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ambiguouspuzuma · 3 months ago

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The Initiative

It had all started with the climax of the Cirque du Mort. The murder of Tony Yaseran, that famed showman turned shaman, that human being turned corpse. The dead man had been nothing but an overly confident confidence trickster, but he'd pivoted from TV spots to sell-out shows, flogging his supposed abilities to anyone who'd pay, and had booked out a hall for a circus extravaganza. He'd promised to commune with the spirits, for one night only - and someone had seen that he succeeded.

The nature of the case had caught the attentions of the national press, and that had been that. Raheel had emerged as protagonist in that true crime soap opera, offering mundane solutions to vanquish the rumours of vengeance from beyond the grave - and the disappointed tabloids, latching on like leeches, had mythologised him instead. Raheel Mahtam: the Master Detective. He'd been hailed as a deductive genius, the mind who solved the Mort at the Cirque. Those headlines had written themselves. Now, Raheel only wished that his autographs would.

They hadn't been entirely wrong. Raheel did have a certain gift in these areas; he saw things that others missed, and always had. That was why he'd taken this profession in the first place - and why he'd been hired by Yaseran's third wife to find out what really happened to him, whilst others speculated spectral revenge. But unlike his most famous client, Raheel was not fond of the limelight. The newspaper write-ups, attributing to him a sort of omniscience that he'd never claimed, made him feel like something from the same school of fraud.

They'd been good for business, at least. Since the press had hailed him as a prodigy, Raheel had found himself granted the kind of access he had always craved. All of a sudden, he was welcomed into the halls of power, and the homes of those who held it - invited to intercede in their most confidential cases, given full clearance to seek out clues wherever they may hide. Gone was the usual legal red tape, the restrictions on a private eye; his glass ceiling had been replaced with a soaring marble dome, complete with smiling cherubs painted on the sides.

But that was a two-way street, and now others wanted access to him. Not only the reporters, who flocked in his wake like gulls to a fishing boat, but their readers, people who had taken an interest in his story and longed to see themselves become a part of it. Some were aspiring detectives themselves, others budding journalists, streamers, bloggers, desperate for a taste of the spotlight - Raheel wouldn't have been surprised if one or two were would-be murderers, not satisfied with any but the starring role.

Most of the others were largely harmless, but their presence harmed him nonetheless. Raheel had always valued his privacy, when he wasn't probing through the secrets of others, but now there were always stares on the bus, whispers and photographs, and a request for an autograph down every supermarket aisle. Fame was a key that closed some doors as it opened others. He was ushered into stately homes, but could no longer enjoy a quiet drink in his local café.

"Sorry to disturb you," the latest woman said. "Is it true you knew Carly Paterson?"

Raheel lowered his cappuccino. That was a name from the distant past. Carly had been a companion on one of his early cases; before the Cirque, and the circus that had followed. That had involved smaller tents: a campsite stabbing, with a hundred suspects to rule out. She'd assisted him out of a simple desire to help, with no hope of reward - a far cry from today's mob, always clamouring for attention, thirsty for a taste of his unwanted fame. They were welcome to it, Raheel thought - if only they could show him how to scrub it off.

"Yes." He queried the use of the past tense. Knew. It had been a long time ago, and they hadn't kept in touch. "Why?"

"She's dead," the woman said, hovering by the side of his table. "The police don't understand how. I was wondering if you'd be able to help."

For all of the adulation that it brought, popularity didn't seem to bring many friends. Raheel had fans, admirers - even one or two stalkers - but there were precious few people he could trust. Carly had been one of them. He'd liked her, as an assistant and a person; he'd even sometimes thought about getting back in touch, once he was less busy. But the work had kept coming in, and now she was dead - and that became work for him as well.

The woman from the coffee shop had introduced herself as Rosie, one of Carly's friends who'd actually made the time to stay a part of her life, and wasn't about to abandon her in death. She knew all about their previous case together, the spate of stabbings in the campsite, and had met Carly in the follow up: her campaign to keep knives off the streets, and fields, of the area where they lived.

"We'd attended an event together," Rosie told him, on the train to the murder scene. "The Society of Philanthropists puts it on every year: an invite-only gala dinner, to celebrate those doing good in their community. There are awards, speeches, that kind of thing. A lot of back-patting, but it's nice to dress up every once in a while."

"That's where Carly was killed?"

"Before the evening started. We arrived together at the hotel, sipping prosecco in the lobby whilst the tables were prepared. You probably know how these things work. I held her drink whilst she went to the bathroom, and the next thing I know they're telling us all to leave. I obviously hang around, waiting for her to come out, and then she does - carried on a stretcher. The ambulance came too late to save her."

"They found her in the bathroom?" Raheel took notes, not wasting any time expressing sympathies. Rosie had come to him for a reason, and it wasn't because he had the world's best shoulder to cry on. He should have been a better friend to Carly in life. In death, the best thing he could do was find her killer. "Do you know how she died?"

"Poisoned, they told me. It was actually in the kitchen, which was odd. Guests weren't allowed back there."

He nodded. "I'll check for contacts in the local police. See if I can get access to the hotel."

"Oh, I can get you in. My invite has a plus one."

That made him pause. "It's still going ahead?"

"Tonight," she said. "They're trying to keep the whole thing quiet, I think. They asked me not to tell anyone, although of course I've told you. But I'm sure you can be subtle."

"The show must go on." Raheel never ceased to be amazed at human vanity. This was how it had been at the Cirque, and it had only made the speculation worse. "And the police agreed to release the crime scene?"

"It was their idea, from the impression I got. They couldn't keep all of the suspects in the hall overnight, but they'll all be invited back this time. I think they're hoping the killer will be spooked, and not show up at all, or reveal themselves at some point in the evening. I'm not sure what their plan is if they don't. You, on the other hand..."

"I have mystical abilities that let me sense a murderer at twenty paces, yes." Raheel sighed. The press had so much to answer for. "I'll see what I can do. Work the room. Ask some questions. Subtle ones."

They arrived at the station. It was a short walk to the venue, but Raheel wasn't finished with his briefing on the background. Usually he was given time to study his suspects, gather information, before drawing them all into a room for the reveal. Starting with them all together would be interesting.

"You mentioned there were awards. Was Carly likely to win?"

Rosie nodded. "She was odds-on for the big one, Initiative of the Year. Her campaign has had incredible results."

"Of course it has." Raheel felt a fluttering of pride. Not that he had nurtured this spark inside her at first, in involving her in the case, but that she had developed it without him. He was so drowned in reminders of his own achievements. It was nice to see somebody else thriving. "This feels an odd question to ask, but might that have made her a target?"

"Oh, absolutely. A lot of people wanted this. The field was crowded this year, and there would have been rivals."

"Is philanthropy that fiercely competitive?"

Rosie paused, and took a deep breath. They had arrived at the hotel doors. Raheel almost expected her to turn around, requesting that he go in alone - finding it too hard to retrace her steps from the night before. But she put one hand on the brass handle, and reached the other out to him. "Why don't we find out?"

Rosie gave him the tour, and introduced him to their fellow diners; as helpful as Carly had been. No wonder both had been invited to the Gala, Raheel thought, and found the others were the same: smiles that reached their eyes, enthusiastic handshakes, glad to meet him whether they'd heard of him or not. Raheel was used to suspicion and deceit, and it was odd to remember that this was a room filled with Good Samaritans. And one murderer, of course.

He spoke to some of the other contenders for Initiative of the Year. They'd all sought to save lives, not take them: where Carly had tackled knife crime, others had taken on prejudice and addiction, or offered support for the homeless, refugees, at-risk youth. Raheel couldn't picture any of them killing her for an award, and he couldn't imagine Carly doing anything else to make them angry.

"So do you have some good initiative of your own?" he asked Rosie, after hearing half a dozen pitches.

"Something like that," she said. "That's why we're all here. Mine's a low sodium salt, to help combat heart disease. I just crowdfunded it really, and campaign to get it used in products, restaurants, stuff like that. It's not as impressive as most of the people here."

"It sounds like a worthy cause to me." Raheel had been canonised for solving a few murders, but most of them had been attacks of opportunity, desperation; killers who had no need to strike again. How many lives had he actually saved?

He couldn't get into the kitchens. Rosie had been right about that. The guests had been ushered from the venue's lobby into the ballroom, and the only open doors led to the bathroom: everywhere else was blocked by staff, including the way out. He remembered what she'd said about the police wanting to flush out the killer. He could probably find someone who recognised his name, play the celebrity detective card, but that risked giving the game away. He could have a poke around the backrooms later on.

Raheel mingled as much as he could before they were asked to return to their seats, and tried to be patient as the starters were brought out. The awards would come after dinner, Rosie told him: there would be speeches, faked smiles, a chance to assess the suspects in another light. Until then, he had to stomach a rather watery pumpkin soup with a lot of salt and pepper, mopped up with vegan butter on a gluten-free bread roll.

"Is this yours?" he asked, gesturing with the salt cellar more dramatically than intended, spreading an arc across the tablecloth.

"Yes," she said. "It still tastes a bit off, doesn't it? You shouldn't be able to tell the difference that much. We're working on it."

When the first set of plates were cleared away, the venue lights were dimmed, and their host - Rosie had introduced him as some not-for-profit grandee, Sir something-or-other KBE - began his welcome speech, thanking them all for their wonderful work over the past year, keeping them entertained whilst the main courses were prepared and the cut-glass trophies were polished.

The guests started to droop as he rattled off a list of acknowledgements; all the people who had made these awards possible, past winners who had contributed, those who couldn't make it. A projector whirred overhead, and he stepped back to join them in watching a tasteful in memoriam segment: their heads bowed, breathing slowed, in perfect silence as the sombre music played.

Too silent - at least until Sir Whomever fell off the stage. That snapped Raheel's head back up, together with a few others. He looked around; Rosie was conscious, and also checking the room, where most of her peers now lay slumped across the tablecloth. It was dark to tell in the darkened room, but those around them didn't seem to be breathing. The presentation rattled on, and it seemed that next year's would need to be twice as long.

"Is this what happened to Carley?" he asked aloud, sniffing his glass of wine. It couldn't be a coincidence. The police had suspected that her killer might be in attendance tonight, but not that they'd come back to finish the job. Perhaps, knowing that the doors were being watched, they'd decided to take everyone else down with him. Or perhaps this had always been the plan - what if Carly had just been the guinea pig, a proof of concept before the main event?

That still felt like too much of a coincidence. Raheel was no egotist, but he know that his and Carley's names were interlinked. If anyone was to be chosen as a test murder, it wouldn't have been the girl who knew the world-famous detective, unless that had somehow been the point. His mind blazed through the possibilities, but his gut only pointed him one way. It had been right so many times before.

"This was you," he said. "You poisoned all of these people. Just like you killed her."

"Not exactly," Rosie replied. "I had to tip the powder into Carley's glass, which added a bit of jeopardy. This time I let them add it themselves."

"The low-sodium salt," Raheel realised.

She nodded. "Not salt at all. That's why it tastes off, of course. I made up that whole heart disease spiel to throw you off the scent."

"So... you don't even produce it?"

"Gods, no. That would have been far too much effort. I made up that whole initiative for you - I'm not actually nominated for anything, just here on Carly's ticket. It was too easy to rise in her organisation. You wouldn't believe how many knives I managed to get handed in." She pointed to the other cellars around the table. "I just brought enough powder for everyone, and replaced the other shakers in all of the confusion last night."

"Poisoning all the guests... without needing access to the kitchen."

"That's right. Did you know that up to 20% of dietary poison is added at the table?"

"So that's the how." Raheel's mind was racing, but not as fast as his heart. Had he touched the shaker? But no - he was sharing with Rosie. Theirs must have been untouched. He was still conscious, wasn't here? They seemed to be the only two left. "But... these are innocent people. Some of the most innocent I've ever met. Why?"

"What, you mean these guys?" She looked around the silent room. "They're professional meddlers! These kind of do-gooders have been interfering in our operations for years. It isn't all of them, of course, but a rising tide capsizes all boats - it was easier to get away with doing a batch job, rather than hitting our particular areas."

"Operations?" He moved his legs under the table, as a test. Both working.

"You know - the needles and the at-risk youth. These awful programmes have been starting to make progress, taking back the streets, and that's horribly expensive for us."

"Worth enough to kill them for it?" Raheel found the courage to stand, and the sense to back away, confronting Rosie from a safer distance. His muscles held. He must have been unscathed.

"Oh, they'll understand," she said, unmoved by his sudden act of minor bravado. "These guys are all about self-sacrifice. You get it too, right? I'm told that you're a clever kind of guy. You had me figured out."

"Right, so why are you telling me this?" Raheel had the motive and the means, but that was the one thing that he still didn't quite understand. "Why even invite me here? Did you want to me to catch you in the act?

"As the rose spider wants to be caught by the fly." Rosie smiled, looking up at him. "I have to give you a little warning. It's more fun when you know that you're playing, right? There's no sport in shooting a hare that doesn't try to run."

"But you could have got away with it, as you said." He ignored the mixed metaphors. "Poison them all at once. Why choose a single victim first - and somebody I knew? Why involve me in the game at all?"

"Oh, Carly wasn't my victim."

"You poisoned her," Raheel said. He knew that he was being slow, but he still needed to understand. "What else would you call her?"

"Are you familiar with the concept of bait?" Rosie sighed, as if disappointed that he wasn't living up to the legend. "The others here were my targets, sure enough. Done as a bulk load, to hide the pattern. I thought that was pretty clever. But I knew that your eyes would be drawn because of Carly, and that you'd see right through it. Perhaps the only one who could. So I needed you included."

"But then... you didn't include me? I used the same shaker that you did, I'm sure of that. I'm no more affected than you. Right?"

"Oh, no. We're both poisoned. I just took the antidote."

As she said the words, Raheel became conscious of her venom in his veins. A mild sense of numbness, which he'd dismissed as the impact of a glass of wine, had been growing as they spoke. Whatever the poison was, it was starting to take effect. The clumsiness, earlier with the salt. The broken sentences. Things he would usually have noticed, which was a sign in itself. His famous mind was slowing down.

"And what about me?"

"Well, it did have to be a weaker strain, not to still kill me outright, so you've had the benefit of my own self-preservation. Collateral protection, if you like. An accidental side-effect - but not entirely an unwelcome one. It does allow us time for this little chat before you go."

"Kept alive... just to hear you gloat?" The words came with more effort, he noticed now. It was funny; now that he was aware of the poison seeping through his system, it was hard to be aware of anything else.

"I was curious to see how far you'd get." Rosie took a sip of her own drink. "I gave Carley a similar amount, you know, and she helped me get a sense of the timing. I think it should be kicking in about now."

"So I was the reason." Raheel felt his head drooping now, but fought to keep his mind sharp for as long as he could. If nothing else, he could confirm the details of Carly's death before he died. Or had she already told him? He was struggling to remember. "You killed her first... to lure me here."

"Now you're getting it!" Rosie beamed, pleased to hear her own plan read back to her. "I only learnt about you through her, you know. You loom large in her digital footprint, so I figured you'd come to avenge her, and thought I might as well catch you first. It's mostly just been about timing."

She paused to consider him, struggling to keep his own eyes open.

"You were always going to work it out eventually, of course. I may not fit in here, you see, but you do. You're just like the rest of them. Interfering. Never just leaving the rock unturned. Well, tonight you learn that sometimes the rock hits first."

She finished with appropriate timing. Raheel's legs buckled slowly, and then all at once. The strength in his muscles had been fading gradually, sinking by degrees - but the fall, when it came, was absolute. It was strange, not to have seen it coming. The murder of Raheel Mahtam. His final case, and his first failure.

"It's just basic forward planning, you know?" Rosie didn't react, any more than when he'd first stood up. "Cleaning up ahead of myself."

"Taking weapons off the streets, as it were." Raheel closed his eyes. At least the plush carpet was soft.

"That's right." Rosie smiled down upon him. "I thought I'd take the initiative."

#writing #short story #creative writing #original writing #writeblr

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chrislaplante · 4 months ago

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random chris facts.

• he does not drink. it started off as him following doctors’ instructions, given his meds. but then he got wasted once & hated it. so now, he simply doesn’t.

• he does not smoke. he used to. it’s been about five years now that he quit smoking.

• he does not drive. he can, he knows how to drive. he’s not allowed to, however. he takes anti seizure medications, and in order to get his license he must go at least three years without seizures (well, in his case, “seizures”, I.e., demon attacks), without taking the medications. a conundrum, if you will. he hasn’t been able to legally drive since high school.

• he feels far more comfortable around women than men. chuck it to trust issues that came from posthumously finding out certain— potentially serial killer-y things about his dad. thus crushing the image he had of him growing up, whom he considered his best friend.

• he tends to forget to eat. he tries his best to remind himself he should eat something, but some of his meds give him both nausea & suppress his appetite. this leads to days where he feels “off” & suddenly realizes he has eaten absolutely nothing & it’s the middle of the night already.

• he sees things. he cannot tell the living from the dead (ghosts, spirits, entities, demons, etc), until he realizes he’s the only one who can see them. he’s not used to it, even tho it’s been this way since he was sixteen. after college, he began to understand he wasn’t just “seeing things” due to his diagnoses. they weren’t hallucinations, they were very real.

• he recognizes the entities by now. the ones which inhabit him. he can tell them apart by the way he senses them and the way they make themselves known to him.

• he loves 80s goth, post punk & new wave. the cure, depeche mode, the smiths, joy division, echo & the bunnymen, eurythmics, the jesus & mary chain, inxs, the cult, xtc, siouxie sioux & the banshees, kate bush, shakespeare’s sister, etc. as far as newer music goes, he’s more selective. lebanon hanover, the horrors, dua lipa, placebo, imogen heap, etc. he does listen to heavier stuff from time to time, tho not often.

• he has a goth soul. according to his girlfriend. he’d love to be such, ever since his teenage years. his interests & likes, finding beauty in the darker things. it all fits as one would expect, he’s never thought of himself as “cool enough” to pull it off.

• he’s afraid of the dark, but likes the night. no, i don’t understand it myself. you’ll have to ask him.

• he’s not fond of horror movies… but he’s slowly making his way into becoming a horror fan. by now, he’s seen some of the classics but not much more than that. he only started giving horror a chance after college.

• he does not have social media. this is something he’s avoided since college, when reddit true crime weirdos found him & recognized him, they began to ask questions about the atrocities involving his dad. much like that incident with a reporter when he was fifteen. his mom got a call, he was hyperventilating.

this is also a big reason…

• he changed his look. in order to be unrecognizable. he’s had plenty of unsavory experiences throughout the years, having dealt with “fans” of his father, or wanting the “inside scoop”. he wants none of it.

• he self medicates to drown out what he sees & hears. abusing prescription pills (sedatives for his “night terrors”), over-the-counter sleeping pills, etc. sedation & drowsiness make things feel less real. dream-like. in his thinking, it’s easier to deal with. nevertheless, he’s highly embarrassed by it all.

#🕯 𝖍𝖊𝖑𝖑𝖔 👁 𝖌𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖇𝖞𝖊 𓏴 hc.#🕯 𝖍𝖊𝖑𝖑𝖔 👁 𝖌𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖇𝖞𝖊 𓏴 study.#* repost / formatted.#🕯 𝖍𝖊𝖑𝖑𝖔 👁 𝖌𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖇𝖞𝖊 𓏴 isms.

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tea-with-evan-and-me · 2 years ago

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Honestly, I think he's done on the awards circuit. I think he's a *great* actor, but completely understand why committees wouldn't want to award that performance. As a POC myself and a family member to someone who was murdered, it's important to realize that Jeffery Dahmer is a real person who caused real harm to real communities of color, communities that are almost *always* overlooked. And sure, Evan is acting, it's his job, but the pain and trauma of the person he's embodying is real and I think it's a great moment for us as a society to stop and think about why we feel like we're entitled to entertainment over people's pain. I'm personally excited to see him flex his acting chops in something different and maybe not directed/created by Ryan Murphy.

i think when it comes to something as heinous as murder, everyone is allowed their feelings around the subject. that's why i can understand family members who have spoken out - it would not be possible for most people to have a loved one associated with such a crime and be okay being reminded of it when documentaries, movies and tv series come out. it's a traumatizing thing to relive, and inevitably there will be viewers who romanticize a terrible person who did heinous things.

i think there are certain events in history where there is no possible way you can tell the story without causing hurt. the dahmer story is one of them. i was already well-versed in the dahmer case, having read several books, and i can fully appreciate that in the netflix series the story was told in a way that was honest about how racism and homophobia played a part in the killings going on for such a long time right under peoples' noses.

i can remember 10-15 years ago when reading books on true crime was seen as a fringe, macabre thing to be interested in online. now it's very common and mainstream for any and everyone to follow true crime stories being retold via different media forms like podcasts, youtube channels, forums, etc. if the dahmer series had been released and was poorly viewed, some would argue it was a referendum on serial killer programs as a form of entertainment. instead, it was one of netflix's most watched series of all-time. there have been other less notable movies and series about the same subject and there was no significant backlash. the reality is, when the market is as large as it is for this type of content, there's no way that it's going to fall to the wayside whether award shows will give wins to the actors that star in them or not. my own personal view is that at some point, these types of crimes become a part of history. and since no one is going to wait until the last loved one of a victim dies to tell the story, all anyone can do is hope that it's done tastefully and with respect to the victims.

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sunitakapoorsblog · 2 years ago

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Immigration Lawyers In Houston: Roles And Responsibilities

Immigration law is one of the most exciting specializations in law. The job of an immigration lawyer Houston is to help others become citizens of the United States.

Depending on the application, they can wear different hats. Their work goes beyond helping people become citizens. The assistance they provide significantly impacts how you experience the immigration system. Therefore, you don't want to navigate immigration law alone.

Immigration involves a lot of paperwork. Achieving all that on your own would be stressful, and there is no guarantee of success. Are you still unsure why you need an immigration attorney Houston? Then, take a look at what these immigration lawyers do.

How does an immigration lawyer handle cases?

Lawyers who specialize in immigration assist clients with interpreting the laws, analyzing their rights, possibilities, and strategies, as well as guiding them and their sponsors through the entire process of immigration.

Read Also: What are the Situations an Immigration Attorney in Houston Can Help You With?

Immigration lawyers prepare a lot of paperwork on behalf of their clients. They assist them with the documents they must collect, such as birth and marriage certificates.

Whenever you fill out forms or prepare statements or testimony, they ensure it is accurate, clear, and concise.

Read More: Why People Choose Immigration Lawyer in Houston?

Most of the time, these applications rely on the U.S. government officer believing your story. Inconsistencies and mistakes are not acceptable. There are many tricks that immigration lawyers use to minimize or avoid delays in the immigration process.

The attorneys anticipate the issues their clients will encounter and prepare them adequately so that their business can stay protected by legal technicalities.

When Should You Hire An Immigration Lawyer?

