the collection is complete which is why she's repeating an abduction pattern with living victims. If she loses a doll or in this case, if she loses a woman who represents a doll, she has to replace it."

"This woman works alone. We know she has medical training. Look for nurse's aides or orderlies who we fired for a lack of social grace. She can't fake a bedside manner. We believe she's currently working as a tailor or a seamstress, and we're following those leads now. Do let us know if you notice any overlap in your suspect pools. Thank you."

JJ follows a lead straight to a tailor who has done some work for Stacia. JJ got her hands on the dress she was found in after it went through processing so she could go around to different stores and see who might have made this design. The tailor Stacia went to didn't even sell the design she was found in, but the seamstress did find something interesting with the stitching marks on the hem.

There is a handkerchief pattern that's usually found on silk-sewn handkerchiefs. It's all done by hand which is unique to the unsub. It's her signature. Not even a machine can do it because it's so delicate. There isn't a place that specializes in handcrafted sewing like that but the seamstress is impressed.

The unsub is an artist, that's for sure.

Emily got in touch with Beth's husband, Karl, and he came into the station right away to see if there was something being done to find his wife.

"Do you know where my wife is?" he asks.

"We're searching for her, sir."

"No, you have to find her in the next twenty-four hours. She's a diabetic. She needs her medicine or she will die." He sighs and looks at everyone. "Agent Prentiss said this woman has medical training. Does that mean Bethany has a chance?" Silent befalls the group. "What is it?"

"She keeps her victims in a drug-induced state. They can't communicate."

"Oh, God," Karl choke-sobs. "Will these drugs...?"

"We don't know, but we're doing everything we can," Hotch answers his unspoken question.

x

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[simplykorra]

golden hour - chapter eight

Ava isn’t sure what she expected when JC mentioned taking her out to a club - but it was nothing like what the Wild Wolf turned out to be.

Because it wasn't so much a club, at least nothing compared to the things she’d seen on TV growing up - it was more like a bar with an open dance floor.

The drive out here was longer than Ava expected, though not as uncomfortable as the night in JC’s car because they didn’t take JC’s car.

They took Chanel’s aunt’s handicap van.

It's a rusted out old clunker with a huge lift - the kind that goes up and down at the speed of snail and rolling out onto it feels a little bit like walking the plank.

Still, the interior had straps and latches, even a seat belt and Ava was grateful not to have to transfer at all in front of JC and his friends.

That was the other thing that made tonight different, it wasn't just her and JC. His whole crew was here as well. They were fun enough. A bit distant sure, a bit unsure - the same thing Ava’s felt with strangers her whole life.

They always walk a bit on eggshells around her.

By the time they make it to the Wild Wolf, Ava’s done her best to loosen the tension. Randall doesn’t seem to pay her much attention and Ava still has no idea what the blonde girl’s name is, but the other one, Chanel, she’s really cool.

She’s the one Ava latches onto once they're inside.

CONT ON AO3