A person hires an immigration lawyer when they need help submitting a visa or green card application. This is especially true when an individual does not fully understand the various immigration laws.

Certain situations require the assistance of an immigration lawyer. The following are a few examples:

1.Applicants convicted of crimes:

USCIS forms almost always ask whether the applicant has been convicted of a crime. It is mandatory for the applicant to disclose their entire criminal record, even if the charges have been dropped or expunged. It is unnecessary to hire a criminal lawyer when you hire an immigration attorney who understands how immigration law and criminal law overlap.

2.Prior immigration applications have been denied:

A lawyer can determine why an application was denied. A lawyer can also tell you whether you can appeal the application or reapply later.

3.Deported or excluded from entering the U.S. previously:

Exclusion or deportation can prevent someone from applying for asylum in the future. An immigration attorney can explain deportation and exclusion.

4.An unreasonably long application process:

Immigration lawyers understand that immigration applications have deadlines and waiting times. Sometimes, a lawyer can assist the applicant in obtaining expedited or rushed processing.

5.An applicant seeking an employment-based visa whose prospective employer does not provide immigration assistance:

It cannot be easy to process employment-based visas. However, future employers can seek the assistance of an immigration lawyer to ensure they are fulfilling their obligations to immigrant workers in the future.

Why do I need an immigration lawyer?

Immigration can be a confusing process for the average person. Many of them take several months or even years to complete. You can save a lot of time and energy by hiring a good immigration lawyer. A lawyer will also protect your interests if you have an immigration hearing. Wishing you the best of luck!

#immigration lawyer houston #immigration attorney houston #best immigration attorney in houston #houston immigration lawyer #green card lawyer houston #Us Investor Visa Lawyer #indian immigration lawyer houston #best immigration lawyer houston

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goratrix-betrayed · 2 years ago

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Living with a “Problematic” Fictional Identity (And Where to Go from Here)

During my panel at this year's Othercon, I promised to publicly release the script I read from. This is that script: this is what I said before the Q&A and discussion portion of the panel. Once the recording of the panel is live, I will reblog this with a link, as quite a few people expressed interest in it. (I have been informed that my voice was paramount for proper enjoyment of the panel; I don't know if that's quite true, but it's what people said.)

Here is the blurb I originally wrote for the panel on the schedule:

A lecture followed by questions and discussion about navigating through life with a “problematic” fictotype or as a “problematic” fictive. How to find community, how to cope, what responsibilities we may or may not have, what morality means for us and where the line between choices “then” and choices “now” lies.

Now, for the script itself.

Introduction

Greetings, people, creatures, and other beings. Welcome. This is a panel about how to live with “problematic” fiction-based identities, and I am someone with one such identity. My name is Goratrix. I am a fictive. Back in my source of Vampire: the Masquerade, I did quite a few bad things, the details of which I will not go into here or now. If you’re curious, I have written entire essays on the topic. Suffice to say that many of my actions were morally repugnant to most, making me quite the moral quandary to some people who encounter me online in this strange reality I have found myself in. Presumably, quite a few of you have had a similar experience—whether you be fictionkin, a fictive, or something similar, or just know someone who is, some of you undoubtedly have identities that are not as squeaky clean as some people would like. Perhaps they are voluntary, perhaps they are not. Perhaps you regret the things “you,” as in, your identity, did, or perhaps not.

Today, we are here to discuss that, how to live with it, and where to go from here.

I will say this: I am going to be making a case for universal acceptance of people with identities like these. Yes, even those people. Yes, even people that did that, whatever you are thinking about. If you disagree with me, that’s fine. I will be happy to discuss and debate this—respectfully—in the later sections of the panel or after it ends. If the concept of accepting people despite their crimes in another world upsets you, please feel free to leave the panel at any time. I will not notice and I will not mind. That being said, those who want to have respectful conversation or have respectful questions—whether they disagree with me or not—will have time at the end of the panel to speak up. I can’t take questions during the lecture effectively because I am easily distracted and long-winded; a bad combination for staying on-script. So, please, hold your questions for me until I open the floor for them. There will be multiple opportunities to speak up, and I will take suggestions and feedback on certain topics throughout the panel. Thank you all for understanding and cooperating. To head off one question, though—if you are wondering if I always talk like this, yes. I do. You get used to it.

Special thank-you to Chaiya, Pale, Rani, and everyone else who gave feedback and/or encouragement during the writing of this panel. I think I would have been reduced to ash without them.

Initial Discussion

No matter what way you spin it, there are identities out there that people don’t like. In a broad sense, this is more obvious: there are bigots worldwide. In our community, however, this can be a little harder to spot if you aren’t one of the affected, and it can be all-consuming if you are. Syscourse and purity culture plague us, as do accusations of being abusers and varying ableist claims of us being “sick in the head.” Ironic, coming from those battling to get recognition for their kintypes and headmates at all, don’t you think?

Attacking someone for who they are is ridiculous. Most people do not choose their identities, problematic or not. A common argument in the otherkin community against outside harassment is that you do not choose to be ‘kin—you just are. Must I spell it out? Must I explain that there is no difference, here, between someone whose kintype is a wolf and someone whose kintype is a murderer? The identity simply is. By attacking or allowing harassment of these “problematic” people, you are indicating that the entire community deserves harassment. Furthermore, people are not responsible for the actions of their kintypes. Yes, they are their kintypes, but did they make those decisions now, as they people they are, now? Typically no. They did not choose to be this, they did not choose the actions; leave them be.

Ah, but Goratrix, you may be saying. What about the people that did choose their identity? And what about fictives, who have no distance between their sense of self and their fictional identity—their “fictomere,” as we call it on the fictionkind Dreamwidth?

I shall address voluntary identities first. There are a thousand and one reasons to voluntarily identify with, or on some level, become, a character or creature. (Some would argue that the line of voluntary and involuntary is rather blurry in places, which I agree with, but that is not in the purview of this panel.) Perhaps they are coping with something, maybe even the thing that the character is guilty of. Perhaps not. Perhaps they see a shred of who they could have been in this character, given different circumstances, and see them as a different version of themselves to be integrated into their personality and considered. To be quite honest, it’s none of our business. Identity is a deeply personal thing—especially identity that you choose for yourself—and judging anyone, for any reason, based on it is going to get messy, unpleasant, immoral, and run into exceptions left and right. Who’s to say which exceptions are allowed, and which are not? Who’s to be the referee on the harassment of the “right” “problematic” identities? You see how this can go wrong, I imagine. And, furthermore, once again, these people did not perform these actions in this world, in this life. If you were to go to the authorities about these people, accusing them of a crime or some immoral act, with no evidence other than “they identify as a fictional character that did this,” you would be laughed off the block. These people have done nothing wrong, and I implore that those of you who disagree please consider why you disagree. Have you considered why they took on the identity at all, or are you just experiencing a kneejerk reaction? Put yourself in their shoes, just for a moment. Consider what might make you take on such an identity, and try to see it in other people. Assume the best, for assuming the worst tears you down as quickly as it tears down those around you, and, speaking as someone who repeatedly assumes the worst in people, it can destroy your life. Do better than I did; grow from this.

Now, onto the topic of fictives, of which I am one. There is frequently a distinct divide in fictotype and fictive; while someone is their fictotype, in many cases they are also separate from it, in that they have lived a life separate from their fictotype in this world. (Note that I am speaking generally, not completely—generalization is necessary for conversations like this, and I apologize for those who do not fit in with such generalizations or the words I am using. I am speaking largely from personal experience within my system.) Fictives are not that way, or at least, are not that way initially. (Fictives can change into very different people upon exposure to this world and time spent living in it, something I know well from watching my headmates and fictives in systems I have befriended.) Fictives typically appear in the system as if they’d been plucked straight from their source, from their life. They are precisely the people who made their life choices, and in some cases, those choices are abhorrent to your average Internet-goer. In my case, my morally questionable decisions include murder, betrayal, and human experimentation, among others. Does that not make me a criminal, worthy of damnation?

I argue: no. It does not.

Why?

Because the circumstances that led me to make the choices I did do not exist in this world. I have been here for almost a year, and have done nothing that others would consider “wrong,” as far as I am aware. (This is a record for me.) Why is that?

My source is Vampire: the Masquerade. My nightly life was filled with political, scheming, ancient vampires that would backstab me given a moment of weakness, a second of hesitation. I had to be ruthless, conniving, murderous, or I would be cut down, and I refused to let myself be killed by the world I had been thrust into, nay, that I had clawed my way into living in, desperate to survive. I considered those things that I did necessary, even “right”—in the situation I was in, the standards for “right” are quite low, and if you are keeping yourself and those you care about alive without harming others merely for the fun of it, you are doing quite well.

This world, and my system’s placement within it, does not force me into those kinds of situations. I have no need to kill, backstab, and lie here, and I argue that if I did, it would not be wrong of me to do so, because trying to merely survive is not wrong. People do what they must, and fictives, even the ones who seem the most horrible, were forged by circumstance just as I was. Hell, this applies to fictotypes, too—people do what they must to survive.

All right, say circumstances were not life-or-death and someone still did something you consider “wrong.” Can they be harassed?

No.

Let me bring up my theory of morality: people do the best they can in the circumstances they are in with the information they have. What is “best” depends on nothing more than prioritization—in my mind, that is all morality is: prioritization. What is more important: the life of an animal, or the life of a human? Someone’s bodily autonomy, or someone else’s life? Your life, or someone else’s? Your pocketbook, or someone’s livelihood? All morality can be broken down this way. Moral debates happen when two or more people have different moral priorities, and consider each other’s prioritization to be “wrong” in some way. I am not free of this; I find people who are willing to harm others for mere entertainment to be doing something “wrong,” but I do try not to throw bricks when living in a glass house; I know my list of actions better than anybody, and I also know that a morality system where my own survival is paramount (second only to the survival of the one I love) is bound to be seen as “wrong” by many. This does not bother me.

My point, in bringing this up, is that few people believe that what they are doing is both wrong and unnecessary. People may do things they consider wrong to survive, and hate every minute, or may do things they consider right unnecessarily, but people rarely do what they think is wrong for reasons they believe are unnecessary. People’s moral prioritizations are formed by the circumstances in which they are in and were raised. Had I been born into a world with limited or no magic, no vampires—this world—I would be completely unrecognizable. I would be a different man entirely, one that you likely would not consider to be “problematic!” If I had chosen to perform the same actions, unnecessarily, that I did back in my source, when I felt it necessary, morally, for me to do, then perhaps I would be worthy of judgment or retaliation. Furthermore, anything I did in this world would be fair game, because it was done in this world. If I murder someone here, then yes, I should face some kind of retaliation for that. I would have done it here, just as things I did back in the world I am from earned retaliation there. It just seems ridiculous, to me, to judge someone by moral standards that they have no concept of nor connection with, across entire worlds and across the boundary of fiction, when chances are that they were doing the best they could with the way they saw the world. People who are “problematic,” in terms of fiction or fandom, are not inherently dangerous in this world, because of the change in circumstances. And, furthermore—don’t they deserve another chance? A chance to be who they feel is best in these new circumstances?

That being said, no one is obligated to interact with anyone else. If you cannot get over what someone did back in their source, and are uncomfortable with them—fine. That’s your business, not theirs: avoid or block them and move on. Anyone is well within their right to refuse to interact with anyone for any reason. Harassment, however, is over the line, and I think you all know that. Identity is identity; leave well enough alone.

If you are one of these people—as I’m sure many of you are—with a “problematic” fictional identity, you are not wrong for merely existing. You are not alone. You are not doomed to be hated and reviled forever. And, if you struggle with your identity, you are not doomed to struggle alone forever. Let us move now to the topic of coping.

Coping

For fictives, it can be extremely traumatic to come to this world and find out how different things are here. To find out that what you did is so repugnant as to be seemingly worthy of constant harassment and no support—and for fictionkin, learning that your fictotype is someone that did things that you consider horrific can be traumatizing as well. Good God, I cannot even imagine learning that I am, or was, someone who did something that I would consider repugnant. Facing that and coping with it can be hard enough without hordes of strangers getting on you about it. People do not need help in feeling bad for who they are; they do need help in accepting it and handling it in a healthy way.

There are infinite types of trauma, here. My suggestion, overall, is this: approach it with a policy of self-forgiveness. I know it can be difficult, but listen to me: remember my definition of morality earlier. You did what you felt was best with the circumstances you were in and the information you had. Forgive yourself for doing differently than you would do now. Changing your priorities, and thus, your morality, is not hypocritical—it is growth. Let no one take that from you. Let no one take what you find precious in your identity from you, because it may be your past, or a parallel present, or something that your mind latched onto because it was important to you. Let no one take this from you. Forgive yourself, if need be, and never let anyone make you feel like you cannot do that, or like you don’t deserve to do that. Defend yourself from those who would wrong you for the things that were done in your source.

My suggestion on coping and dealing with cruelty from the community is quite simple, but I have found it effective. It comes in two parts: one, block liberally, and two, find a small group that accepts you and stick primarily to them. There are community spaces that facilitate this, but you can also form small groups of friends. Discord DMs, email chains, Snapchat threads, whatever works for you. Block those who will not accept you and allow yourself to befriend those who will. If people would hurt, harass, or exploit you for things done in your source, block them. The block button is there to protect you. You have been given a potent tool—use it. Consider it a form of taking care of yourself, and, if need be, self-forgiveness.

Finding friends you can trust is harder, and admittedly, I am not the best person to ask about this. I have only recently begun to open up, and have gotten lucky with the system’s pre-existing friends. Furthermore, I have had little need to cope with my identity, although I have watched multiple fictives in our system have to deal with it, so my advice here is somewhat limited, but here is another suggestion: work on accepting and understanding your identity. Journal, make posts, do long-form writings, answer prompts—whatever helps you unpack everything, whatever helps you understand and record, do it. I thought it silly, at first, but after I started doing longform writings, I never looked back—I enjoy them immensely, and wish I had more time for them.

I believe it best to open the floor for a few minutes for suggestions on both coping and finding an accepting group, including community spaces. I know of the fictionkind Dreamwidth, of which I am an administrator—where else is there that accepts people such as us? How do you find accepting friends? How do you cope? Leave your suggestions in chat. Let us have a brief conversation before we move on.

Growth

Let us continue, now, on the topic of healing and changing. I spoke earlier of morality being shaped by circumstance, and of our ability to alter our morality via reprioritization, something fairly common in fictives especially. (After all, fictionkind tend to have their own sense of morality before awakening as fictionkind, as do those with heartypes and most other identities.) We are capable of doing this—changing from what we are and were—but I ask: are we obligated to do so? Must we become “good” people, model citizens of the world we now find ourselves in? I say no—as long as you are not bringing direct harm to others, it’s no one else’s business who you are, what you feel, what you believe. You should not be forced to change your very identity and sense of self just because someone else does not like it. The self is the most intensely personal thing about anyone, and it is no one’s business but yours.

However, I am also not saying that you should act with impunity here just as you would back in your source. Chances are excellent that you can’t get away with what you would, there, and if you’re a fictive, you could hurt your headmates or get them in trouble. I will not presume to tell you how to handle dealing with your headmates (or whatever word you use to describe them), but I would advise not harming them intentionally. Chances are, you are stuck with them, possibly for the long run—does it not make sense to try to get along with them? I will leave that in your discerning hands, however.

I won’t tell you how to live your life, but I will recommend that you think carefully about what parts of your behavior you want to perpetuate moving forward. This should always be considered every time you enter a new, drastically different, situation: this is just one of the most drastic. When it comes to myself as an example, I did not have to think on it much: I don’t enjoy hurting people, I just did so out of necessity. Here, I am not pushed to behave the way I did. My cutthroat sense of morality is key to who I am, and I refuse to abandon it, but the objectionable parts of it never come up since I am never pushed into dire straits here. I believe the worst thing I have done so far is threaten to block people who harass me because I don’t care enough to try to convince them on a one-on-one basis to respect me. What a nightmarish creature I am, truly.

If you do not wish to change who you are, just as I did not, but also do not wish to do “immoral” things that would incite reasonable consequences, there is a balance to be struck between “same identity and morals” and “new behavior”--and that balance is different for everyone. I have worked out mine: you will have to take the time to work out yours. If you need a sounding board for that, my inbox is open, both on Tumblr and Discord.

Perhaps you do want to grow beyond your identity, whether you be a fictive or someone with a different kind of identity that influences you in ways you do not like. I think that, if this is something on your mind, it is a good idea: with this kind of thing, wanting it tends to mean you need it. Remember what I said about morality and prioritization: that is a matter of reprioritizing. For other parts of yourself: don’t think about changing what already exists. Think about adding onto it, and the change will come in time. Pick up a new hobby. Make some friends. Play a game, make a playlist of songs you like but don’t necessarily have anything to do with your fictional identity. Get involved in something creative, whether it be making or consuming, and relate to other characters. Modify your behavior in ways that make you happy, but remember two very important things: one, never change yourself because someone else wants you to, and two, changing who you are is not hypocrisy, it is growth. No one stays stagnant forever, even those of us who cling to our identities because we do not wish to move beyond them: even as myself, as Goratrix, I grow and change, but well within the bounds of what people would think is still Goratrix.

What Now?

So you have this identity steeped in fiction. So you have heard all of what I have to say thus far. Perhaps you are accepting this identity, perhaps you are struggling with it. Perhaps you want to connect with and understand it more, perhaps you have feelings you need to get off of your chest, perhaps you want to move on from it. What now?

Find community.

I cannot express enough how much community has helped me in accepting my current place in this world, who I am, and why I did the things I did—and why I do the things I do now. I am changing, just as everyone does, and accepting that has been difficult. I am more social in a positive sense than I have been since my pre-vampirism days (which was about a thousand years ago) and I had a hard time accepting that until I began to make friends in the community who I legitimately enjoy speaking with.

Communities of this type, I’m sorry to say, cannot be found in broad social media spaces like Tumblr or Twitter. It’s too chaotic, too public, too out there—smaller communities are our best bet. Earlier, I asked you all to give me examples of community spaces where people like us can go to find refuge and no judgment while we work through, or even just live as, our identities—I recommend going through those and finding places that you feel might work for you. Again: I run the fictionkind Dreamwidth—which, despite its name, welcomes anyone with any kind of fiction-based identity—and we put up with no harassment or judgment of any type. That kind of behavior gets corrected, and if it continues, the offending party is removed. There are plenty of spaces for people who want to be judgmental and downright bitchy: let us have our havens, of which there are precious few. It is vital that your only external acknowledgement of your identity not be toxic—the self-hatred and emotional damage that can result from that is something that I am sure many of you are all too familiar with.

I will say, however, that “community” does not mean “fandom.” I do not recommend engaging with your source’s fandom in the context of your identity: in most cases, this will lead to misunderstanding and harassment. Many people with fiction-based identities avoid fandom, period—I am one of these people. I cannot stand it. This goes doubly so for interacting with creators of a source in your capacity as your fiction-based identity—I recommend that you do not engage with them outwardly as this. This cannot go well: it will only make you and them uncomfortable. The possible exception to this is when it comes to, say, having an identity based on a friend’s OC or similar—since they know you, or a member of your system, they might be more accepting, or they might be more upset. Know that you did nothing wrong in having this identity, and that it may be best to not tell them to avoid the potential hangup of them getting upset at the implication that you know their character better than they do. I would typically err on the side of not saying anything, but I will leave that in your capable hands. You may want to get advice from community members on a case-by-case basis if you are unsure of how to proceed.

In addition to finding community, I recommend that you do writings on your identity. They don’t have to be pages and pages long: just a few paragraphs journaling your experiences would do. Write essays if you’d like, or just bullet-pointed thoughts. Answer prompts. Do creative writing exercises. You can keep these to yourself, or you can post them, which I would encourage. It can be immensely helpful to a newly-awakened or formed individual to find writings, no matter how small, from someone like them. The feeling of “thank God I’m not alone” cannot be underestimated.

Post them on your blog, or in your smaller community. Post them on your personal website—yes, your personal website, which you should have if you do any significant amount of writing, just ask Page—or anywhere else you can slot them in. Write for yourself, and write for your past self who may have wished that there was more out there to guide them and make them feel like they were not alone. I know I wish that there had been more out there when I formed—other VTM fictives, more writings from other “problematic” beings. Write to understand and accept yourself, write to heal from any damages inflicted on you because of or by this identity, write to leave something for future wanderers of our breed—whatever your reason, I implore you to write. Write and find community: spend time with people. Find elders of your community and speak to them—they have more insight than you can imagine, more ideas than you realize, and less time and energy to implement them than anyone would prefer.

If you want to put yourself out there and build community, help run events, do things, excellent. I would love to see it, and I’m sure that others here would, as well. If you want to just exist with your identity, maybe answer a few prompts, talk to some people—that’s all you need. You need not do anything to deserve to exist as you are—you are more than enough, dear listener, and never, ever let anyone tell you otherwise.

At this point, my long paragraphs of thoughts are over. I want to hear what you have to say. I made sure to get as much time as I could for you to ask questions, speak your comments, voice your concerns. This is your time: I am sure many of you have questions, at least. Ask away.

Closing Notes (Post-questions)

Our time is running short, and we must end the panel at this point. I will be available via Discord PM for anyone who still has questions or wishes to speak to me about anything; my inbox on Tumblr is open as well, for those who would rather communicate there or send me something anonymously. Please remember that the anonymous toggle is a privilege, not a right, and if you use it to send cruel or rude messages to me, I will block you without reply and eventually disable the ability to use it.

Before we go, however, I wanted to read you my favorite poem. I formed during last year’s Othercon, and my first memory of this world is Pale reading this poem at the beginning of his panel, which had a similar theme to this one.

This is A Monstrous Manifesto by Cat Valente.

If you are a monster, stand up.

If you are a monster, a trickster, a fiend,

If you’ve built a steam-powered wishing machine

If you have a secret, a dark past, a scheme,

If you kidnap maidens or dabble in dreams

Come stand by me.

If you have been broken, stand up.

If you have been broken, abandoned, alone

If you have been starving, a creature of bone

If you live in a tower, a dungeon, a throne

If you weep for wanting, to be held, to be known,

Come stand by me.

If you are a savage, stand up.

If you are a witch, a dark queen, a black knight,

If you are a mummer, a pixie, a sprite,

If you are a pirate, a tomcat, a wright,

If you swear by the moon and you fight the hard fight,

Come stand by me.

If you are a devil, stand up.

If you are a villain, a madman, a beast,

If you are a strowler, a prowler, a priest,

If you are a dragon come sit at our feast,

For we all have stripes, and we all have horns,

We all have scales, tails, manes, claws and thorns

And here in the dark is where new worlds are born.

Come stand by me.

#othercon #fictionkin #fictionkind #fictive #fictives #otherkin #otherhearted #fictionhearted #otherlink #fictionlink #alterhuman #essays #goratrix's tower talks

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pastpatientlywaitingforimagines · 4 years ago

Text

Wormhole | Spencer Reid x Reader Platonic

WC: 10k

A/N: This is a comfort fic disguised as a CM episode. Also, I had a lot of fun writing this.

WARNINGS: Kidnapping, murder, general CM things, hospitals, mentions of blood, psychopaths

You weren’t normally nervous to talk to Agent Aaron Hotchner. Sure, he was your boss, but he had also been leading the BAU for so long that you always trusted his reactions and motives. Still, the reason you had asked him to meet was so far out of left field that you were nervous he would tell you you were insane.

You were the first one in the office for the morning, perching on your desk in the empty bullpen while you waited for Hotch to arrive. You stood up when he entered the office, but waited to move until he made it to his office door and beckoned you to follow him inside.

“Good morning, (y/n).”

“Morning, Hotch,” you stood awkwardly in front of his desk, clutching the file in your hands.

“Please, sit. Is everything ok?” As soon as you made eye contact with him, your nerves settled. Everything about his behavior showed that he was genuinely concerned for you and interested in what you had to say. You took a deep breath, sliding the file onto his desk.

“I was looking into this cold case from the eighties, in Illinois. Mia-Rose Horn, 16, found murdered under a bridge. I have a theory, and I was hoping I could take a couple of days to go check it out.” You bit your lip while he picked up the file, thumbing through it.

“What’s your theory?”

“The only suspects considered were older transients in the area because the town was so biased against migrant workers. My preliminary research shows that the unsub profiles as younger, someone who knew the victim and her family personally. It feels like there’s a piece of the puzzle missing, and I think victimology can really help this case. I’d like to visit the dumpsite and walk the crime scene. I’d also like to go through the evidence to see if I can narrow it down a little more, and possibly do updated DNA analysis. I’ve already contacted the lead detective, he said it would be fine if I went out there.”

Hotch was quiet for a minute, reading the case information from the file. The longer you sat in silence, the more you feared he would say no. Finally, he closed the file and handed it back to you, “the FBI wasn’t invited in on this case when it was active, how did you find it?”

You blushed, hard. “I was watching a cold case documentary and when they talked about this one it just didn’t feel right, so I asked Garcia to pull the file. Once I looked it over more I realized my hunch was correct. They barely built a profile and the one they did make was wrong.”

“Do you work on cold cases often?”

“I’ve only worked on it when we don’t have an active case and I’m caught up on my paperwork, it makes me feel like I’m still making a difference when things are slow here.”

Hotch nodded, “you’re a good agent, (y/n). I trust that you’ll represent the BAU well. I can’t let you take the jet but you’re welcome to an SUV. However, as soon as we get an active case it takes priority. Do you understand?”

You stood up quickly, excitedly gripping at the file, “Yes sir, of course. Thank you so much. I promise I wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t think I could do something. I won’t let you down, sir.” Hotch smiled softly at your energy. You had reached for the door handle before he spoke again, calling after you.

“(y/n),” you turned, hand still on the doorknob, “take Reid with you, I assume he knows the details of this case, too?” You nodded quickly, practically bouncing back to your desk with excitement. You checked the clock, Spencer would probably arrive in the next ten minutes or so, giving you time to arrange everything you’d need for the trip.

As soon as he stepped out of the elevator, you were waiting for him, go bag in hand.

“Hotch said you could go?”

“Not only that, he said you could come with me,” you smirked, falling in step next to him as he walked to his desk.

“Really?”

“We’re leaving now, so get your go bag.” You did a little happy dance as he started to gather his things.

“Ooh! Where are you going?” Penelope joined you at Spencer’s desk, hot cup of coffee in her hands.

“(y/n) is solving a cold case, we’re going out to Illinois to get more information.”

“The one I pulled for you? You actually solved it? Is there anything you can’t do?” Penelope asked in disbelief. Just last week she had explained to you why she was convinced you were a superhero.

You laughed brightly, “I don’t know if I can solve it yet, that’s why I need to go check it out for myself. Yes, I’ll call you if I need anything,” you answered when she opened her mouth to speak again. She hugged both you and Spencer before you left, making you promise you’d call her with updates and letting you know she’d call the detective to let him know you were on your way.

In true Spencer fashion, he had brought enough audiobooks to last the whole drive. You didn’t mind, your brain was more focused on driving. You didn’t talk about the case until you were nearing the end of the twelve hour road trip. Spencer was the one to bring it up, turning down the volume knob on the console.

“How are you feeling about this?”

“To be honest, Spence, I haven’t really been listening.”

“I meant about the case,” he chuckled.

“I’m trying not to get my hopes up. It’s been a cold case for over three decades for a reason, you know?”

“We wouldn’t be in Illinois right now if you weren’t on to something. Instincts exist for a reason, and your instincts are usually right.”

You fiddled with the air conditioning vents absentmindedly, “I don’t want to dredge up old wounds for the family and the town unless I’m absolutely certain I can bring some closure to them as well. The detective is the only person who knows we’re coming. I don’t want to start interviewing witnesses until I know I can do something to help.”

Spencer nodded, “I’ll follow your lead, you just tell me what you need.”

You spent the rest of the time discussing the details of the case, Spencer looking over the file again while you navigated to the police office. Having Spencer with you made you feel a lot better. You knew the case front to back, but this was your first time leading an investigation and you didn’t want to accidentally miss something in the file out of nervousness. Spencer’s eidetic memory and genius brain would keep you on track and ask you questions you knew would only help you in the grand scheme of things. Spencer was also your best friend, your biggest supporter. Any considerations he had would always come from a place of love and mutual respect.

When you arrived at the police station it was late in the evening, but the detective was waiting for you. He was an older man, tall and mostly bald.

“Hi, you must be Agent (y/l/n). Nice to finally meet you in person.”

“Detective Reeves, nice to finally meet you, too. This is my partner, Doctor Reid.” Spencer brought a hand up to wave. “Thanks for letting us take a look at this.”

“Thanks for making the drive out here. This case…” he sighed, “Mia-Rose went missing two months after I started this job and I’ve been hunting her killer ever since. It’s been thirty two years, a fresh pair of eyes will do this case good. It’ll do the whole town good if you can see somethin’ I haven’t.”

“We’ll see what we can do,” you said, not wanting to promise any results to him. “Is there a room we can set up in?”

“I’ve brought all of the evidence to our conference room. Use it for as long as you need.”

“Thanks,” you took off to the door that he had pointed at, Spencer on your heels. He shut the door behind you, dropping his bag on a chair while you picked up examination gloves.

The next few hours were spent meticulously going over the evidence that had been collected. You occasionally made comments to Spencer about where the item had come from and any notes that had already been documented about it.

The clock had just passed midnight when you were ready to move on to the next part of your investigation. You wanted to walk the dumpsite, but it would be useless to go while it was still dark. Instead, you retreated to a small motel at Spencer’s insistence that you needed sleep.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to shut my brain off enough to actually sleep,” you confessed once you were wearing sweatpants and leaning up against the headboard of the bed.

Spencer wandered out of the bathroom, giving you the softest look as he sat down next to you.

“What are you thinking about the most?”

“The evidence told me exactly what I thought it would, but I can’t build a decent mental picture of what happened until I see the dump site. What if I get there and it still doesn’t make sense? What if I’m in too deep on this one, Spence?”

“This case has been cold for thirty years, it can wait one more night. You are an incredible FBI agent. You’re an incredible human, at that. I know you can handle this, and Hotch knows you can handle this, too. If you aren’t able to solve it, you’re not letting anyone down. It’s been a cold case for a reason, I’m sure you’ll solve the next one.”

“Logically I know you’re right, but that isn’t making sleep happen any easier,” you sighed, sinking down onto a pillow. You could tell from Spencer’s expression that he had an idea when he reached up, turning off the lamp beside him and laying down next to you in the dark.

“This is called Image Distraction, all you have to do is close your eyes, try to relax, and listen to my voice.”

“Are you hypnotizing me?” you giggled into the darkness, feeling like a small kid at a sleepover with their best friend.

“No, it’s just a strategy to help you fall asleep. I’m going to describe a scene to you and the idea is that it takes up enough space in your brain to prevent you from re-engaging with other thoughts. Hypnosis doesn’t actually put you to sleep, just in a trance that seems like you’re sleeping. It’s been proven to help change habits and thoughts around sleeping though. There was a study done in 2010-”

“Is that what I’m supposed to be picturing? I’m seeing dudes in lab coats and creepy hospital walls.”

You felt the mattress shake next to you as Spencer laughed.

“No, that wasn’t it. I’m going to start now, picture a waterfall. As you walk closer it gets louder, pounding onto the rocks below it and spraying a mist into the air. The droplets of water stick to your face. You can see a rainbow that touches the pool at the base of the waterfall. The plants growing around the pool of water are greener than emeralds, bright and shining in the sun…”

That was the last thing you remembered him saying before succumbing to sleep. You had a very vivid dream while you were sleeping, not uncommon for someone in your field, but it wasn’t one you had had before.

There was a teenage girl walking in front of you down a long hallway. You instantly recognized her as Mia-Rose. She turned around every so often, beckoning you to come closer, but no matter how fast you tried to move your feet it was impossible for you to catch up. The hallway was familiar, you realized it was one in Quantico that you walked down every day to get to the elevator. It took longer than normal to reach the end, and just when you thought you could catch up to Mia-Rose, Hotch stepped out in front of you, holding Spencer with one arm and holding his gun to your best friend’s temple with the other.

“You have to choose, (y/n).”

“Choose what?”

“One of them has to die. Him or her?” he moved his gun to point the barrel at Mia-Rose.

“I don’t understand, why can’t I save them both?”

“One of them has to die.”

It only took you a moment to consider, “me. Shoot me. Let them live.”

“Brave choice,” Hotch’s gun came to point at you and his finger squeezed the trigger.

You woke up.

Soft morning light was coming in through the window and Spencer was already awake, quietly tying his tie while perched on the edge of the bed.

“Morning,” he grinned when he noticed you watching him.

“Morning,” you panted, sitting up and rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

“You were dreaming.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Hotch made me choose between him shooting Mia-Rose or shooting you.”

“What did you choose?”

“I made him shoot me instead.”

You expected Spencer to launch into an analysis of your dream and what it meant, but instead he asked another question, changing the subject.

“Can we stop for coffee before we walk the dumpsite?” he pulled a blue cardigan out from his go bag and stuck his arms through the sleeves.

“Sure,” you said, stretching as you stood up. While you got ready, Spencer found the nearest place to get coffee, and you stopped there before continuing on to the bridge where Mia-Rose’s body had been found thirty years ago.

“I’m too used to walking active crime scenes,” you murmured when you pulled over to the empty dumpsite. Normally dumpsites like this were taped off with officers present, as well as some news reporters and civilian gawkers. You were sure that it had looked like that when the crime had first happened, but now it was just a bridge that nobody thought about.

When you stepped out of the SUV you noticed a small memorial for Mia-Rose nailed to a tree, wilted and weathered flowers around it. You stopped for a minute to look at it, then continued through the brush to the overpass.

Mia-Rose had fallen off of the bridge onto the ground beneath, where you were standing now. Her death was originally ruled a suicide, which had slowed the investigation until her parents insisted she wasn’t suicidal and had her autopsied, revealing ligature marks and evidence of assault. Just from reading the file, you knew that her parents were right. She didn’t profile as suicidal, and if she was she could have jumped from further down the bridge into the flowing river to your right, not onto the ground where she likely would have survived.

“Mia-Rose was found right here,” you pointed, “and her belongings…” you turned to your left, Spencer moving from behind you to stand where the girl’s school backpack and shoes had been found, a handful of yards away.

“They were found next to this rock.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” you said, facing him from where you stood, “the ME found traces of motor oil on her skin, so she must have been transported in a car. That means the unsub was driving on this road, stopped here by the bridge, then tossed her over the side. Why not just toss her stuff after her?” After thinking in silence for a minute, you started moving. “Stay where you are,” you instructed Spencer as you climbed the embankment. Once you reached the bridge, you stood on the edge so you could see both locations of dump sites.

“Spence,” you called to him, “how long is the average car?”

“Anywhere between 10 and 18 feet, depending on the size of the vehicle,” he answered quickly. You positioned yourself in line with where Mia-Rose’s body was found, then paced out roughly fifteen feet, landing you almost squarely in line with where Spencer was standing down the hill.

“What are you thinking?”

“This might sound kind of out there, but what if there was a partner?”

Spencer furrowed his eyebrows, trying to figure out how you had gotten there. He climbed up to where you were standing before asking you about it, “what makes you think that?”

“Eyewitness accounts said they saw Mia-Rose in a car with a man the night she went missing, and they were both sitting in the front of the car, but that’s about all anyone can agree on. What if there was a second unsub sitting in the back? If I’m the unsub getting Mia-Rose out of the front, you’re taking her stuff out of the trunk and tossing it over the side,” you acted out.

“Which means my DNA should be on her belongings,” Spencer concluded, finishing your thought, “I’ll call the lab and start getting things processed.”

“Good idea, I’m going to call Garcia and then we can head back to the station,” you said, pulling out your own phone as Spencer took a step away to make his call.

“Crimefighter! What have you’ve got?” Garcia answered her phone quickly.

“Hey Penelope, can you go through the list of Mia-Rose’s family members and get me some updated contact info?”

“Of course! Did you get a lead? I knew you could solve this,” she rambled. You could hear the clicking of her keyboard as she multitasked.

“Not quite, just a better understanding of the situation. I want to start interviewing family members to really nail down victimology and see if they know of anyone who fits my profile. Spencer’s calling the lab to get some evidence re-examined. When they send you results can you run them through CODIS?”

“Absolutely. Anything else?”

“That’s it for now, thanks Garcia.”

“Anytime, my love. I just sent the updated contacts to your tablet. Garcia out!”

Spencer was waiting for you in the SUV, once you finished your call with Garcia you drove back to the station. Detective Reeves assigned an officer to help you call the family members and invite them in for interviews.

“Mrs. Horn, thank you for coming in to talk with us,” you said gently to the elderly woman sitting across from you.

“Anything to help you find my little girl’s killer. Do you really think you can solve it?”

“We’re trying our best. Any information you can give us will make our job easier. Mia-Rose was walking home from school when she went missing, and was later seen getting into a blue car. Is there anyone she would have willingly accepted a ride home from?”

“No, she always walked, rain or shine so she could say hello to the neighbors on her way home. Except for Tuesdays, my brother Dylan would drive her home from band practice on Tuesdays because it was after dark.”

You exchanged a glance with Spencer, silently acknowledging that Mia-Rose was abducted on a Friday.

“Did she have any enemies? Anyone who would want to hurt her, bullies or friends she might have had a falling out with?”

“No, she was sweet to everyone. That’s why it was such a shock to the town when she was killed. There wasn’t a soul who hadn’t been touched by her kindness.” Mrs. Horn spoke so highly of her daughter, further validating your theory.

“Let’s take a break,” you said, noting the way she was tearing up, “excuse us.” You stepped out of the room with Spencer.

“We should talk to Dylan,” he said once you were out of earshot of Mrs. Horn.

“I agree. He was interrogated by police when Mia-Rose first went missing, but I don’t think he’s a suspect. His alibi was rock solid, but he might know something about what happened.”

You had the detective bring in Mrs. Horn’s brother, Dylan Godfrey. While he agreed to an interview, he was much less cooperative than Mrs. Horn.

“I told the police thirty years ago, I had nothing to do with it,” he drawled, “I was at home with my wife, God rest her soul. I didn’t even have my car to kidnap Mia if I wanted to.”

“Where was your car?” Spencer asked quickly.

“My boy had it, out with his friends. He had just gotten his driver’s license. You know how kids are, impossible to control.”

This was the first you were hearing of his son. Nowhere in the records from the original investigation did it say Dylan Godfrey had a son, let alone a son who’s whereabouts were unknown on the night of the crime.

“Mr. Godfrey, let me ask you this. How old was your son the year Mia-Rose was murdered?”

“Eighteen.”

“Do you know where he was that night?”

“Out, like I said. He didn’t come home until after two o’clock in the morning.”

“Do you know where he is now?”

“Last I knew he was working on a farm just out of town, the McGilroy’s place.”

As soon as Spencer had gotten the information out of him, you were firing off texts to Garcia. She sent you the address of the farm, and you called her once you were en route.

“You’re on speaker, Garcia. What have you found about this guy and why didn’t we know about him before?”

“I’ve been asking myself the same question. He wasn’t included in any of the original witness statements. I’ve barely been able to find information about him online. I know he’s still alive because I don’t have a death certificate, but other than that no home address, no phone number, no nothing. Everything I know about him is from his childhood, before Mia-Rose went missing.”

“Something is better than nothing, what did you find?”

“Daniel Godfrey, born in 1965 to Mary and Dylan Godfrey. He was a decent kid from what I can tell. He got good grades in school, even got a scholarship to a college in Chicago but he turned it down at the last minute. I’ll hit you back if I figure out why.”

“Thanks Garcia,” you chirped before she hung up. You pulled up the long dirt drive of the McGilroy’s farm, putting the SUV in park and getting out. Spencer was by your side in an instant, you noticed the way his hand rested on his revolver.

“My goal is to get him in for a voluntary interview. If we can get him talking, we can figure out what happened that night and why his known locations on that night fit our timeline. Best case, we get a confession and the name of his partner, worst case, he had nothing to do with it and we’re back where we started.”

Spencer nodded, so you reached up to knock on the door. After a moment, a blonde woman opened the door.

You flashed your credentials, “hi, I’m SSA (y/l/n) with the FBI, we’re looking for Daniel Godfrey and we were told he might be here.”

“He’s out back in the barn,” she said, pointing down a gravel path.

“Thanks so much,” Spencer said as you stepped off the porch. You reached the barn and pushed open the large door, revealing a man inside. He was carrying a bucket of water that he poured into a trough for a horse before acknowledging you.

“What can I do ya for?”

“Are you Daniel Godfrey?” you asked.

“Depend’s who’s asking,” he chuffed, wiping his hands on his dirty coveralls. You held up your credentials.

“I’m Agent (y/l/n) and this is Doctor Reid. We’re with the FBI investigating the murder of your cousin, Mia-Rose Horn. We were hoping you’d come in to the station so we could get some more information about her.”

“What kinda information? Mia’s been dead a long time now.”

You had to play this carefully, one wrong word and he wouldn’t voluntarily interview with you, “your father told us you were out with friends the night she disappeared. We were hoping you could tell us what town was like that night and if you saw anything unusual.”

“You talked to my father? I can tell ya right now, it was quiet. Just like any other night in this town.”

“Great, that’s exactly the kind of information we’re looking for. Would you be able to come with us to the station so we can get that statement through the official channels? While we’re there I’d like to ask you a few more questions, if that’s ok.”

“Are ya saying I’m being arrested?”

“No, not at all. This is completely voluntary.”

Daniel fell silent, considering your offer. When he finally spoke again it was gruff and hostile, “will my old man still be there?”

You exchanged a glance with Spencer, hoping he had a better read on what answer would be your best choice. Spencer’s tongue flickered over his lips, then he cautioned a response, “he’s there right now, will that be a problem?”

Daniel looked dejected, scuffing his feet in the hay below his boots, “not unless he makes it a problem.”

“We’ll make sure that doesn’t happen. Our car is out front, is there anything you need to do before we go?”

Daniel shook his head and quietly followed you and Spencer back to the SUV. He didn’t say much while you were driving back to the police station, and neither did you. You escorted Daniel inside the station, walking quickly past where his father was sitting, still talking to the officer Reeves had assigned to your case. Dylan stood up when he noticed his son, but Daniel just kept his head down and quickened his pace. You brought him to an interrogation room, a small space with just a table and a couple of chairs.

“You can wait here, we just have to go collect some materials and then we’ll be back, alright?”

“Whatever,” Daniel said, taking the seat closest to the door. You stepped out, shutting the door behind you.

“Did you see the way Dylan reacted when he saw Daniel?” you asked Spencer quietly. He nodded.

“Did you see the way Daniel reacted when he saw Dylan?”

“Do you think it’s relevant to this case? I don’t want to waste time asking about it if it’s just some squabble they had once. Hotch said I could only work this case until we got an active one back at Quantico, and you and I both know serial killers don’t take extended vacations.”

Spencer considered the situation, you could almost see the gears turning in his mind, “it might be a way we can get him comfortable talking to us, irrelevant or not. This is the best lead we have. Just like you said earlier, you have to get him talking.”

You trusted Spencer’s opinion, not just because he was your best friend, but because he had led his fair share of interrogations during his time in the FBI. He was really good at it, his accelerated mind picking up patterns of words and behaviors that you could only be envious of.

“What do you mean ‘I’ have to get him talking? I thought this was a team effort.”

“It is, but you have to lead this interrogation.”

You weren’t surprised at his statement, but you resented the fact that he was right. Your favorite part of your job was the quick thinking, the on-the-fly deductions you had to make in the field that helped you put all of the clues together. You liked helping people and actively putting bad guys away for the greater good of the country you served. You were good at your job, too, having spent so much time developing your skills with arguably some of the best agents in the Bureau. You couldn’t not be good at your job surrounded by minds like the ones at the BAU.

Like everyone though, there were some aspects of your career that you were better at than others. You usually excelled in the takedown and arrests of suspects and left the mind games to your colleagues that were much better equipped to handle them. Sure, you could talk a suspect into putting their weapon down instead of pointing it at you or a victim, but that was a heat of the moment interaction. Cool, collected interrogation rooms just weren’t your strong suit, and nothing during your time at the BAU so far had changed it.

“You really think I can do this?”

“Absolutely. You have the skills, knowledge, and rapport to conduct this interview,” Spencer showed no hesitation in his answer.

“Promise to let me know if I’m going down the wrong rabbit hole?”

Spencer smiled, “of course. Let’s go solve this case.” He handed you a sheet of paper, a form for Daniel to sign with his Miranda rights on it.

Once you were seated across from Daniel, you handed him the paper and read him his rights.

“If you don’t mind me asking, Daniel, what happened between you and your father?”

Daniel’s eyebrows furrowed as he looked back and forth between you and Spencer, “what kind of FBI agents are you?”

“We’re with the Behavioral Analysis Unit in Quantico, Virginia. We use psychology to solve crimes. I hope my question wasn’t intrusive, Doctor Reid and I both just noticed the way your behavior changed when you saw your father. He’s been helpful in our investigation and I don’t want any family conflicts to interfere if you’re going to help us too.”

“We had a disagreement.”

“Just a disagreement?” you pressed carefully.

“Just a disagreement.”

“Alright,” you said, deciding to leave it at that and move on. He was giving you too much resistance for the direction you had wanted to take the conversation, so you changed the subject. If his disagreement with his father was relevant to the case, you’d have to get that information out of him another way.

You started off by asking about Mia-Rose and gathering any information Daniel had about her. At first he was reluctant, just explaining that they saw each other during family gatherings and when his father would drive them both home from band practice.

“You went to the same high school then, if you were in band together?”

“Uh huh. It’s a small town, everyone goes to the same school.”

“Can you tell us about who Mia-Rose spent time with? Who were her friends?”

“Everyone was her friend. She was the friendliest kid in school.”

“Who were your friends?” Spencer asked, tilting his head. It wasn’t a question you had thought to ask, but as soon as he did you saw where he was going.

“Does it matter?”

“It does to me,” Spencer answered.

“Alec Krause, Markus Sparrow, Nicolas Rush,” Daniel listed.

“Where are they now?” you asked while Spencer pulled out his phone, presumably to text Garcia for a background check, “are you still in contact with them?”

“They all moved out of town for college. Haven’t seen or talked to ‘em since,” Daniel shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

“You were supposed to go to college, in Chicago, right?” you prompted. Daniel’s eyes flickered between you and Spencer, probably wondering how much about him you knew.

“Yeah.”

“Why didn’t you go?”

“Got a job at the farm,” he shrugged.

“Daniel, I’m going to be real with you,” you squared up, “I’ve seen plenty of small towns in this job. I’ve talked to many people from small towns just like this one, and almost all of them in your position would have taken the out. They would have moved to the city as soon as they got the chance, so why didn’t you? Why did you choose to stay in this town?”

“I didn’t have a choice,” Daniel was quick to correct you.

“You didn’t?” Now you were on to something.

“The disagreement I had with my father was about me leaving. He wouldn’t let me leave, so he got me the job at the farm.”

“Alright, let’s take a break,” you said, standing up and stepping out of the room. Spencer exchanged a few words with Daniel, then followed you out.

“That was big,” you panted, trying to shake out the jump of adrenaline that you were feeling.

“You’re doing great,” Spencer confirmed.

“When Dylan was talking about his son earlier, during his interview, it seemed like he didn’t have control over Daniel. What was it he said, ‘you know how kids are’? Something must have changed to make Daniel listen to his father telling him to stay, something that changed after Mia-Rose was murdered.”

Right before you were going to go back into the interrogation room, your phone rang. Hotch’s name lit up the screen.

“Hold on, Spence. (y/l/n),” you answered, praying that Hotch wasn’t going to tell you to abandon the case and get back to Quantico right when you were making strides.

“I’m just checking in to see how things are going.”

“We’re talking to a person of interest right now, it’s just very slow going. We think he had been working with a partner when the murder took place, but he’s not giving up names,” you explained, “please don’t tell me we have a case that we have to come back for, we just got a break that might open this case up for us.”

Hotch chuckled on the other end of the line, “no, we don’t have a case. Garcia told me you had a lead and I was curious.”

“Honestly, I don’t know how you were a prosecutor before joining the BAU. This is exhausting, and every time I say something I feel like he’s going to invoke.”

“You’re doing fine,” Spencer whispered reassuringly.

“Spencer says I’m doing fine,” you relayed to Hotch.

“I’m sure you are. Sometimes unsubs like this take time to crack,” he reminded you.

“It’s already been thirty years, I’d like to close it now,” you decided, squaring your shoulders. “I’m going to go back in there and wrap this up. I’ll call you back when we’re done.” You hung up with Hotch, then turned to Spencer. “Let’s do this.”

Daniel seemed to tense up when you walked back in, sitting down across the table from him once again.

“Thanks for being patient, Daniel. I’d like to know why your father wouldn’t let you leave town. From what he told us, he gave you a lot of freedom in high school. What happened?”

“We had a disagreement, like I said.”

“Right, we’ve covered that. It must have been hard going from being able to do whatever you wanted to working a farm job under your father’s thumb. I was hoping you could tell us exactly what kind of disagreement. Was it because Mia-Rose was murdered?” Daniel nodded, “ok, that’s a start. Was there a specific reason beyond Mia-Rose’s murder?”

Your tactic was deliberate, validating his feelings before pressing harder in hopes that he would give something up.

“He didn’t want me getting into more trouble.”

“More trouble? As in, you got into trouble here first?”

“Correct.”

“We don’t have any police records for you, Mr. Godfrey. Usually that’s the kind of ‘trouble’ that stops kids from going to college,” Spencer chimed in.

“The police don’t know I was there.”

“Where?” Your question was burning hot, and you watched Daniel squirm as he realized he had dug himself into a hole.

“I was in the car.”

“Which car?” you hoped he meant the car you thought he did, but you needed a true confession.

“My father’s car…” you chose not to say anything and instead let him sit in uncomfortable silence, “the night Mia was killed.”

“With her? Was Mia in the car with you?”

“Yes, she was.”

You had to maintain your composure, even though your insides were doing cartwheels out of excitement. This was exactly the kind of lead you were looking for, you couldn’t blow it now.

“Your father said you were out with friends, were any of the people you mentioned earlier with you? Alec, Markus, and Nicholas?”

“No, it wasn’t with them.”

“Who else was in the car then, Daniel? It wasn’t just you and Mia-Rose.”

“I don’t remember,” he started backpedaling, a clear sign that you were closing in.

“We’re going to step out and give you some time to think about it, see if you can try to remember,” Spencer interrupted before you could say anything, nodding towards the door when you made eye contact with him. You followed him out, turning to him abruptly once the door was shut behind you.

“I was getting somewhere with him.” You were fired up, to say the least. Now that you were in the comfortable privacy of Spencer’s company, you could let your emotions come forward.

“I know, I know,” Spencer smirked, “Garcia got a hit with Daniel’s friends, we should call and see what she has so we have more leverage when we go back in there.”

You took a deep breath, pulling out your phone and calling Garcia.

“Boy Wonder got my text!” she answered after the first ring.

“What did you find, Garcia? We’re really making strides here and anything you’ve got could really close this for us.”

“I ran the names of Daniel’s friends, like you asked. Almost all of them checked out, normal guys with normal lives.”

“Almost all of them?” you caught the specificity of her words.

“Right. One of them, Markus, he checks out too… but his brother, oh my his brother has done some stuff.”

“What kind of stuff?” Spencer asked, brows furrowed in thought.

“Kyle Sparrow. When he was 11 he attempted to rob a bank, and not just as a joke. When he was 14 he was suspended from school after locking students in storage closets. He’s been in and out of jail his whole adult life. He got out a year ago and hasn’t been back since.”

“That fits our profile. How old was he when Mia-Rose was killed?” Spencer followed up.

“That’s where things get weird, I was hoping you guys would have a good explanation because this really doesn’t make sense.”

“Garcia,” you called, refocusing her.

“Right. Kyle Sparrow was 10 years old when Mia-Rose was murdered.”

“What?” you whipped around to look at Spencer incredulously, hoping he would have some kind of information about child serial killers that would clarify the situation. Instead, he just frowned and shook his head. You had to decide if it was worth bringing up to Daniel and risk wasting precious time. You considered for a moment, then spoke. “Send us his address, we’re going to ask Daniel about him. If he seems like a viable lead then we’ll head out there. Thanks Garcia.”

“Done and done. You’ve got this, crimefighters!”

“Are you ready to go back in there?” Spencer asked when you reached for the interrogation room door handle.

“Do I have a choice? This case just took a turn that I wasn’t expecting.”

“It’s been four hours and thirty six minutes. We can take another minute to get coffee if you need a longer break,” he suggested.

“I’m too close to cracking this. I can feel it,” you confessed. Spencer nodded, acknowledging that your gut feelings were usually right. You opened the door, sitting back down across from Daniel. Spencer stood in the corner behind you, hands in his pockets.

“Did you remember who was in the car with you the night Mia-Rose was murdered?” Daniel shook his head. “Ok, that’s fine. I have some names that we’ve collected as people of interest for this case. I’m going to read them off and you tell me if one sounds familiar, ok?” Daniel nodded, so you opened your file and pulled out a blank piece of paper, holding it so Daniel couldn’t see the lack of information on your side.

“Emily Prentiss.”

He shook his head.

“Derek Morgan.”

Again, nothing.

“Penelope Garcia.”

Your list was intentional, listing people you were certain Daniel wouldn’t know so you could get a baseline for his behavior. It paid off when you listed the next name, “Kyle Sparrow.”

You could practically see Daniel tense up. Though he shook his head, his leg started bouncing nervously and his eyes were flickering frantically around the room, looking anywhere but at you and Spencer.

“Daniel,” you started, keeping your voice low, “remember when I told you Doctor Reid and I use psychology and behavior to solve crimes? You may not have noticed it, but your behavior shifted when you heard Kyle’s name. You know something about him, don’t you? Was he in the car with you that night?”

Daniel finally looked up at you, eyes watering, “I’m not a criminal.”

“I didn’t say you were. Was Kyle in the car with you the night Mia-Rose was murdered?”

“He was just a kid, my best friend’s little brother. We were out in my dad’s car, I had just gotten my license so I skipped class and took Markus and Alec for a spin around town. When I dropped them off back home Kyle said he was lookin’ to go across town to the library so I offered him a ride. I even made him sit in the back because he was still just a small kid. Then we saw Mia walking home. It always took her longer because she stopped to say hi to everyone she passed. Kyle suggested we offer her a ride too, so I did.

“It all happened so fast, first she was getting into the car and then Kyle had a knife at her throat. He told me he’d kill her if I didn’t do what he wanted. He made me drive out of town to the woods and watch as he tied her up and did horrible, horrible things to her. I didn’t even know a kid was capable of doing those things. When he was done with her he made me help put her back in the car and drive to the bridge. She wasn’t dead when he made me push her over the edge, that’s why I didn’t throw her in the river. I thought she’d survive it without Kyle knowing because he was too busy getting rid of her stuff in the trunk. He still made me drop him off at the library after, even though it was closed on account of it being real late at night, and swear that I’d never tell anyone what we did or he’d kill me too.”

“How did your father find out?” you asked.

“He found blood in the car the next morning. I told him it was from Markus, that he had gotten scratched up while we were messing around in the afternoon. He made me clean it out with bleach, told me I’d have to learn responsibility if I wanted to move out. When my auntie called him later and told him about Mia being missing, he connected the dots. He told me he didn’t want to know what I had been doing the night before, but if I tried to move away it would make me a suspect. He got me the job at the farm and I’ve been there ever since.”

“Thank you for your honesty, Daniel. We’ll tell the court how cooperative you’ve been, they might ease your sentence because of it.”

“The court? What?” Pure fear crossed Daniel’s face. It didn’t sit right with you that he had to be arrested, knowing he had been coerced into helping murder his cousin, but he had still committed a felony. You had to let the court decide his fate.

“Daniel Godfrey, you’re under arrest for accessory to the murder of Mia-Rose Horn,” Spencer moved behind Daniel, taking his hands to cuff them. As soon as he was done Daniel was passed off to an officer and you and Spencer took off, SUV keys in hand.

You sped towards the home address Garcia had sent you for Kyle Sparrow, wishing the rest of the team was there so you could split up in case he was at work. This part of your job was where you felt the most comfortable, the tactical side of an arrest that was more physical than the mind games you had just played in the interrogation room. It was just starting to rain, a light drizzle that darkened the skies as you drove to what you hoped was your final location for this case.

“Is there Kevlar in the back?” you asked, realizing you hadn’t gotten vests from the police station before you had left. Spencer turned around in his seat, checking around the vehicle.

“Nope.”

“Great,” you sighed, “let’s try not to get shot at then, alright?”

“Sounds good to me,” Spencer agreed.

You pulled up to Kyle’s house, which was more of a rundown shack on the outskirts of town. You drew your weapon as soon as your boots were on the ground, approaching the door cautiously.

“Where’s Morgan when you need him,” you mumbled, hoping you wouldn’t have to kick the door down, “Kyle Sparrow, FBI,” you announced, knocking on the door. A gunshot flew through the window next to you, shattering the glass. That was all the invitation you needed to bust open the door, but Kyle wasn’t in the room inside. You moved quickly through the maze of rooms, taking one side while Spencer took the other.

“Clear,” you called every time you ensured a room was empty. You heard Spencer clear a couple of spaces, then fall silent. You worked your way to the kitchen, finding him in a standoff with Kyle.

“I’m not going to jail again. You can’t make me,” Kyle seemed unreasonably calm, grinning slightly to himself while he pointed a pistol at Spencer.

“You’re wanted for the murder of Mia-Rose, Kyle. There’s no way to get out of this one,” you had to keep things simple for him and talk him down as quickly as possible before he shot at you again, “let’s just talk about it.”

“I don’t want to talk about it. I’m not going to jail for a person I killed thirty years ago.”

“There’s no other option. We know it was you, this ends here.”

“If I have to go back, it has to be for something better. You’re right, this ends here, but not because I killed Mia-Rose Horn.”

“How does it end, Kyle?” Spencer asked. You noticed the glint in Kyle’s eye, giving you a split second to push Spencer out of the way and get hit with a searing pain in your side. You heard Spencer’s revolver fire as you hit the floor.

“Get him first,” you grunted, putting a hand on your side to try to stem the bleeding. Spencer crouched next to you, worried eyes looking you over before he pulled your handcuffs out of your pocket. Your ears were ringing, but you could just make out the sounds of Spencer talking before you blacked out.

You woke up in the hospital, an all too familiar experience. Spencer was beside you, nose in a book. You weren’t sure how much he was paying attention to it though, considering the way his brows were furrowed and his fingers were tapping against the cover. He was lost in thought somewhere, you just didn’t know where.

“Spence,” you managed to croak through your dry throat. His eyes shot up from the page, lips turning up in a small smile when his gaze met yours.

“Hi,” he practically whispered.

“Is Kyle dead?”

Spencer hesitated, no doubt weighing the value of telling you the outcome now or waiting until you were better rested. He chose the former, shaking his head.

“I did what you would have done and shot him in the hip. He’s not dead, and once he’s healed he’ll go to trial. You did it, (y/n). You solved the case.”

“We solved the case. I couldn’t have done this without you.”

“You also wouldn’t have gotten shot.”

“So?” you shrugged, “I lived. Where’s Garcia? Usually she’s the first one at the hospital.”

Spencer’s smile returned, “she wanted to but a case came in right right after you went into surgery. She sends her love and said she’d make up for not being here when we get back to Quantico.”

“A case? We should get back to help,” though you were exhausted, you brain immediately went into profiling mode.

“No, you’re going to stay here and rest. You should be staying for longer than you’re going to, but I was able to convince your doctor that I was more than capable of making sure you got home safely.”

“I didn’t realize you were a rule-breaker,” you teased, feeling your eyelids droop.

“I’m not, I just thought you would want to go home as soon as possible. You’re not the kind of person who likes being away from their family, and we’ve already been gone three days. Staying here doing nothing, although it would be good for you, would just torment you more.”

“Thanks, Spence,” you murmured, falling back to sleep. You dozed on and off for the better part of the day, Spencer staying by your side the whole time. Towards the end of the afternoon, you woke up to his seat vacant. The immediate panic you felt was squashed by calculated thoughts, he’s probably getting food or in the bathroom. You fought to stay awake while you waited for him to come back. He surprised you by returning with someone behind him.

“Mrs. Horn wanted to talk to you, if you’re feeling up for it,” he said, resuming his position in the chair next to you. You nodded, watching the older woman enter the room from where she had been standing in the doorway.

“I wanted to thank you for finding my daughter’s killer, even though it put you in the line of danger.”

“I’d do it again in a heartbeat,” you reassured her, sitting up a little against your pillows.

“I wish her father could have been here to see it solved. He always told me not to lose faith, that a blessing would come our way. You were our blessing,” she dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief.

“I was just doing my job, I’m sorry it took so long for someone to figure this out.”

Mrs. Horn tutted, telling you she was just glad that her daughter could rest in peace now. Before she left, she made sure to tell you that if you were ever in Illinois you and Spencer were welcome to come over for dinner, and that she hoped you got better quickly so you could go help other victims.

Once she was gone, your doctor came in to follow up with you. You had been shot in the side, the bullet passing through and exiting out of your back without hitting any major organs. Spencer did most of the talking for you, asking questions you couldn’t make sense of and checking over your chart for what was probably the hundredth time that day.

“You seem to be healing well and have a… knowledgable… support system, so I’m going to clear you for discharge. If anything changes you’ll need to go into the nearest hospital, ok?”

“Yes ma’am,” you answered. A nurse came in later with your discharge papers, which you signed before Spencer helped you in a wheelchair and out to where the SUV was parked.

“Are you sure you want to drive in this rain? I can-“ you winced in pain, hand flying to your side, “I can do it if you don’t feel comfortable.” Spencer stifled a laugh, reaching his hands out to give you something to brace yourself against as you moved from the wheelchair the SUV.

“I don’t mind driving,” he said simply.

“Yes you do,” you quipped quickly, exhaling as you settled into the passenger seat.

“Ok, yes. Under normal circumstances, I do mind driving, but I think I can make an exception when my favorite driver has been shot.”

“Don’t let Morgan hear you say that,” you smirked, still struggling to breathe in a way that would make your side hurt less.

“Are you warm enough?” Spencer fiddled with the heating knobs once he was settled behind the wheel. You nodded, but the shiver that ran down your body betrayed you.

“You’re the one driving. I want you to be comfortable,” you mumbled.

“You’re the one who just got shot. Here,” he reached behind him into the back where both of your go bags were stored. He unzipped his own and pulled out a cardigan, then leaned over the console to drape it across you. “The wool will help you retain heat.”

“Thanks,” you sighed, relishing in the comfort of his gesture.

“You didn’t have to take that bullet for me.”

“I did. I pulled you into this mess, I wasn’t going to let you get hurt because of it.”

“Hotch sent me with you so that you wouldn’t get yourself hurt,” he rebutted.

You brushed him off, “I’ve been shot before, I’m going to be fine.”

“I’ve also been shot before, you didn’t have to push me out of the way.”

You were quick to counter, “you didn’t have to push Blake out of the way either.”

It was an unnecessary squabble, a fact you both caught onto quickly once you realized the direction the conversation was going. Instead, Spencer changed the subject to explain the history of the small towns you were passing through on your way to the interstate.

Miraculously, once the car was comfortably cruising on the highway, Spencer fell silent. You suspected it had to do with his intense concentration on driving in the elements as the rain got harder, though he also could have been giving you the space to sleep if you needed to.

It wasn’t until you were over an hour into your journey that he spoke again, after a quick glance at you revealed fresh tear tracks down your cheeks under the passing street lights.

“(Y/n), are you crying?” His question was so soft you almost missed it, “is it the pain? You’re not due to take your meds for another three hours but I know you have ibuprofen in your bag that would be ok to take now. I can pull over-“ his hand was about to move back to the steering wheel from where it had come to rest on the console, but you reached out to grab it instead.

You and Spencer didn’t really ‘do’ physical contact. You both had reasons not to, instead finding comfort just in proximity. As long as he was around, you were happy. This time, though, it was different. Maybe it was because you were touch starved, or because you had just been poked and prodded at all angles while in the hospital. Whatever the reason, the light grip you had on Spencer’s hand to stop him from pulling over was enough to make you feel the tiniest bit better. He was there with you, he was real.

“It’s not the pain,” you managed to hold your composure, knowing that letting any kind of sob escape the confines of your soul would only physically hurt you more.

“Are you tired? I drank enough coffee to get us home by morning but if you really need to sleep we can find a hotel somewhere. There are three off the next exit.”

“Spencer,” you ran your thumb over the prominent vein in his hand, “it isn’t something you can fix.”

“What do you mean?” He was puzzled, and by the way his hands were twitching you could tell he was deciding whether or not to stop the car anyways.

“There are hundreds of thousands of cold cases. Hundreds of thousands of families that don’t have closure. Hundreds of thousands of victims that haven’t gotten justice.”

“There’s one less because of you. You made a difference to Mia-Rose’s family, you got her the justice she deserves.”

“She deserved justice thirty years ago. I feel like the system failed her, the very system I work for. She was just a kid, and the answer was right there the whole time. Why did I have to be the one to figure it out, thirty years too late?”

Spencer’s response was soft and gentle, “because you’re exceptional, (y/n).”

“I didn’t have to be exceptional to solve this case, though. That’s what I’ve learned from all of the cold case documentaries I’ve watched. The ones that get solved are because someone knew what happened and didn’t come forward about it until years later. There was a psychopathic kid on the streets for thirty years because the police didn’t think to talk to Daniel Godfrey.”

“We can’t change what happened in the past, but we can make a difference in our futures.”

“I’m just so tired, Spence. I chose this job, I love this job, but it’s exhausting.”

“Then rest, (y/n). It’s ok if the only person you save some days is yourself.”

He was right, of course. You wanted to keep saving others, but you couldn’t do that if you didn't make time to save yourself too. You finally closed your eyes and pulled his cardigan up to your chin. Though you were still conscious, limiting your sensory input helped calm you down enough that you found yourself flitting in and out of dissociation. Even when Spencer’s hand gently moved out from under yours to answer his phone, you kept your eyes closed.

“Hey JJ,” his voice was quiet, barely audible over the rain pounding against the windshield, “they’re doing ok.” He paused while he listened to JJ’s response. “No, they keep reminding me that it’s not the first time they’ve been shot. I’m worried about them though.” He trailed off.

“They’ve been shouldering this burden of over 185,000 cold cases since we started working on this one, and now that it’s solved they’re finally feeling the weight of it. I don’t want them to drive themselves crazy trying to solve all of them on their own. We deal with enough active cases as it is.”

Though you were barely in a state of mind to process his words, he had hit the nail right on the head.

“How is the case you’re working on?” You presumed JJ was filling him in on what they knew, “have Garcia look into large purchases of triacetone triperoxide… Call me if anything changes. We should be back by morning.”

“Yes,” his change in tone indicated that JJ had asked him a question, “that would be great, JJ. Thank you so much.”

He must have hung up with JJ because his hand found yours again, fingers just barely touching. It was a simple action, loaded with a lot of meaning. Spencer was your best friend, and would always be your best friend. Bullets, cold cases, marriages, there was nothing that could break the bond you had with him.

You didn’t understand why people called their significant others their “better half”. It insinuated that you weren’t a whole person to begin with, a fractured existence that only found completion by the means of someone else. The idea that your life couldn’t be fulfilling until someone else made it whole was a concept that was set up for failure and self-loathing.

Instead, you believed that you were a whole person who could live a fulfilling life without the necessity of another. Instead, you surrounded yourself with people who lifted you up and helped you achieve your goals without being the direct cause of your success. Instead, you followed your dreams and somehow found Spencer Reid along the way.

Spencer was your best friend, your confidant, the one person who you knew you couldn’t live without, but he was not your other half. He was his own whole person, a mirror image of your own being. You found solace in his companionship, safety in the complexities of his brain. When the stress of your job got to be too much, you could reliably turn to each other and exist in the little slice of the world you called yours for a moment.

No, he was not your other half. He wasn’t even yours, for that matter, but he was there. He was there in a capacity that nobody else could achieve.

This is part of my GALAXY universe! If you liked this relationship, check out the MASTERLIST for more content!

Galaxy Taglist: @kermitsaysgayrights @niallthedancingharry @shadyladyperfection @thatsonezesty13 @lexshead @ceeellewrites @howdycharlie @girlycakepops @fantastic-fans @canimarrypizzaornah @daisyflower138 @dyingrexx @taylormobley @bazzleslynn @tj-drinks-tea @willa-wonky @eddiesbifocals @tee-mbrown @reniescarlett @bone-hurty-bitch @messyacademia

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #Criminal Minds #Criminal Minds Fanfiction #platonic imagine #platonic soulmates

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doctorbunny · 3 years ago

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MILGRAM theory time: Haruka!

This isn't going to go super in depth (famous last words) but there's a few heavily debated parts of Haruka's MV I want to share my findings/thoughts on because I think this is my new special interest and during my quest to get best boy's song to 1 million views I have been looking over his first MV with a fine tooth comb so to speak.

Disclaimer: As the Jackalope said in the "This is the MILGRAM" trailer, we don't necessarily know everyone's crime from just the first video, its possible that a lot of things will be re-contextualized in the second MV, however I am not psychic or bilingual and thus will only be working with content released before August 20th 2021 and translated into English (which could cause some language/cultural details to be lost on me as translation is not a 1 to 1 process).

TW for discussions of ableism, child abuse, murder and animal death. Also this is really long so sorry to all the people that follow me for non-MILGRAM stuff

Firstly, I want to start on the topic of Haruka as a person. He is disabled. He does not have 'the mind of a child' (although he is 17, making him legally a minor in both North America and Japan). He is not just 'child-like'. And he is not mentally ill (well he might be, in the sense that many disabilities like Haruka's have strong comorbidities [where a person has two or more conditions but neither directly causes the other] with anxiety, depression and PTSD, but usually when I see people talk about him 'struggling with mental illness' they go on to refer to aspects of his disability). Sometimes on tumblr, people like myself, will see canonical traits written into a character and identify them as being traits associated with our disabilities/mental illness and headcanon them as such. Sometimes this even involves saying things like "It's basically canon!" Although we understand that these characters were probably not the result of a writer intending to write a disabled person. When I say that Haruka is being written as a person with a neurodevelopmental disability, I mean the writer intended to write a disabled character and wrote them in a way that they wanted the audience to pick up on. As an autistic person (which is one of many neurodevelopmental disorders and also something I probably didn't have to specify because who else would be writing an essay about a series they got into a few days ago at 11 o'clock at night) I really like how Haruka has been written so far. There's definitely some parts of him that have been exaggerated so abled normies can pick up on his disability (namely how his MV 's main motif is really child-like drawings) but the writers also included a lot of smaller details I appreciate like how it is noted he avoids eye contact when talking to other people and is depicted as nervously pulling at his sleeves in official artwork, or how he says he finds his prison uniform (which has tight straps) 'relaxing' and when he gets nervous/tense, he will dig his fingernails into the palm of his hands. (These last two potential being examples of 'self stimulation' [aka stimming] where a person seeks out specific sensory stimuli in order to help regulate their nervous system/emotions, in this case the tight uniform creates a comforting, secure feeling [you may have heard about some people preferring to sleep under weighted blankets for this reason] and digging nails into his palms sounds uncomfortable/painful but is done in an attempt to deal with a greater sensory discomfort caused by the situation/environment) I also appreciate the depth he is written with, he struggles to communicate verbally but in his MV and interactions with other inmates is shown to have insecurities, opinions and a consistent thought process (this is all basic character stuff but unfortunately not always present in disabled characters)

Also I want to add that (in terms of what we've been shown so far) Haruka did not kill anyone because of his disability/mental illness. Disabled people are not inherently more innocent than abled people. But there is no disability/mental illness where a symptom is that you kill people and real people have to live with the stigma when you speak carelessly and suggest things like "Haruka is the kind of mentally ill person who kills people as a cry for help" 🧂 (or at the very least real people have to read BS like that and cringe). TL;DR Haruka is less child-like and more onion-like (as in, he has layers) 🧅🧅🧅

Now is the actual theory stuff, oops:

Every prisoner in MILGRAM is supposed to have committed murder in some way, obviously considering Yuno just had an abortion (which i personally do not consider an act of murder) whilst Mu literally stabbed someone to death, this definition is stretched a bit. But it is not agreed upon yet who Haruka killed/how many people he killed or why he killed.

In his MV he is shown to have chased after his dog into a forest, seen something off-screen, then beaten something into a messy pulp with a rock. Some people think the dog is a red herring and that Haruka actually killed his mother/the girl from the fireworks show/his brother. I do not agree.

First: I believe Haruka when he says he doesn't have a brother. The MV literally starts by Haruka looking in the mirror and then switching between the him now

and a really similar looking younger child who just so happened to be a key feature of his memories (I don't have the vocabulary to explain it but its like cinematic parallels that establish this is the same person at different points of their life)

Its not impossible that this is Haruka's secret younger brother, but i think its unlikely. I saw someone saying they had to be different people because Haruka looks less happy than the child but like, most 17 year olds are less visibly happy than when they were 7 (or however old the child is meant to be). Life happens.

So when Haruka is shown pushing the child around and eventually strangling him, this isn't meant to be literal (homicide or suicide), but a representation of how conflicted Haruka feels about his younger self, who may have committed the murder (if you've ever been kept awake cringing at memories of something you said in the past and wishing you could go slap some sense into your former self, this is like that but 10 times more self loathing). The lyric "I am always repeating yesterday," implies he might think about this specific past event a lot.

Moving on, its pretty well accepted that Haruka's parents were abusive in some way and Haruka internalised a lot of it: he constantly apologises, he says in his interrogation questions that his one wish come true is that "[he] want[s] to be loved" and describes in his MV how when he couldn't find the words he was looking for ("you're unfair") one of his parents "would get angry at me and say “You’re hopeless.”". He seems to know its unfair but also still says he 'loves' his family, possibly mistakenly believing it is his fault, but also showing an awareness of his situation (and how his parents might behave).

Now, the MV is stylised in a way that makes certain details unclear, but there is one clear detail showing that Haruka's dog was killed

This is the first close up of Haruka and the dog. Haruka's mother is just out of frame supervising, but they look pretty happy. Notice how the puppy has a silvery chain for a collar. Somehow, this dog gets out of the house but only Haruka is shown chasing after it (whether his mother was searching elsewhere or didn't bother following her disabled son into the forest is unclear). Either way, young Haruka is now in the forest, unsupervised.

By the time he finds the dog, there is already blood, suggesting it was initally attacked by something else.

is this a sigh of relief from a boy whose finally found his beloved pet or a jealous weakling glad that nature took its course and he is finally free of that meddling mutt stealing all his mummy's attention? /j

I think this shock at the discovery that 'there is blood on his hands' could imply that rather than literally getting the blood from his dog, Haruka has seen his already injured dog and realises that if the dog got out because of him (he is previously shown to be aware his parents seem to blame him for everything) then he is the reason his dog is injured/dying and will be blamed for it. (this scene plays over the lyrics "It’s fine, though it’s really not It’s really fine, though I don’t really think so When I tried to understand it, You’ll make that disappointed face again" suggesting he is trying to avoid making his parents disappointed and letting the family pet escape into danger is something that could make them very disappointed)

now we get into rock murder (this is present-day Haruka implying that this is either: not how the scene really played out; the writers really wanting the audience to know that this was Haruka's doing and not someone else's; or this turns into a separate incident that happened much later [although note that the red sky and blue moon is the same as when young Haruka first appears at the start])

b the corpse is beyond mangled now, but its clearly the dog because the silver chain collar is still there, to the right of the body. (circled in red for your convenience :3)

My hypothesis is: Haruka didn't set out to kill his dog, but upon finding it injured (we don't know the severity aside from bleeding and also it not being able to run away from Haruka kneeling down above it w/ a big rock so it could range from treatable with a lot of vet help to already on death's door, TBH I don't think Haruka would know the difference) He knew he'd be blamed for this; made into a villain who let the poor puppy come to harm. He panicked and killed the dog out of some idea that it would make him the victim here (since he'd be found crying over a dog corpse, which might make a parent go comfort him rather than getting angry about what could've happened to the dog). This is over the lyrics: "I cried, I screamed I wanted to be a pitied and loved weakling I was in denial, I was in denial I just had to make sure I’ve become a victim, I’ve become a victim" (there's another theory that he was also jealous of the dog, which could work here too, since this is not some calculated plot; rather its a rash decision) This ties in with his Japanese song title (translated as Weakness) which is a play on a phrase sort of like "The strong eat, the weak do not" to become "The weak are eaten by society" or "The weak eat each other to survive" [once again I am reminding everyone this is based on second hand information from the youtube comments section (from users mitchki and Alphaistic) because I do not speak Japanese] This second meaning (The weak eat each other to survive) makes sense under the reading that Haruka killed his dog in order to 'survive' making his parents disappointed for the dog escaping.

Miscellaneous points:

We don't know where Haruka's necklace came from yet, it must be a gift since the most expensive thing he's ever bought was cotton candy. The younger child in the video isn't wearing it and neither is his mother or the girl in the purple dress.

Haruka's home seems quite big, at the start we can see a large flower garden outside the window and there's a forest in walking distance. This might suggest his family is quite wealthy

Haruka probably did go to school at some point as homeschooling is not a legally accepted as an alternative to public schools in Japan. (However it is estimated that up to 5000 families homeschool, this is uncommon) A lot (about 62%) of Japanese schools apparently have a 'special needs' classes and there are about 505 schools focused on educating intellectually disabled students (although I do not know which sort Haruka would've needed as whilst intellectual and development disabilities can be comorbid they aren't the same). Now, if children aged 7-14 don't go to school, their parents receive a fine, but its possible that if Haruka's parents are wealthy, they just paid it to avoid sending him to school. (This might imply they wanted to hide him or were generally ashamed of him in some way) However high school education (for students over 14) is not legally required and its likely that even if Haruka went to elementary/middle school, he hasn't been around people his own age in at least 3 years. As he seems quite lonely and glad that the other prisoners give him attention.

I don't think Haruka's parents are divorced and if they are, its not his father who left. Haruka mentions in the 30 questions that he thinks he disappointed his father. But still includes him as part of his family ("My father and mother and me"). A theory I've seen is that his father was disappointed by his son being disabled and left. but developmental disabilities (especially in non verbal and semi verbal children like Haruka) can be diagnosed before the age of 3, so I feel it is unlikely that Haruka would bring up his father if he left that early in Haruka's life

All MILGRAM prisoners have covered one of DECO*27's older vocaloid songs (DECO*27 is a well known producer who composes the music for MILGRAM) Haruka covered 'Two Breaths Walking' (https://youtu.be/puXLfVWrz2Q) which is about a boy's first relationship and how his mother's jealousy set him up for failure as the relationship becomes toxic (specifically it has some very funny out of context lines like "Whose breasts are you sucking on now?") so yeah, mommy issues: the song (Also: some people say in the song, the boy kills the girl at the end, but this isn't literal, TBW is the first of a trilogy of songs about the same relationship, it is followed by Android girl then Two Breaths Walking: Reloaded and the story resolves with the couple reuniting as adults and getting in the relationship again, although its not necessarily as abusive as before, its still implied to be codependant ending on the line 'We should live like oxygen tanks, sucking breathe from the words each of us exhale, until our last breathe')

In all seriousness, the scene where younger Haruka is walking through the city with his mother but it keeps repeating until older Haruka pulls the younger one away might indicate an attempt to focus the happier memories of his parents (since this is also over the lyrics "Why is it breaking? Tell me why? Please don’t change If I tried and couldn’t say it, You would get angry at me and say “You’re hopeless.”" which depict a worse scene) I think both his parents are still physically present but have become far more emotionally distant, not giving him as much attention, which exacerbates his loneliness from not having any friends his own age to talk to

And if one of his parents did leave? I think its likely his mother since she is shown disappearing out of his reach after the dog-incident (inferring she got angry/disappointed in Haruka anyway) This could also be where he got his necklace from: Its something his mother used to wear (although this is 100% a guess) and that's why its shown to be important to him

This one is just me, but i didn't realise until a rewatch that when Haruka is watching the younger him and the girl running together, the background has fireworks. Haruka mentions fireworks being a key memory to him so I wonder if this was one of the first/last times he got to make a friend...

On three separate occasions in the interrogation, Haruka mentions not liking animals. Despite this, he is depicted as sleeping with a rabbit plush and on his birthday art (I'd include that too but tumblr only allows 10 pictures per post, so here's a link) he is standing next to a giant blueberry and strawberry cake with two bunny themed biscuits at the side. Through my experiences of seeing Japanese fandom art on pixiv, sometimes rabbits are used to insinuate a character is cute and timid in fanart.

Meaningless details: Haruka sleeps with his necklace on; he sleeps on a bed and not a futon; at first I thought he woke up holding his plush's hand but his hand is merely next to the toy; and considering the state of the pillow and blanket, I wonder if he moves a lot in his sleep or if the is just because in this case he seems to be waking up from a nightmare about the dog incident...

Final note: I've spent so many hours writing this I don't remember if i was building up to any big finale or not but I hope you enjoyed reading this! Feel free to add on in the comments/reblogs.

#haruka sakurai #milgram #milgram theory #001 #text post #essay #long post

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gothprentiss · 10 months ago

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many people clearly and understandably have lower evidentiary standards for what they consider casual entertainment. at a certain point you must ask yourself why you think stuff like this is casual. online culture rewards theorization & hot takes; people actively if semi-unbelievingly spectate conspiracy theories; topics like true crime proliferate fanbases who are very comfortable spreading claims with next to no evidence except vibes and absences. recreational interest in a topic is not sufficient to understanding it

it seems like what somerton seized onto, or manufactured, was effectively a false folk etymology for body fascism. a good number of his followers likely were already aware of this concept and thus more easily convinced by his claims. given that calling someone a nazi online is at this point more of a gotcha than a serious and meant allegation— meaning, i think, mid-to-far right in most cases; nazism as violence against bodies, almost abstractly— i think people wove this into a preexisting critique of gym culture and the body image complex, tacitly or not.

i have seen so many posts which are more concerned with soothing the ego wound of having believed misinformation than anything else. this is driving me up so many walls. things like somerton’s unbelievably cruel ‘well-behaved gays’ comments and weirdly long rants about how straight women on twitter want gay media to approximate the emotional labor of the “gay best friend”— let alone his almost winking delivery of salacious stories about how it was ‘widely known’ that gay sexual favors were currency with the SS— should raise red flags. i’m not in the business of pop history consumption so i don’t know how prevalent snidely presented unsupported claims are within it, but presumably they are common enough that neither his content nor delivery worked against him. or it is simply that casual consumption allows for more than it should. whatever the case, it seems to me that people who fully and comfortably believed this guy do actually need to do some kind of examination of their own historical consciousness and comfort with these kinds of claims and biases. “you are not immune to propaganda” should not inspire the same deferral of agency that “no ethical consumption under capitalism” has come to

ok it’s all died down a bit but one thing i keep seeing albeit distantly is people responding to the james somerton thing like “it’s okay that you got taken in by his outlandish claims, this is totally possible and understandable” and like, while i am sure many of his claims are plausible i do think that anyone who watched and then bought his video about how the origins of contemporary usa fitness culture stem from american soldiers being jealous and covetous of the “gorgeous” physiques of nazi soldiers should absolutely recognize that as a personal failing. like if you sat through that and did not at all have your curiosity piqued by its evidence-lightness and furthermore did not think this is a very strange view on history— perhaps this man’s tone about the, again, “gorgeous” and desirable bodies of nazis is more than a tad disrespectful— that is definitely on you. like the lesson here is, sure, that someone who earns the trust of a community can absolutely take them for all they’re worth on that trust alone— but it also surely is that people should have higher standards for trust.

#ok i’m done talking about this i’m just like. aaauuuu

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gisachi · 4 years ago

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Hi ^^ I know that your requests are now closed but I was thinking that, given you have written jealous Shinichi, I would very much enjoy some jealous Ran! Maybe you can mix it with one of the prompts? Just throwing the idea out there, no pressure. Delete this if you don't feel like it, it's okay really. Thank you for writing these amazing fics, the shinran fandom is in your debt. ❤️

So this is the last (!!!) and longest (!!!) of the kiss prompts, and I dedicate it to multiple-requests Anon and to this Anon. I hope both of you still see this. It took me a while. ^^;;

P.S. Special thanks to @artycreaty for keeping this in check. You are awesome. 🥰

41. Kisses shared under an umbrella. 46. A lingering kiss before a long trip apart. (6,489 words)

Ran keeps telling herself she has no right to be jealous.

She has hundreds of reasons not to. They’re merely childhood best friends. Life would be much easier if she didn’t involve herself in his business twenty-four seven. Shinichi absolutely doesn’t look at her that way. And so forth.

She wonders why they’re even friends in the first place. If their parents hadn’t enrolled them in the same kindergarten, she was certain they wouldn’t even be on speaking terms. He lives in a world of grisly books and crimes, she in a world of martial and visual arts. Their hobbies don’t overlap. They excel in different fields. They enter the same university with completely unrelated majors. The only bond they have in common is their shared history. Literally bonded since they were four, until now at nineteen.

So when she sees him all jolly around his newfound circle who hold the same interest in Holmes or detective work, it shouldn’t surprise her as much. It’s part of university life, it’s normal, they expand their horizons, and Ran understands that it hits much differently when they bond with people who like the same stuff they do. Something she’s aware they cannot share a hundred percent.

She’s proud of him, and she absolutely has no right to feel jealous, especially when she sees him around taller, prettier, more interesting women from his course block. There is no reason for her to look away with a heavy weight in her chest everytime the women get giggly and touchy while he’s absorbed in narrating his stories.

Everytime she does, she reminds herself of how he didn’t seem to mind when she was casted as the protagonist of their high school play and the leading man was the handsome Araide-sensei. Or how he simply shrugged when she fawned over the brother of a classmate because he looked so much like the karate senpai she was crushing on. Or when she secretly caught Sonoko dragging the detective behind gym after P.E. to confront him about his opinion regarding an upperclassman courting Ran and his only response was, ‘She can like whoever she likes, Sonoko. I’m not her boyfriend.’

He never showed her any sign of jealousy, therefore he must not be into her. Simple as that. So it’s unfair for her to be treating him differently. Getting snarky just because he received sixteen new fan mails again, more now that they’re in uni, and two even coming from the popular criminology seniors he is often teased to? Or ignoring him unprecedentedly just because his eyes followed the back of a woman with long chestnut hair and voluptuous curves? There are plenty of fish in the sea, and he’s bound to be attracted to someone else. This is a pill she ought to learn to swallow eventually.

Eventually.

“Shinichi-kun, you never told us about your scariest case yet, tell us about it?”

Kaori closes her notes and so do the other two girls across her, and Shinichi’s eyes twinkle. He truly seems to enjoy study sessions with the little group they made consisting of some of his and Ran’s coursemates because they love listening to his stories.

“At the top of my head is this murderer disguised as a bandaged man, and he targeted us one by one…” and so the detective drones. Ran pauses typing and reminisces quietly. Ah, that one from summer three years ago. I was almost injured by that crazy man during my sleep but Shinichi woke me up in time.

“Ran-san,” Shun, her friend and coursemate, mutters beside her, also stopping his typing to listen to the detective’s story. “It’s ridiculous how popular Kudou-kun is with the girls. He’s full of wild adventures.”

“Yes, he is,” Ran says, smiling. “He’s been a girl magnet ever since high school.”

She watches as Kaori inches closer to Shinichi, listening attentively, chin on her palm and flirtatious smile on her lips as the detective rants on and on.

For the third time that afternoon, Ran looks away.

Ran keeps telling herself she has no right to be jealous.

She does, everyday, but it’s hard when he smiles at her, cares for her, holds her in a way she’s never seen him do for anyone else. It gives her hope every time the girls cling to him but he never touches them back, whereas he automatically slings his arm over her shoulder because she’s afraid or cold or he simply feels like it.

Then again, maybe she’s giving herself too much credit. Perhaps it’s a free pass for being around him for too long. She even gets to spend time with him during weekends and holidays. It isn’t special because it’s normal.

And that’s all she’ll ever be, a normal girl in his eyes.

“Ran? She’s pretty special.”

Ran reacts to the mention of her name and catches Shinichi looking at her. “She appears quiet but she can kick anyone’s ass without breaking a sweat. It’s bad if you cross her,” Shinichi gloats with a grin.

“Oh my god, really? We can bring her with us then!” Kaori claps her hands in excitement.

“Ah... But she won’t like that,” he follows up, wary. Ran has missed the topic they were talking about and now she’s curious.

“But ghosts aren’t real and Mouri-san can give them a good beating!”

“Gh-Ghosts?” The color in her cheeks drains, eyes freezing at Shinichi who has probably already expected that reaction, for he sports that same look of concern as those times he had expressed whenever she joined him in his way-past-bedtime elementary school adventures.

“We’ll investigate an abandoned house I always pass by walking home,” Kaori explains. “Last night I saw a faint cigarette light at the second floor window. It might be a fugitive or a homeless person or a ghost, who knows?”

“You don’t need to come if you don’t want to, Ran,” Shinichi assures.

Gulping, Ran contemplates whether going with them will do her any good. It’s a nice change, it’s been a while since she last tagged with Shinichi in his cases. But she isn’t exactly proud of shrieking like a little kid in front of serious criminology majors who may feel like she’ll drag their covert investigation down if she joins.

“...I’ll pass,” she answers meekly, and his coursemates sulk except Shinichi, who offers her a smile of understanding.

“Man, I thought we’ll be able to see Mouri-san in action!”

“That’s ok, maybe next time. We still have Shinichi-kun!”

“Shinichi-kun will protect us, ne?”

“Hah. Right. Invite Hakuba too, use him.”

“Oh c’mooon, Shinichi-kun!”

Ran closes her eyes, struggling to zone their voices out.

In her silence, Ran ponders if she has made a wrong choice.

Ran has no right to be jealous. So it’s unfair for her to be treating him this way.

The following weekend, Shinichi narrates what happened in their late-night investigation. Hakuba wasn’t there so Shinichi was the only available guy as usual. Ran refuses to hear any more details, both of the haunted house and secretly of the girls chancing onto him during the investigation. Shinichi is puzzled.

“Did I do something wrong?”

“Nah, just swamped with work.”

“On a Sunday?”

“Yes.”

“Want me to assist?”

“No.”

Her replies are curt from the couch of his house, not looking at Shinichi on the other end as she mindlessly cleans up her digital sketches. She hates how snappy she sounds but her brain is too absorbed with conjuring spiteful imaginations to even think of masking her annoyance.

“Ran, hey. Look at me.”

His low voice freezes her from drawing, and she slowly looks up to meet Shinichi’s serious eyes.

When this happens, she knows he’s reading her. She inwardly chants a prayer because now isn’t a good time. Whatever time isn’t a good time. She doesn’t know what to say when she’s aware everything she’s been feeling is irrational and unfair. She’s being selfish.

“You’re… stressed.”

“No, I’m… Eh?”

He scoots closer, an arm’s length away. “Your dark circles are more prominent now, you need a break.” His eyes turn a soft blue. “Let’s have dinner out? My treat.”

Ran is surprised, to say the least. The last time he invited her out was two weeks ago. She’s become so used to seeing him around others that any initiative from him sounds too good to be true.

“But I need to finish this project by tonight.”

“Let’s have food delivery then!” Shinichi announces, not rattled by Ran’s indirect refusal. “I know exactly what you want. Ramen and shaved ice.”

Her eyes thin at the absurdly goofy expression she knows he makes when he’s being mischievous. “Clearly you’re ordering that ramen for yourself. I only like shaved ice.”

“Damn! Miss Detective gets it.” A mile-wide grin stretches across his face, earning an eye roll from the half-smiling woman. “Let’s eat together on your short break, please?”

He leans within a respectful distance and she sees his smile better, pair of kind eyes locking with her overworked ones. “It’s been a while.”

Her heart throbs for him. So much.

She caves - of course she does - and breathes her acquiescence.

After two long weeks, they have dinner together, just them and Shinichi’s ramen and Ran’s donburi and shaved ice, Shinichi taking a spoonful of dessert from the cup when she isn’t looking and Ran snatching a slurp from his take-out bowl and laughing when he catches her.

With how heartfelt his laughter is in her presence devoid of any mysteries, Ran knows she’s probably giving herself too much credit, but for once she wants to believe she is the cause of why Shinichi’s happy.

Just for that night, she gives it to herself.

She’ll change the dark colors of her digital artwork to brighter ones after they eat.

Despite everything, Ran finds it difficult to contain her recurring jealousy.

The more she shares precious time with him, the more it gets harder to suppress the selfish emotions. What is so unsatisfying about being the best friend is that she is only the best friend. No more no less. At the end of the day, she isn’t the one he gets to cuddle with, to tease then kiss, to tell ‘I love you’ to, romantically.

“I love you.”

Ran feels her heart about to leap out of her chest.

“But please. Stop. Tearing. The. Cushions!”

The little furball he has scooped underneath a throw pillow wiggle from his grasp. The kitten and detective engage in a brief staring showdown before it jumps away to hide under a farther couch.

Snapping out of reverie, Ran watches her childhood friend slink dejectedly onto the partly scratched furniture. He’s fortunate enough that his mother isn’t around to give him a long lecture on Why Pets Aren’t Allowed in the House 101. She can always take Yukiko-san’s role and reprimand him for it, but as for this and the cat, she finds herself not wanting to intervene.

“Kaori-san sure is taking her time with her parent’s permission. By the time she does, Momo would’ve shredded all the pillows in this house.”

“You named the cat?” Ran asks, amused.

“She did.” He thinks for a moment, then sniggers. “Actually I did. I suggested a random name. She took it.”

Ran merely hums. What can she say? They’re getting close. Close enough to team up as parents to an adopted kitten.

“I’m surprised you also agreed to keep Momo when you never took in animals before.”

“Kaori said she’ll treat me to the latest Detective Samonji movie this weekend if I do. Can’t resist that.”

“Just you two?”

“Yeah.”

A beat. Then he turns to her.

“Wanna join? I can ask her to count you in since you’re kinda helpi—”

“N-no need,” Ran quips, “It’s—It’s fine.”

“No really,” Shinichi insists, “Kaori-san has a lot of money, she—”

“I’m going to Tokyo Metropolitan Art Museum with Shun-san this weekend... so... I can’t.”

“Ah.”

Silence.

“It’s, um, for a project,” she bolsters.

“I know.” The faintest smile graces his lips. “It’s your thing. Both of you.”

“Mm.”

He doesn’t say anything else after that.

“Shinichi, you’re a detective, right?” she blurts out of the blue.

“Yeah...and?”

Then deduce what I feel. Here and now.

“Then you’re going to enjoy that movie!” Ran forces a beam, giving Shinichi a thumb of approval. “And you can discuss it with Kaori-san over dinner. I’m sure you two have a lot to say about it.”

Shinichi’s eyes linger on her, reading her like a book, and Ran has her mind reeling again, afraid to be read.

“Yeah, we do,” he finally says, ending the conversation.

Only a few words are uttered the rest of the afternoon.

Momo resurfaces and curls beside Shinichi.

Momo’s purring is loud, but Ran’s shattering heart is louder.

Ran must not feel jealous. She is not a girlfriend.

Because she isn’t a girlfriend, he’s free to fall for and date anyone else. Who is she to gatekeep him? There are plenty of fish in the sea, and he’s one big catch. Ran believes she’s a big catch, too. With the way she loves dearly, her future boyfriend is going to be very lucky.

Her future boyfriend is not going to be him.

“...mber the required fieldwork in one of my majors I told you? We actually go by batches. The first batch did theirs last month. The second batch was last week… and I— Ran, are you listening?”

“Ah! Yes,” Ran notices they have already reached her station and are now walking two blocks to her apartment. “Your fieldwork, right?”

“...Yeah,” he carries on. “I’m in the last batch... This whole winter break.”

“I see, I understand.” She smiles, getting what he means. No Christmas or New Year’s Eve together. The first time since they’re four. It’s fine, honestly. If it’s a required activity, then there’s really no way to go about it. She isn’t going to lash out just because she can’t be with him in her most favorite time of the year.

“And Hattori-kun and Hakuba-kun will be with you?”

“Hattori did his last month. Hakuba is in the previous batch. I’ll be stuck with the girls.”

Ran’s heart momentarily squeezes. “Where will your fieldwork be?”

“In Akita.”

Her pupils constrict. “That far?”

“Yes... so to cut on expenses, Kaori-san offered her house for me and the others to stay while we’re there—”

Kaori. Again with the tall, beautiful, intelligent Kaori. She bets it’s amazing to spend the holidays doing what he loves and with Kaori beside her, snuggling with him by the fireplace in a romantic snowy night and she might even confess, and it’ll be a great catch for Shinichi, and he’ll return with a girlfriend, and—

“Kaori-san is lucky.” The words flow out of her mouth, unbridled.

Shinichi looks at her. “Lucky?”

Ran remains quiet and keeps walking. It’s dangerous to say anything. She only has one thing in her mind and she doesn’t want to say it out loud. She has no right.

“Ran, hey.”

She doesn’t stop walking.

“Ran.”

She ignores his call.

“Ran… you’re jealous.”

She stops walking.

“Excuse me?”

“...You’re jealous…” Shinichi repeats quietly.

A contrast to his calm tone, his irises beset hers in the cold twilight and Ran attempts to shield herself but her bag and umbrella are in the way. She thinks of turning away but her feet are frigid like icicles, and Shinichi steps closer.

For the third time, he declares, “You’re jealous.”

Hearing her thoughts echo through his words renders her speechless.

It seems to take a moment before Shinichi’s brow arches, lips curl up as his eyes refuse to stray, and she hears a faint exhale even, like he’s exasperated, and suddenly he’s smiling - or is he smirking? sneering? - and...and...

It stings, is her immediate reaction.

For the longest time, she’d wanted him to take a hint. But if she had known this was how he’d react, she’d rather live a life having him oblivious of her emotional struggle. Dealing with that is more tolerable than witnessing him gaze her down in blatant mockery. He sneers as though he’s about to crack a joke and move on and forget such a laughable matter. That’s the last form of acknowledgment she wants for her honest feelings.

Heartbreak and shame and pain build up in her chest like a volcano closing eruption. Water begins to cloud her vision. She clenches her fist tight on her umbrella and Shinichi notices, and he takes another step forward.

“Ran…?”

“I am not, and you’re a fool.”

In a span of a breath, she’s sprinting in the opposite direction, tracing the path where they have walked, ignoring the distant yells of her name behind her. She runs and runs, and as she runs farther, with her thoughts muddy and breath short and dry, she wonders if she may have overreacted.

If he’s done that on purpose, screw him. If not, screw her.

After all, they are merely friends and she has no logical reason to act this way.

“Stop... running... will you!”

She hears heavy footsteps close in. It takes all the energy Ran has to prevent herself from turning her body around but his strong grip overpowers her.

“Let me go!”

“Why are you running?!”

“I can’t...deal with you!”

“Why? Was I right?”

“Right or wrong, it doesn’t matter!”

“Why doesn’t it matter?”

“Because I am your best friend!”

On another occasion, she would’ve successfully jilted away and run farther, but Ran is floored when he yanks her into a one-armed hug, so floored she drops her umbrella to the snowy ground.

“Stop saying that!” he hisses in her ear, frustration apparent.

“What are you— Let me go!”

He hugs her tighter.

“If you don’t let go in three seconds, I will screa—”

“I am happy!”

Ran stops struggling, eyes widening in shock.

Icy huffs tickle her neck as he half shouts, “I’m happy you feel that way!”

“You’re...You’re happy because I’m suffering?”

“What? No! I—”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better? How?” The hurt in her tone is impeccable, prattling muffled against his chest as she spares him no moment to butt in. “You think I wanted to feel this? That I enjoy griping in helpless jealousy? And you’re rejoicing that I am? How full of yourself can you be?!”

“That’s not...You don’t underst—”

“I do understand! I understand that I am so incredibly stupid for catching this disgusting heap of emotions for an obnoxious, stuck-up deduction maniac that is my best friend and maybe it’s better after all that he never, ever sees me the way I see him!”

“Stop saying that, Ran!”

She thinks he has broken away, but he drags her back with an insistent tug, crashing his lips onto hers as she stumbles into his arms.

All willpower rippling through her disintegrates quickly like snow in high heat.

An impatient pop resonates as he separates, eyes slowly opening, breath thick and ragged.

“I know that is not how we explain things, but does that explain anything?”

She hears it. The madness. But more than madness, yearning bleeds through his voice so much that her frustration turns into physical pain. Blinded by an all-consuming ache, she tips her chin and presses her lips back against his, demanding for cure in the wrong place. Shinichi freezes, then relaxes. He moves his hand to her nape, four fingers in her hair, thumb treading her jaw.

They look like a scene in a movie.

Under his umbrella and hidden from view, they communicate through brushing lips and tilting heads. His mouth closing over hers with gentle force, her hands splaying across his chest, heavy with something that makes his heart pound under them.

She is so lost in the chase and his tender embrace that for a second she forgets she is kissing her best friend.

Best friend.

This doesn’t explain anything. It worsens it.

She pulls back, ending what she has so recklessly started. “N-no, I’m— No.”

She pushes him away, gathers the stuff she drops, and runs without looking back.

“Ran!”

He shouts her name. Twice.

On the third call, his footfalls die down. On the fourth, he stops running.

She doesn’t.

Thirty minutes before midnight, Ran stands outside his gate, boots buried half foot under the snow as she rings his intercom for the second time, thinking to herself how foolish she must be to cut communications with him for a week and then show up his doorstep looking miserable like a stood-up date.

It’s the start of winter break.

He’ll leave for Akita in ten hours.

She needs to give his Christmas present before his departure.

She’s crazy, pathetic, still frustrated, and hurtfully in love.

“Oi. You better have a good explanation for why you’re buzzing at goddamn midnig—”

“Shinichi.”

His surprised gasp is apparent even through the intercom. A rustle follows and with a croaky voice, he responds. “...Ran.”

Surely he isn’t expecting this. Not after the tantrum she threw days ago. He probably thinks she hates him more than ever. But what she truly feels is more overwhelming than all negative emotions combined, and may god grant her all the strength to address it all, tonight.

“May I come in?”

“The house is—The house is a mess I, um. I’m packing my stuff for...”

“I’ll help you.”

“...”

She’ll understand if he decides to turn her down. But the answer that follows the deafening pause is a low and quiet ‘Okay’.

Despite psyching herself hours before she came, courage wanes when he opens the front door and gate in his pullovers. She is welcomed in, and the trip up his room is wordless. Shinichi only talks when he points out that he’s already packed clothes for two days and will need help for two weeks’ worth. He lamely laughs when he instructs her to pick the tops and layers, and he’ll take care of the pants and underwear.

On a normal instance, she would’ve humored him and they would’ve been talking right after. Now she simply pulls an empty smile and then they fall back into silence.

She supposes he’s trying to act unbothered, to treat what happened a week ago as a one-and-done glitch in their friendship, never to be discussed again. She cannot fault him when she’s trying to do the same. But it’s not easy when in the stillness of the night the echo of their altercation howls, raging persistently in their ears.

What has he been thinking of for the past week?

Has he been kept up all night by the words she said and the words he left unspoken?

Are they still friends? Will they still be friends after this?

The kiss... What about the kiss?

So many questions. So little words. So little time.

Ran is seated on the floor, folding shirts and stuffing them neatly in his duffel bag. Her back faces Shinichi who is sorting out bottoms in his cabinet. She senses him sit on the floor, back against her but not touching. Neither dares to speak first.

A ringing phone cuts the silence.

“Mm, still awake. Good for two weeks right? Gotcha. No, I’ll meet you girls at the station, no need to fetch me. Pfft. I can walk. Ok, see you tomorrow.”

If Ran wasn’t so hyperaware of where she is and what she’s done, her mood would’ve shifted to the one she’d been trying to avoid. Now isn’t the time to think about that. Midnight sneaking out to go to his house is something she wouldn’t do even on good days. She scans her bag on the far couch, deliberately bringing a bigger one to hide his gift. Maybe she can just sneak it in his bag and leave once she’s done and he’ll discover it only when he’s prefectures away. Brown has always suited him, and he’ll definitely find the overcoat useful as spare protective gear.

That’s right. She always cares for him like this. She is his best friend first, and... and nothing second.

“Don’t just leave after putting your present in my bag. At this hour, I can’t let you walk home alone,” he says swiftly.

Ran’s eyes fly wide.

“How did you…”

He doesn’t say anything and continues with his business.

Again with the throat-drying silence.

Something in Ran’s gut compels her to speak, but she is surprised when he does first.

“I... I don’t like Kaori-san. If that’s what you’re thinking.”

Ran stiffens, pausing mid-motion from folding. “I’m not…”

He leans his back completely against her and she shudders, voice reverberating through her skin. “Ran, if you could just hear me out.”

Unable to talk and move, she does.

“Kaori-san and the rest... They know I love mysteries. They know I want to build my own private detective agency. They know my favorite Holmes’ story is The Sign of Four. They know how many crimes I solved in Tokyo. All the information about me which anyone can read from the internet and newspaper and from what I told them when they ask, they know. Ran, you know all that. All that and more.”

He angles his head to the ceiling as if he’s talking to someone there. Ran supports his weight, curling to her knees as she silently listens.

“You know of my first ever deduction because Christ, my first deduction was about you. You know of the two cases which haunt me until this day because I watched the culprit die in front of my very eyes. You were with me the nights I locked myself in here thinking about them. You know of the interesting, the boring, the absurd cases, everything, because I told you or you were there. You know of the odd way I play the violin while I ponder over a case. You know I forget to eat when swamped with new books to read. I have three copies of The Sign of Four but the one I keep beside my bed and read almost weekly is the one you gave me on my tenth birthday and that is all I need. You know me for me, Ran. Everything about me that is off the record, the good and the bad, you know all of those. Only you. The same way I do... about you.”

She feels him crane slightly to the side, addressing her.

“Ran.”

“Mm.”

“I love you.”

Ran’s heart almost completely stops beating.

“I love you,” he whispers, “more than I am even supposed to.”

All words seem to have fizzled out of her vocabulary as she sits still, stunned at what she’s hearing.

“I’m happy growing up with you, studying with you, bickering with you, acting stupid with you, investigating with you, eating with you, napping with you, hugging you, holding you, taking care of you, simply... being with you. Before I know it, it’s not the cases or Holmes or mysteries that complete my days, it’s you.

“For you to keep repeating that ‘best friend’ phrase, I…” He lowers his head.

“For who knows how long, I’ve loved you as that and more.”

Someone pinch her because in no way can this be real.

“I was happy thinking you’re jealous because it meant a sliver of chance you feel the same way. We could’ve remedied the misunderstanding easily, Ran. We could’ve talked it over like we always do. But I was stupid and emotions were high and in the end I… kissed you…” he takes another deep breath, “But—but you kissed me back, and my heart couldn’t stay still...”

Pulse drumming loud, Ran tilts her head on the side where he leans, wanting to see the slightest expression he makes as he continues.

“If my deductions are wrong and you’re mad for a different reason, and—and you returned that for a different reason...” she hears the pang of remorse in his tone, “then please forget I ever said anything and I’ll leave myself to die in humiliation once I’m out of your sight.”

He lays one palm flat on the floor and she notices.

“But if my deductions are right and you were indeed jealous, I...” She feels his head swivel enough to feel his warm breath fan across her cheek, before shifting back front and releasing a slow, guttural exhale he’s kept contained within.

“I’ll wait... until you accept it. Accept me.”

Ran may have choked on her throat for how long she’s held her breath.

In spite of herself, she knows she doesn’t need to think of what to say. She had it all in her head before coming here. Yet expressing it out loud is a different matter.

She isn’t ready, but when will she ever be ready? Shinichi undoubtedly isn’t too. Yet here he is, laying the groundwork for her, no holds barred and a stuttering mess at that. How she plans to build from it is the question she asks herself next.

Inhaling as though bracing herself, she places a hand beside him, pinky slightly grazing his.

“I didn’t... You never showed any signs.”

Careful and calm, he extends his little finger over hers. She doesn’t flinch, and both hands crawl closer until two fingers overlap.

“Either I’m a great pretender or you’re incredibly dense.”

“I’m...I’m not dense.”

“I’m a bad actor, then.” He slides his hand further.

“I was trying so hard to be a supportive best friend for you.”

“I sensed that but ignored it because I didn’t want to assume anything.”

“You did though. Now we’re here.”

“Would you rather we aren’t?”

“I would rather we spend the last weeks of this year talking like normal than being stupid idiots before you leave.”

“It’s just two weeks, Ran.”

“Two special weeks I would’ve wanted to spend with my best frien-... with you.”

Without knowing it, his hand has completely nestled atop hers, four fingers curled between her thumb and index finger.

“Ran... You must really hate the idea of falling in love with me.”

“Eh?”

“You’re so wrapped with the thought that we’re simply best friends that you hold your love in chains as though it isn’t permitted to grow.”

“I… I didn’t want to ruin the only connection we have-”

“Two friends falling in love are still friends… They are also more. You cannot ruin an indefeasible connection. Friendship and love may be the only bond we have, but they’re the most important bond of all.”

Ran falls quiet.

“Geez…”

He releases a thick sigh, brushes his thumb across her splayed fingers.

“I have shit art appreciation skills, but I can take you to museums too... as a friend and as a date.” A beat, and a mumble. “Even to better museums than Tokyo Metropolitan Art Museum.”

She darts her head sideways, realizing something.

“Were you also…?”

“No.”

Ran doesn’t suppress the heartfelt giggle that bubbles out.

“Shun-san has a boyfriend, Shinichi.”

“I—” he pauses. “I wasn’t asking.” Ran giggles more.

“Shinichi.”

“Yes.”

“I love you too.”

The hand above squishes hers all too suddenly like he’s been blown away and is needing something to hold onto.

“I came here to give your present and to apologize for being so shallow and for acting without thinking and for a lot of things actually... but now I feel there’s no need, because then I wouldn’t have...” She looks down at their intertwined hands.

Before she can return his squeeze, he recoils.

“Oh, y-you do apologize. Running away like that.” He coughs, and she can practically hear the tripping in his tone.

“Aren’t you already used to it? I’ve done it many times,” she chides.

“No. Apologize,” he insists. “And look at me while you do.”

Ran’s stomach twists, heart kicking up a step.

It’s easy to talk without eye contact, but to be requested so after confessions are exchanged—

“Face me, Ran.”

The familiar voice of yearning strums her heartstrings, tone sounding a lot like a plea than an order and Ran finds her head instinctively craning at an angle, hand coiling on the floor trying to calm her nervous beating heart. She feels him shift behind as well.

She takes all her time to face him, partly unsure what to do, partly knowing exactly what she wants to do. Despite the deliberate slowness of their movements, it is when they lock eyes that time truly seems to stop.

Shinichi appears so different, so soulful. His blue irises glimmering, fixated on nothing but her as she reveres him with matching intensity. The same guy she treats as her best friend looks at her with tender love in his eyes, darting down her lips and up like no best friend ever would.

“I love you,” he says, breathless. “Make me your boyfriend.”

A wave of emotion sweeps over her, heartbeat fluttering in overdrive as they huddle on the floor, bags and clothes and time forgotten.

“From best friend to... such a shift-”

“Nothing will be different.” He rests his forehead on hers, gaze of soft blue patient though more intimate now, knowing what they share is mutual. “We’ll still do what we do... With exclusive romantic commitment and sweet nothings that translate to ‘I love you’ in more ways than one.”

She attempts a jab on his chest but he catches her fist, soft but jesting beam all too apparent and she does but play along.

“What about when we fight?” she asks.

“Same. But...” he slides a thumb over her quiet lips, parting them slightly, “I can do this once we make up.”

“...Like right now?”

“Like right now.”

A genuine smile is the last thing she sees before delicate pair of lips lands on hers, capping their one-week fight and their last night of the year together in the best and most unexpected way imaginable.

Ran keeps telling herself she shouldn’t be jealous.

Not because they are simply best friends, because they aren’t. Not because life would be easier if she didn’t involve herself in his business twenty-four seven, because it wouldn’t.

Not because Shinichi doesn’t look at her that way, because he does.

She shouldn’t be jealous because she absolutely has no reason to, is all.

“I haven’t forgotten about your present. I was planning to buy yours in Akita.”

“Stop lying, you totally forgot it.”

“I didn’t. Stop that.” Half-mast eyes rake her side profile, and Ran covers a mirthful grin with her mitted hand holding the umbrella, then yawns. Hours of packing and talking and laughing left them with roughly four hours of sleep. It isn’t like she slept the whole period because while sleeping in his room isn’t new, cuddling while they sleep is. Ran couldn’t simply shut her eyes and heart to that.

“I believe though,” he wraps a hand around her free one, pocketing both of them in his brand new overcoat, “I gave half of my present already.”

“Hnn. That doesn’t count as a gift.” Her hand shifted, coddling his own to a warm fit.

“Really?” A smug smirk pulls up his face. “I believe I am a nice present, Ran. That’s why they—”

“Screw this. You are unbelievable. A humbug. Why do people like you.”

“I know. Why do you like me?” Shinichi laughs as he avoids the swing of her umbrella.

From afar, they see Kaori and the girls at the meet-up point outside Tokyo Station, though they seem unaware of their presence yet. Suddenly feeling conscious, Ran feels the urge to disentangle her hand, but Shinichi holds on, firm.

“Why?” He asks in a low voice.

“I dunno… maybe this isn’t the best time…”

“Isn’t now the best time?” His smile is proud and natural, not one ounce of reluctance visible.

Although she gets what he means, that doesn’t free her of shyness and guilt. Somehow she feels like apologizing to Kaori for… she doesn’t know. She just wants to. Letting her see them like this makes her think that she’s giving her an indirect slap on the face. Shinichi certainly won’t agree because ‘What’s with women and their logic?’, but still, whether or not it’s all in her head, Ran needs more time to prepare for this.

But to her surprise, Shinichi lets go of her hand. They are still a few feet from view when he steps in front of her and turns around. “Maah, fine, I get it,” he huffs, then smiles. “Then, just give me your umbrella.”

The moment she does, Shinichi closes their distance and dips his face onto hers. Ran is given no leeway to gasp as loving lips seal her quiet. It isn’t as long as what they shared a week ago, but the emotions are loaded and full, speaking fond thanks and temporary farewell.

She doesn’t realize she has closed her eyes until he separates, and she’s met with the most tender, most angelic expression he wears only on the rarest occasions. He’s saying without telling that her feelings are valid, she doesn’t have to worry, and he doesn’t have eyes for anyone but her. Somehow, the snow is the sea and fish are swarming around but neither cares because they have already caught each other.

“You don’t have to, silly.” Three layers of pink blanket Ran’s puffy cheeks.

“But I want to.” Grinning, Shinichi hands her back the umbrella. “You don’t like hand-holding. You don’t like being seen. Don’t you think that’s a great compromise?”

“Idiot, many people saw...”

“No, they didn’t!” Upping the duffel bag slung on his shoulder, he steps back and gives her one last goofy beam. “I’ll see you next year, Ran. I’ll call as often as I can.”

Wordlessly, Ran watches Shinichi’s back as he jogs to his waiting companions, who by then have already had their eyes pinned on the approaching figure.

“That is Shinichi-kun! ...And Mouri-san!”

“Ehhh!!?! You’re a thing!”

So much for being subtle, Ran flushes inwardly as she returns the wave the other girls are giving her. At that moment she really does feel immature for her past conduct. All of them are sweet. Even Kaori.

“I knew it Shinichi-kun! Mouri-san is sooo lucky, I’m so jealous!” Ran hears their banter and sees her jab his bicep before acknowledging her. “We’ll take care of him, Mouri-san!”

The Ran from one week ago would’ve had her heart crushed by such declaration, but now she’s nothing but pleased and the smile that forms across her lips is nothing but honest. “Make sure he doesn’t drag your group into a random dead body, Kaori-san!”

“Hey!” surfaces Shinichi’s shout amidst the mincing laughter of the group and the onlooking passers-by, and Ran bids her last wave before they enter the station.

Smiling to herself, Ran returns home, the lingering promise of his kiss committed to memory, knowing that she doesn’t have to get jealous because she has no reason to. Their indefeasible bond is all the assurance she needs.

#shinran #kiss prompts #fanfic #lmk anon(s) if you see this and if you do then yaaay #thank you for requesting!#and thank you for reading!#:')#I have a love-hate relationship with this fic #it's only supposed to be 4 scenes #oh well it is what it is lmao #it's ok ig since this is the last (awww) from the kiss prompts!#😌#I tried so hard with a jealous Ran haha #jealous fics are good reads but writing them is hard :O

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spacedikut · 4 years ago

Text

everything is green ; aaron hotchner

pairing: aaron hotchner (criminal minds) x f!reader

summary: “I know it seens a little unlikely, but can you write a jealous Hotch imagine for me? Something adorable with this grumpy baby, because he's SO PRETTY when he smiles 😍 Like him kissing the reader untill she forgets her name in the end 🥰 Just an idea, write whatever you want 😘” 1743 words

a/n: ohhhhhh boy jealous hotch is Not unlikely i just think he’s better at hiding it than anyone else on this planet ;-) oh and Y/L/N means your last name!

masterlist

There’s a deep furrow to Aaron’s eyebrows. Deeper than usual, at least, and Rossi notices the second he steps back into the precinct after visiting the latest crime scene.

“What’s got you all pouty?” He asks with a teasing lilt, thumbs tucked into his back pockets.

Hotch jolts out of the stupor he was in, blinking as he registers his surroundings.

He chooses to ignore Rossi’s question, “What did you find at the scene?”

Now invested because Hotch doesn’t ignore direct questions, Rossi merely raises his eyebrows and decides okay, we’ll play it that way, Hotchner.

+++

“Hotch is being grumpier than usual and it is driving me insane.”

Penelope’s angelic voice is a beautiful escape from the bustling sounds of New York. It truly is the city that never sleeps, and when there’s a killer on the loose, nothing changes except there’s a little more blood on the streets.

“Y/N-“ Penelope calls, directly calling you out, “Can you sort your man out, please?”

You glance over your shoulder, standing before the evidence board next to Reid, “What’s he doing?”

“I don’t even get a hello anymore! It’s all,” She lowers her voice to mock her boss, “Garcia, I need this. Bye. And don’t even get me started on when we video call, that man has his eyebrows halfway down his face and, yes, that is extreme for even the Aaron Hotchner.”

“You know,” Rossi comments, leaning back in his chair, “He looked awfully forlorn when we got back earlier. Something going on, Y/N?”

“He always looks forlorn. That’s his face.”

There’s chuckles at your comment. But your interest is piqued – is something wrong with Aaron? Surely he’d tell you, right?

The case has been a busy one – are they ever not busy? – and since you specialise in linguistics and the unsub has an affinity for notes, you’ve spent most of your time with Reid and Blake. Combine that with the lack of sleep and free time, you haven’t really seen Aaron all that much.

So is something going on?

You don’t have time to ponder. There’s victims to worry about.

+++

“So, Agent Y/L/N,”

You will admit, Detective Gray has a certain… swagger to him. Reminds you of Derek.

“You ever been to New York before?”

If you were still in college, you’d swoon over his accent. That New York twang.. does things for you.

But you’ve got a very handsome unit chief who treats you so well, and you’ve only got eyes for him. You can’t stop thinking about him, in fact. You haven’t kissed him in nearly twenty-four hours.

It’s barbaric. Cruel.

God, where is he? Can you kiss him right now?

On the other side of the room, Rossi and JJ watch you stir your tea as you and the detective talk. They don’t miss the faraway look in your eyes, and they certainly don’t miss the interested look in the detective’s eyes. There’s two very different understandings of the conversation, they’re sure.

Hotch walks over, blissfully unaware, and is about to make small-talk when he notices the direction of his team member’s gazes. He follows, and that same frown from earlier appears – Rossi just catches it.

“Have you met Detective Gray, Aaron?” Rossi stares.

“I have.. spoken to him, yes. He’s a good detective.”

Rossi and JJ share a look.

Times like these, they’re so glad to be profilers. There are very few people that read Aaron Hotchner like a book, you’re the perfect example, but the one time JJ and various other members of the team have felt like real profilers is when Hotch has done something, maybe an eye twitch or when his left eyebrow rises just a little, and they immediately go Oh! That’s a tell!

And they get giddy, before remembering they’re professionals and he is their boss.

JJ smirks and raises her eyebrows, “Yeah, he’s a real good detective.”

Hotch’s eyes narrow for half a second before he excuses himself.

+++

It’s Hotch’s fault, really. So why should he be annoyed? Flustered? Jealous?

God, if you even thought for a second that he was jealous he’d never hear the end of it.

He was the one that told you to go with Derek to the M.E., and that an officer was there waiting. That officer was Detective Gray, who has seemed to take quite the liking to you.

Hotch can’t blame him. You won him over, even though he tried to resist. You’re irresistible and it’s infuriating sometimes.

So when Hotch sees a moment to finally get some alone time with you, albeit on the clock and en route to speak to a witness, he grasps it firmly in his wonderful hands and tries not to beam like a little kid on Christmas when you approach the SUV.

“Well hello, Agent Hotchner,” You greet, hopping into the passenger seat.

“Agent Y/L/N,” He nods.

There’s a quick case recap for the first few minutes, throwing in a few personal theories and guesses on what you expect when you arrive at the witness’s house, but when that dies out the two of you are left with silence, which isn’t uncomfortable or uncommon. But you have to ask.

“There’s rumours being spread about you, you know.”

Hotch hmphs, hands tightening on the wheel, “There’s always rumours about me.”

“Oh?” You tease, eyebrow raising, “So you admit you’re popular?”

He doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t react. Doesn’t even do that thing you find absurdly attractive – when he lifts an eyebrow and gives a half smile that isn’t really a smile but it still lights up his eyes.

He looks more stoic than usual, staring straight ahead with calculating eyes. Originally, you thought he was overly focussed on the case, a confusing victimology combined with a police department reluctant to help will do that to you, but now… maybe the teasing from the team has some truth to it.

It’s silent the rest of the way. Even when you ask about possible dinner plans for when you get home, Hotch replies, “I think it’d be best if we focused on the case. For now.”

You bite your tongue and agree.

+++

Remember Grumpy Cat?

A month into dating, Hotch revealed he’s aware it’s Garcia’s nickname for him. It’s sort of an inside joke between the two of you, and that year for his birthday he received a birthday card from you with said cat on the front.

(There was a sweet message inside, too, that Hotch still carries with him years later)

Now, as he’s sat next to you on the way back to the police department, he is a mirror image of the disgruntled face of the famed cat. If the situation was different, i.e. he wasn’t giving you the cold shoulder, you’d have a camera in his face and Garcia would have a new contact picture for him.

When he pulls into the department parking lot and goes to jump out, you stop him with an, “Aaron.”

You never really call him Aaron during cases. It doesn’t feel right.

He sits back in his seat and you look at him.

When he sees you try to stifle a laugh, he rolls his eyes.

“It’s not funny.”

You purse your lips, smothering a grin, “I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t need to.” Even though he’s looking forward at the wall, you notice a little quirk on one side of his mouth.

“So it’s true, then?” You ask.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You jokingly shove his shoulder and he finally directs his gaze to you. “You know what I’m talking about. You’re extra grumpy today.”

“I haven’t slept in a while.”

“So it has nothing to do with you being jealous of Detective Gray?”

Hotch releases a deep breath, his whole body deflating with it. That tells you everything you need to know.

“Wow,” You say, “Aaron Hotchner jealous? In this day and age? I never thought I’d see the day.”

“No.” He butts in, “I was observing and concluded he was too close and too interested in you, given that we’re here trying to save lives.”

“Right,” You hum, “Sounds jealous to me.”

Hotch can’t pretend he’s angry when you look at him like you do, this teasing lilt to your voice and the ceaseless softness in your eyes.

“Maybe I was a little jealous.” He admits, a murmur that is spoken out of the side of his mouth that becomes a smirk.

“Aha!” You laugh, “I knew it! And Rossi and JJ know it, too.”

Hotch can’t help the groan that leaves him at the reminder. Of course they know. They’ve looked smug for days, and no one on this forsaken team looks smug unless they’ve encountered some juicy gossip.

Out of the corner of his eye, Hotch sees you lean over the centre console and rest there on your elbows. His head turns and faces you, to which you pucker your lips and wait patiently for him to move closer.

Aaron looks especially smitten when his eyes flicker from your eyes to your lips and up again, closing his own to kiss you in the privacy of the SUV. He plans it to be chaste, a simple reminder that you are his and he is yours and you don’t need to worry about anyone else, but you have other ideas when he moves back and you follow him, kissing him repeatedly.

Your lips almost bounce off his a couple times, coming back a few centimetres just to go back in and kiss him again and again. Hotch gets frustrated, large hands coming to hold your face in place as he really kisses you, gently but passionately moving his lips against yours as his heart hums in his chest.

“This is highly inappropriate,” He breathes, when the lack of air becomes too much.

You glance around, the parking lot is dimly lit and you’re in the far corner of a higher floor. “I think we’re okay.”

The cheeky grin on your face is reciprocated by the love of your life, and he’s quite happy to continue where you left off when you move in again, your hands resting on his chest contently.

Both of you get a text simultaneously. It’s Rossi.

You’ve been gone a while. Either the lover’s quarrel got out of hand or you’re making up – and I don’t want details – but people are asking for you. Please return and look presentable ASAP.

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner x you #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #mine #kind of hate this. apologies

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cienie-isengardu · 3 years ago

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What's with the Black Dragon in MK, they confuse me?

I know they are a branch off of the Red Dragon, who they left because they thought the Red Dragon was too moral.

And they are lead by Kano, who has no morals and as an absolute piece of shit.

Kano doesn't confuse me.

Kabal "I used to be B.D. but decided to be a good guy cop, and even Raiden wanted on his team" and Erron Black "I might be a feminist/sexist man, because I never throw the first punch with women, and also seem soft of kids, unless they pay me a lot to shot them"

Both of these guys, who are the only other B.D. members I know of, are morally gray at best, which is what the what the Black Dragon left the Red Dragon because of?! So why aren't they just Red Dragon, and why does the Black Dragon even exist (other than to pad Kanos crotch)?!

To be honest, I’m not sure myself what is the deal between Black and Red Dragons (not the fraction / era of games I’m familiar or interested in) but I suspect it is something similar to the situation of Lin Kuei and Shirai Ryu. At some point some rogue element decided to leave and created his/her/their own organisation and since then both groups hate each other’s guts. And somehow along the line Kano took over Black Dragons and extended its operation to Outworld. I’m unable to comment on the “moral code” of Red Dragons because really, what is an honor in a crime organisation anyway, but sadly, alternative timeline doesn’t focus much on this conflict so Kano has (on screen) monopoly on dealing with weapons and other black market deals.

Whatever the excuse was to split, it was most likely about power and control or revenge than any morality whatsoever.

As for the members alone, I think it is less a matter of their morality and more why they joined or worked with Black Dragons in the first place. People join criminal organizations for money, for the thrill of danger, for protection or because they lack better options. Not sure how it was before Outworld Invasion and Netherrealm War, but the game does not show us the actual state of modern (alternative timeline) Earthrealm, or at least modern USA society. I mean, in a short period of time, out of nowhere came armies of monsters twice, murdering people right and left, destroying cities. The rebuilding for sure took time but beside the lasting psychological trauma, I’m sure the survivors demanded answers as to what the hell happened and did the governments know about other realms. It is not stated how much common people know now about Mortal Kombat and Outworld or general history of conflict, but the last invasion and the Netherrealm War changed the world in an irreversible way. We don’t have an idea about the situation of average citizens nor how countries managed to stave off political, cultural or economic post-war crises. We have a clue about show business like movie making and military operating inside and outside Earthrealm and cooperation between fractions representing different countries and/or continents. Our main heroes seem to do well, money-wise at least, but they all are in this or another way related to the military thus working for the government (or United Nations / NATO / whatever political-economic union happened post-war). That however does not rule out the possibility there are people who were abandoned or forgotten by their government, who were marginalised for whatever big or small reason. With what happened it is easy for me to imagine how humanity was militarized in case of another attack, and in result, how societies were controlled more tightly by their governments. In theory all for the security means but it easily could escalate into social inequalities increasing with each passing year.

There is a lot of worldbuilding the games did not tell us about but would help greatly to understand the relationship between characters, fractions and countries. Are there arenas that are now closed off due to some magic contamination or became the lawless zones but people live there because they are too poor to move into safer places? Are there more young people with special powers due to raping or magic means, as the remnant of the war? How religions work now, when humanity saw an army of demons? Are religious wars escalated, especially if faith in Elder Gods get renewed? Did religious fanatics start cultural crusades against certain social groups (like LGBT+, atheists, anyone tied to Outworld or at least looking unnatural, like orphaned Frost?).

And the more society is tightly controlled, divided into poor, unwanted and written off against the privileged ones (military), the more people rebel against authority. Which is how Black Dragons may fit into the new times, as a niche for desperate, angry people with little to none perspective on life. Under Kano’s guard, they can be as violent and uncaring as they want. They can hurt a government (military), get good money and fun and until they are caught, there is only Black Dragon’s laws (or lack of therefor) to worry about.

(Looking how extremely violent the Special Forces were during the raid on Black Dragon’s hideout, how Cassie went straight for killing instead of just injuring to arrest the criminals and put them before justice, I wouldn’t be surprised if the army was not popular anymore. And yeah, Cassie wanted to save her parents but as a soldier, she is bound to respect law… that may be much different than we known from our reality)

We, as gamers (viewers) know what scumbag Kano is because we see his crimes and how he interacts with other characters. To what awful level he managed terrifying strong heroes like Sonya. But most of Black Dragon members may know him just as the charismatic leader that time after time outsmart the Special Forces and always get a good-paying job for them, whatever it is a deal in the country or a totally different realm.

And those named characters that left are those who actually experienced on their own skin what a nasty bastard Kano was. Like in Mortal Kombat X Comics Series, Erron joined forces with Black Dragons out of desperation to help Kotal which ended badly for him because Kano left him to die, thus Erron’s personal hate for Kano and his buddies. Similar thing seems to happen with Tremor, sent on a suicidal mission and then also left behind without any care or remorse. Frankly, only MK9!Kabal seems to have left Black Dragons for moral reasons and actually made proper life changing decisions like joining the police and help citizens instead of serving criminals.

Because of that, I can see why Kano, despite his true nature, is actually admired or followed by a bunch of angry, rebellious, sociopathic people and why Black Dragons are doing well despite Special Forces (and Red Dragons) hunting them for decades.

#mortal kombat #black dragons #kano #my replies #the worldbuilding i need so badly to know because outworld invastion and netherrealm war is not something that special forces or raiden #could keep a secret from the world right?#sorry not much to say about red dragons #i see their conflict as similar to lin kuei vs shirai ryu #both groups do the same crimes but think they are better than the other #kano is a scumbag but i can see why he is respected by fellow black dragons #and why so many people may be into working for him #when the mk universe is a pretty grim and dark world to live in #my analysis #my headcanons #(more like mix between those two)

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whateverthedragonswant · 3 years ago

Note

You re-blogged a post which calls shipping wincest a crime. The OP of that post ships cockles. I really don't understand in what universe shipping RPF and making fantasies about living breathing people is okay but shipping a fictional ship is a crime. It's like upside down world.

Jensen hates RPF. He's had issues with his family members because of crazy cockles shippers. He despises how people post sexual cockles content everywhere, for eg twitter etc. He also gets sexually harassed a lot by the so called fans in conventions nevermind all the disgusting things they post about him online. Just look at how cockles shippers are calling Jensen a dog/slut and thinking he wears a collar for Misha. All because he had some shadows on his neck. It's right now there on twitter, people are literally tagging him.

I just find it funny when cockles shippers condemn wincest when they do and post disturbing shit every single day. Not to mention how much they degrade and harass Jensen. But I guess fictional incest shipping which hurts literally zero people is still evil but real life harassment and degradation of a man they supposed to stan in a-okay. Like I said, upside down world.

I hope for the day when people stop treating Jensen like a sex object and start respecting and appreciating him for his talent. But sadly seems like that day will never come given how almost all his so called fans are RPF shippers. Dude definitely deserves better fans.

Alright, Anon...

I'm only kidding. These reactions literally popped into my head when I saw I had a new ask and then opened it to see the words 'wincest', 'cockles', and 'jensen ackles' popping out at me. It's just a reflex now, I suppose, after this last week and a half or whatever it's been. I know you are just starting a discussion here and speaking your thoughts. I just needed a laugh and figured we could both share a chuckle. (that scene with Kate McKinnon makes me laugh every single time) As for your specific ask, though, let's dive right in, shall we?

Just a heads up, I wrote an entire essay back to you on this. Your ask gave me a lot to think about and that I wanted to discuss.

I'm putting it under the cut:

So for the post you mentioned I reblogged, please understand that I do not check every blog I reblog a post from. If it's a blog I follow, that's one thing. As a matter of fact, I'm going to break down my Tumblrina process for you: If it's from a blog I followed, it popped up on my dash, I liked it, and then reblogged it. If I don't follow them, then that means, I found the posts in the tag (whatever subject it may be, i.e. spn, dean winchester, bellarke, eddie diaz, etc.), agreed with it or just liked it in general, and decided to reblog it (or it popped up on my dash as a reblog from a blog I follow). The only blogs that I check out are a few faves I have for certain fandoms (which I am usually following) and ones that I am checking out to possibly follow, and any new followers of mine that pop up (in case they share/reblog interesting posts about a topic that I particularly like/shared interests, i.e. 911, game of thrones, etc.).

The reason I reblogged said post is because I felt that the theme of the post rings true, especially coming off of the recent experience I just had with a certain intense shall-we-say portion of Jensen fans (aka AA's). The post that you're referring to, despite the op's personal thoughts on wincest that was included, stated that no matter your ship, favorite character, or favorite actor (including their wives), basically in the SPN fandom, there is a bunch of hate going around and everyone is fighting with each other. Speaking to my recent experience and seeing it exemplified in other tags (that have nothing at all to do with Jensen himself), I agree. Whether it's hellers vs the anti destiel crowd, or Cockles stans vs J2 stans, or AA's vs Jared stans, or Danneel stans vs anti Danneel folks, or minions vs Jared stans, or wincest vs destiel, I mean the list goes on and on and on and on and on and...you get my point. So yes, I reblogged that post, because I tend to agree with the core message of it and that's what I do with posts I agree with.

Now, since you specifically mentioned Wincest, Cockles, and Jensen in relation to my reblogging the post, I'm going to focus on those three points:

Regarding your mention about what the op said about wincest being a crime, while I am not in their head and cannot tell you exactly what they were 100% thinking or feeling at the time of posting, when I read the post, I took it as they meant the idea of incest in general is a crime. And it is. While I don't pretend to know the laws of each individual country on each different continent, here in the US, it is absolutely a crime. So the op is not wrong on that particular fact.

While you claim that a fictional incest ship is not hurting anyone, please allow me to break it down in how it actually does when it comes to this particular incestuous pairing from this particular fandom:

1) Rules of the SPN universe do not include incest: while some people may question, 'wait, but in Game Of Thrones didn't Jon sleep with his aunt? Weren't people shipping that?' and they would be correct, the fact of the matter is that GRRM set up the ASOIAF universe to have the incest rule (modeled on our actual world history, meaning cousins married as did siblings at one time, even an uncle and niece never mind the vast age differences going on as gross as that just made me feel to type out, I actually may puke rn) and thus HBO/D&D also followed it in the GoT showverse. So, yes, while incest is taboo across the board in modern society, in that particular fictional universe, it's a rule. SPN did not set up that same rule or ever apply it at any point in the series. Their intention was never to make Dean and Sam as a possible romantic pairing.

2) Dean was Sam's parent which changes that whole sibling dynamic completely: While I am still not a wincest fan nor do I support it (and never will, I will show you why in this very post, Anon), I do get that some people ship what they ship. For example, I don't doubt that if Cas and Dean were actual blood brothers, due to the chemistry both J&M had, there would still be that group of people out there that would ship it, too. I would not be part of that group myself, but I have no doubt that they would exist. However, here's the real big problem wrapped up into this particular relationship: Dean was Sam's parent. Something he himself confirms in dialogue with Mary in season 12, that he had to be a father and a mother to Sam, to keep him safe. Which is reiterated by the story line itself and what we have seen for Sam and Dean all 15 seasons. So that love you see between the brothers, particularly on Dean's end, is indeed pure and special. But it's the love of a parent and their son. I've mentioned before (after the finale aired) on how I was in a similar position to Dean which is one of the reasons I believe I identified with his character and connected with his story. People who have gone through similar parentification often will look at their siblings (or whoever they had to be in a parental role for at the time) as the ones they have to go out of their way to take care of, to make sure that they're okay, and yes, be a parent to them, regardless of their age(s). Of course, they are going to have that bond that may not have happened otherwise. I always felt as if I was a parent to my siblings and trust me when I tell you, that it takes a lot of work to undo that parentification and not only put yourself back in the right role (as an older sibling and not their mom or dad) but to also set up new boundaries and have a proper relationship with said sibling(s).

If you pay attention to the story throughout the 15 years (until the finale), the writers worked hard to set up a healthy relationship between Dean and Sam to where they would again be brothers and it would be more balanced between them. Because that's what they both deserved, it was healthier for both of them, and they could no longer continue to function in the old dynamic (they both had grown too much for that). That is why that scene in 15x17 where Sam begs Dean not to sacrifice Jack, that particular piece of dialogue, is so powerful (besides what it finally confirms what was long suspected about John and exactly what Dean went through to protect Sam). Now, if you take Dean and Sam out of the equation and put in two brothers from anywhere else (let's say Damon and Stefan Salvatore from TVD or Klaus and Elijah from TO or even Nathan and Lucas from OTH), while some might see chemistry there and ship it, it may have the ick factor for some (because again it's still incest, regardless of being fictional, in fictional universes where acceptable incest is not part of the rules), but I don't think you would see as strong a reaction to it, maybe? Maybe you would, I could be wrong, but I can tell you that from my personal perspective, the whole parent/child thing here is a VERY big ick factor for me and I will never support the ship.

3) Wincest basically glorifies the abuse that Dean (and Sam) suffered: You might be thinking, 'WHAT? How do you even get that?' Well, Anon, I'll tell you. I cannot begin to count how many posts I've seen on here (and on the bird app from people cross-posting those tweets here) where certain wincest fans enjoy the co-dependency that Dean and Sam have. As a matter of fact, a few months ago, I came across yet another post saying how much they loved it and I finally felt compelled to post something on that topic. Co-dependency is a byproduct of abuse. Google it, do your research, ask a mental health professional or an abuse expert, do whatever you gotta do but co-dependency 👏 in 👏 most 👏 cases 👏 is 👏 a 👏 consequence 👏 of 👏 abuse 👏 and/or 👏 neglect 👏 that 👏 formed 👏 in 👏 childhood. As someone who is an abuse survivor and had years of work to put in to overcome not only the trauma but things like co-dependency and parentification, it absolutely floors me when I see posts like this and the op's genuinely think it is an earmark of their ship that should be celebrated. Tbf, I am not saying all wincest fans think along those lines, but the ones that do, well they are concerning. Either they are completely clueless to the horrible truth of that co-dependency and all it entails or they're aware but just don't care (which is the more horrifying and terrible option imho).

And it also glorifies the abuse they suffered by the point I made above about the parentification. That is something a parent does to a child and it forces them to grow up way too fast (i.e. Dean being left at a young age with a gun to watch after Sammy and care for him, cook for him, make sure all of his basic needs were met, protect him from any monsters that might show up, when John would leave them in a hotel room for a few days to go hunting or bed Adam's mom, either one really), and it's something that has ripple effects later in life. So if people enjoy that parentification dynamic (such as 'omg Dean so loves Sam since he cooked him dinner, cooking is Dean's love language and they are soulmates' which doesn't take into account that actually while Dean may enjoy cooking for those he loves, it's been shown throughout the show that he cooks for Sam in order to take care of him while also it's something he actually feels he's good at, meaning he's meeting Sam's basic needs again - season 8 when Sam is going through the trials is a prime example), that glorifies the abuse since they're enjoying the byproducts of it. Again, I'm not saying all wincest fans are saying 'yay, co-dependency and parentification, so sweet omg', but the ones who are and actually post that shit on SM - yeah, they need to either do some research or some deep inner reflection, whichever applies.

4) Wincest being seen as a QPR and therefore, is covered under the LGBTQIA umbrella, which is just...no: In recent months, I was told by a wincest fan on here that some see their ship as a QPR, aka a queer platonic relationship, and that I obviously needed to do more research because I clearly didn't understand that Sam and Dean were very much LGBTQIA. 🙄 If you read the article I just linked you or even google it yourself, this term does not apply to Sam and Dean. Not only because they are brothers (and are exemplifying a parent/child dynamic as I mentioned above) but also because this was a term that aro and ace individuals used to describe a relationship that they might enter that did not include sex or any type of romantic type of love. (obviously, it's up to the individuals who enter into a QPR how they conduct it between them, I'm not telling anyone how they should do so or anything like that, and obviously QPR's are not exclusive to a single community) While Dean and Sam are committed to each other as brothers, that term is not meant in the relationship type of way if that makes sense. Dean is not avoiding dating or having casual sex because he's in a committed QPR with Sam. Sam dates Eileen and Dean encourages him to in the last season, so again, no exclusion or commitment there. It's not a QPR. And the fact that a portion of the fandom tries to claim this time and time again, and demands that wincest be given the same consideration as say the idea of destiel or Cesar/Jesse or Charlie/Rowena when mentioning the LGBTQIA umbrella is not only problematic but also ridiculous and hurtful. I identify as LGBTQIA myself and a family member of mine is aroace. When these fans make this claim to justify the romantic shipping of Dean and Sam, it's hurtful to that particular part of the LGBTQIA community and disregards the reason the term was created in the first place, while flying in the face of those who are actually LGBTQIA. (don't we have to deal with enough of people equating queer love with incest, pedophilia, and other taboo and vile things enough as it is? Look at that whole rant from Denver Con 2021, for crying out loud) So yeah, that's a no, and like I said, it's hurtful.

5) Wincest sometimes translates to J2 shipping which also quite possibly makes Jensen uncomfortable as well: While you mentioned that Jensen is uncomfortable with Cockles (and I'm not disagreeing with you but more on that later), imagine how uncomfortable he (and even Jared) are with the idea of wincest and of course, J2. We already know of Jensen's "Destiel doesn't exist" soundbite and what you mentioned about his feelings on Cockles (just out of curiosity, did he ever say this at a con or in an interview? I mean the part where you said he had to tell someone in his family that he and Misha weren't actually involved), but I think I remember somewhere that it was mentioned by Jensen (in the early days, at a con with Jared, around season 3 I think?) that he wasn't too comfortable with wincest. (I unfortunately do not have a receipt for this, I'm going purely on memory here which it was 12 years ago so yeah, if anyone knows what I'm referring to, can they send me the link?) Not to mention the show's attitude towards wincest in general (see scene A and scene B), and even Jensen's very own explanation about a scene that he and Jared reworked (in the recent Inside Of You podcast), where I don't feel he was making an anti-wincest statement or confirming/denying anything about the ship like some believe, but it does confirm through his own words that he and Jared do not view Dean and Sam romantically when playing the characters and acting our their stories. Even though he was just talking about him and Jared deciding to switch lines for the scene, he specifically says that the original sequence felt too much like a couple breaking up in a romcom and they were "not Sam and Dean Winchester". While he was only explaining why he felt the scene wasn't working for him and Jared (who came up with the solution to the issue by flipping the script), it's right there.

So while Jensen (and Jared) may not mind people shipping the brothers because they are fictional characters and may just have the attitude 'ship and let ship', when it translates to J2 (which tbf, destiel sometimes translates to Cockles as well), that's when it potentially could take on a life of its own and make either actor whose name is involved uncomfortable. Where people actually speculate and spread the false narrative that Jensen and Jared are in a romantic relationship and secretly have been for years, that both of their wives (and now families) are covers for them because they're both Texas dudebro men who cannot come out publicly never mind to their families of origin and people from their hometowns. (which again, tbf, some Cockles shippers make very similar speculations about Jensen and Misha, and some of them spread very similar false narratives about those two) Now, I don't know Jensen personally nor do I know for a fact if he has ever spoken publicly about this topic or if Jared has even, but I highly doubt that he is comfortable with that/those kind of speculation/rumors spreading throughout the fandom (enough that it somehow gets back to him or his family or his co-workers, etc.), whether it's him and Jared or him and Misha (as you mentioned). However, because I don't know for a fact or have evidence to support this thought, I can't say that 100%. But I'm assuming that he may not be completely comfortable with the RPF shipping as you claimed, no matter who it involves. I'm sure if people started speculating that he and Michael Rosenbaum were romantically and/or sexually involved, or even him and Alaina Huffman let's say, that he would not be thrilled with that either. After all, the man is married, he has kids and a family, and his privacy should be respected as such. No one should be speculating about his sexuality or his romantic orientation.

And tbf to J2 and Cockles shippers alike, I have seen some from both camps (particularly in the case of Cockles since I don't really traverse into the J2 tag obviously) begging their fellow shippers to stop posting tweets and tagging Jensen for example. Begging them to stop bringing it to the actors' attention, because it's purely meant to be a fandom thing. Because they don't want to be disrespectful to Jensen or Danneel or their family, or to Jared and Gen, or to Misha and Vicky (I know this has obviously changed now but I do remember these types of pleadings happening when they were still married). But unfortunately, there are some in both camps who take it way past the line than it should have ever gone and then of course, there is that small group for each one that takes it to the extreme.

So I completely understand what you mentioned about Jensen's discomfort with Cockles and I heavily sympathize with him if he did indeed have to confirm to family members of his that he was not in a relationship with Misha. No one should have to do that, especially when it's just fantasy-fueled rumors and speculations that people who do not know him in his personal or professional life made about him (and/or Misha).

Personally, I don't ship Cockles. I never have and never will. Same goes for J2, and even Jenneel and Jarevieve. I don't ship real people couples. To me, Jensen and Misha are just friends, same goes for Jared and Jensen (regardless of the prequelgate drama as of late). Jared seems happy in his marriage to Gen, Jensen with Danneel, and Misha was with Vicky when they were married. I know a lot of people speculate otherwise, RPF shippers and non-RPF shippers alike, some anti people included. But that's what the guys continue to show us through SM and con panels, etc. So until let's say Jensen or Misha comes out and says 'yeah, it's official, we're dating' or Jensen and Jared say it or even Danneel and Gen (obviously I'm throwing out hypotheticals here), then I don't buy into any of the speculation. It's truly none of my business who any of these men are involved with romantically and/or sexually.

Now as far as RPF shippers go, if they're doing it respectfully and quietly, I don't completely see the harm (like Nian back when they dated, tho tbf I was never in the TVD fandom so I have no idea if they ever had any negative experiences like that when it came to their fans). But when it's being brought to the actors and possibly affecting their personal lives and/or actual relationships, that's when it becomes a problem. So, once again, if Jensen actually went through the experience that you mentioned, then that's definitely a problem, and people should be more respectful and considerate of not only his feelings but also his personal life. I, too, would be hopeful that Jensen would have only positive and respectful interactions with his fans. I cannot even begin to imagine what this man has endured over the years (i.e. with someone doxxing his family's address, sexual solicitation of him solo and him and Danneel together) or what any of the other SPN cast (and even crew) has gone through when it comes to certain parts of the fandom.

As for the hypocrisy you mentioned, as a general statement/point, yes, you are correct. But tbf to that op, the point they made in that post was not hypocritical. It literally was about the hatred and fighting and overall toxicity in the SPN fandom, across the board. They're not wrong about that. Just as you're not wrong about the point you made about a lot of supposed Jensen fans objectifying him and harassing him (not only sexually, when some fans get mad at him, like say with the prequelgate thing, they actually tweet him horrific things as well). I, too, hate to see all of that and I wish that Misha himself would stop adding fuel to the fire (like some of the stuff you mentioned here, the whole 'i like to be on top' thing, etc.). But tbf to Misha, I don't see Jensen discouraging it at all. They do the photo ops, Jensen has responded to his tweets in the past (nothing I've seen recently I think), he didn't discourage Danneel from posting that picture of him reading Misha's poetry book nor did he tell her to take it down after she tagged Misha on where his heart was in the picture (they were doing promo for the book obviously). Hell, he didn't even ask Danneel to take down the photo she posted of him in his...pajamas? Underclothes? (I have no idea what) In order to get her followers' (aka Jensen's fans') attention to what she was posting about and literally said "now that I have your attention" in the caption. And that's his wife lol! It's still objectification regardless of whether it's approved by Jensen, her, or their family. So, tbf to some of these people who see Jensen as a sexual object or desirable fantasy (and/or ship him with other real people), if Jensen is truly that uncomfortable, he needs to step up and take a stronger stance. Assert stronger boundaries for himself and his family. Regardless of whatever fans he may lose or whatever lashback he may receive.

Because when he says things like 'Easy' when fans ask him to look as if he's in love with Misha at a photo op, or he does a skit onstage that is a recreation of a humorous accidental kissing scene from a well known romcom with the guy, well that's going to continue the objectification as well as the feeding of the fantasies. (basically, it continues to add to the problem and not stop it in its tracks) It's going to add fuel to the fire, especially in this fandom. And I would think that at this point, he, Misha, Danneel, Jared, and Gen are all well aware of that. In a level world, all of the fandom would see it as the jokes the guys intend for them to be, and not as evidence for their theories of Jensen being secretly in love with Misha or Jared or whoever. They wouldn't speculate on every little word they say or rewatch interviews of them 62 times with a how-to-read-body-language guide at the ready. They would just take what these people say at face value and stop assigning tone and intention, which then would not leave any room for wild speculation or any out there theories. But, sadly, that's not the world we live in. There are some who try to live like that and make the world a better place, and then there are some who just continue to make it a certified shitshow for the rest of us. But, I digress.

And a disclaimer: I sincerely hope this doesn't come across as me saying it's Jensen's fault or Misha's or Danneel's or Jared's or Gen's, because that is NOT what I'm saying at all. I'm saying that if either man (meaning Jensen or Misha) is truly uncomfortable with the sexual related content that people are posting for Cockles as you mentioned, there are steps both of them can take to try to scale it back or to take a stronger stance. They have every right to assert boundaries with their fans. I myself, while not shipping Cockles, have mostly had positive interactions with Cockles fans on here (sadly, I cannot say the same for J2 fans), and I would like to say that if any of those individuals heard Jensen or Misha stating that they were uncomfortable with any of it, that those individuals would sit up and go 'alright no more top!Misha or bottom!Jensen' jokes'. Not that they were the ones making them, I'm just using an example from within the Cockles fandom to make my point.

So to sum up my points:

wincest may be a fictional ship but it can actually be hurtful (from all of the points I made above) and not as innocent as you implied in your ask

I personally do not ship Cockles or any RPF - I don't judge others who do but if it is affecting said RP's in any way, shape, or form in a negative fashion, then yes, that is hurtful and needs to stop

Jensen (and the rest of the SPN cast as well) deserves respect and the utmost consideration - sexual content whether that be a picture of naked Jensen and Misha or a fic about how Jensen and Jared have sex on set should NEVER be brought to any of those actors, on SM, in fan mail (do people still write that even?), or in person - that is not just crossing a line, that's crossing a whole goddamn stadium of lines - imagine if they showed up to your work place with naked pictures of you and your co-worker or asked you to autograph a story where your co-worker is continually railing you in your office while your significant other sits outside in the waiting room completely unaware - if that's really happening, it's cringe-inducing and it needs to stop, that is the very definition of harassment, real people equals real world rules, remember that

I think I covered everything you mentioned in your ask, Anon. Idk about you but I am exhausted.

But I am glad you opened up a discussion about all of this and gave me your viewpoint. Actually, due to all of the drama recently due to this fandom, I've been going through this blog (slowly and surely), removing certain content in order to clean it up and get everything organized because I plan to take a long break to recharge. I'm pretty much removing most of my SPN content (except metas I've written and my Jensen posts because I am a fan of his contrary to the AA rhetoric). I am not ashamed to say that this recent experience with my asks has just absolutely sucked the energy right out of me and I need a break. But I will say I do appreciate when people do come in respectfully and start civil discussions, whether they agree with me or not, so I thank you for that. At least that was how I took your ask. ;-)

I hope you have a great rest of your evening, Anon.

#ask #ask answered #anti wincest #jensen positive #anti cockles due to content of ask #jackles

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journalxxx · 3 years ago

Text

By Hook or by Crook (5)

“What do you make of all this?” Toshinori asked, when they were finally alone. They’d momentarily parked the kid in the hallway with a cup of tea while the hero had followed Tsukauchi in his office as he took care of the last bureaucratic dregs of the questioning.

“As I see it, there are two major possibilities we ought to consider.” Tsukauchi said without taking his eyes off the monitor of his computer. “The first is that Midoriya’s quirk is just a mutation, and he is in no way related to All For One. His father is likely a government official whose position grants him knowledge of enough confidential files to make him fear negative repercussions in case his son’s quirk was publicly known, and has therefore enforced silence on the matter. We aren’t looking at any outstanding crimes here, although this man isn’t going to win any Parent of the Year awards any time soon.”

Toshinori grimaced. Wouldn’t that be nice? “And what are the odds of this being our case?”

“I wouldn’t bet my next paycheck on it, for sure.” Tsukauchi typed something on the keyboard, and checked his phone at the same time, before sighing and leaning back in his chair. “The other possibility is that Midoriya is indeed related to All For One, maybe even his son. He’s been fostered to a trusted associate of his and kept in the dark about everything.”

That option could be more statistically or genetically likely, but it still didn’t sit right with Toshinori. “That doesn’t sound like something All For One would do though. Why not raise him as a successor, or even just an underling? Surely another All For One wielder would have made for an important asset to his schemes.”

“You forget that Midoriya’s quirk manifested only two years ago. It is possible that All For One may have planned to do so, but lost interest when the child was deemed quirkless.” Tsukauchi scratched his head pensively. “As for why he didn’t keep the kid close since his birth… we can only assume it was out of caution. Fourteen years ago you had already put a significant dent in All For One’s syndicate and influence. Maybe he was already taking precautions against his own downfall, and didn’t want his potential successor to be involved in case things took a turn for the worse too quickly.”

“... I guess that makes sense.” Toshinori nodded. As per habit, he sent a quiet thanks to his lucky star for accidentally baring his secret to a damnably honest and capable member of the force such as Tsukauchi, God knew Toshinori himself wasn’t exactly cut out for fine deductive work. “In this case, the boy’s father…”

“...Is a former subordinate of All For One’s currently employed by the government, yes. Not a pleasant scenario to work with.” Tsukauchi waited for the printer to regurgitate a disproportionate stack of documents that made Toshinori instinctively recoil. The detective flipped through the paperwork quickly before sprinkling his signature on just about every odd sheet. “Regardless of which of the two hypotheses is true, I definitely want to look into this Hisashi Midoriya. He is by far the most suspicious aspect of the boy’s account.”

“Yeah. He doesn’t visit his family for a decade and a half, he doesn’t talk about his job, he doesn’t follow basic legal procedures, and you can tell he had more of an active role in encouraging Midoriya to hide the quirk than the kid lets on... It doesn’t exactly paint a reassuring picture.” Toshinori sighed. “This isn’t going to be easy for the boy…”

“It never is, when a family member is involved in criminal activities. But the fact that their relationship seems rather distant may make things a little less traumatic for him.” Tsukauchi checked his watch as he tidied up some stationery and turned off his computer. “Well, I guess I’m not too unforgivably late for my other meeting since we don’t have to question Mrs. Midoriya.”

“...Sorry about that. And for springing this on you all of a sudden.” Toshinori said with an apologetic grimace and his utmost sincerity. “You’re a saint.”

Tsukauchi’s small smile implied that he was well aware of the fact. “I’ll drive Midoriya home while I’m on my way to the city hall. Do you need a lift? Or do you want me to let you on the rooftop for a smoke?” That bit of code speak would never not be tragically ironic, Toshinori thought.

“No, I’ve already finished my shift for the day.” All three, scant, scattered hours of it. Japan’s finest, most dependable hero, ladies and gentlemen.

“Then thank you for your hard work.” His friend gave him a quick look and a brief, firm squeeze to his shoulder before heading to the door. No pity, no unrequested sympathy, no disingenuous praise, just straightforward respect and understanding. He really was one of a kind.

Midoriya was exactly where they’d left him, busy fiddling with his phone. He perked up when he saw them return. “Uh, my mother just texted me back. She says she’ll be home in about an hour. If you still want to talk to her.”

Tsukauchi hesitated. “It’s a little too late for me, I’m afraid. I’m expected somewhere else, but…”

“I can wait.“ Toshinori immediately volunteered. “It won’t be as thorough or official as if you interviewed her yourself, but if it can lighten your workload just a little…”

“...Well, I don’t see why not. Hop in the car with us then.”

The return trip was silent. Toshinori glanced at Midoriya a couple of times from the rearview mirror, and he always caught him in an ill-concealed state of unrest. Fidgeting with his phone, picking at the seatbelt, gazing nervously out of both car windows. Toshinori didn’t like that. Why all that agitation, now that the worst of the ordeal was supposedly over?

The boy eventually locked eyes with him. “...Oh. Uhm.”

“Something on your mind?” Toshinori asked.

“Uh, well, I was wondering…” His gaze dropped to his knees. “Are you going to tell my mother about my quirk?”

“I’m afraid so. She is bound to find out anyway, eventually. The police will issue an update on your quirk registration, as per the norm in such cases.”

“...Ah.” Oh boy, now he looked like a kicked puppy. That was just depressing.

“I don’t necessarily have to be the one to break the news to her though. If it makes you feel any better, you can tell her about the incident in your own words.” Toshinori offered, hoping to soften the blow.

“I… I think I would prefer that. Thank you.” The boy quietly acquiesced.

Tsukauchi shot Toshinori a pointed look. All right, maybe that wasn’t the most proper way to go about it, maybe standard procedure demanded the officer in charge to keep mother and son separate during the questioning and explain things personally in the most objective possible terms. But Toshinori wasn’t an officer, he was a washed-up alter-ego of the Symbol of Peace acting in semi-official consulting capacity, and he’d be damned if he didn’t try to make things a little less humiliating for the forlorn child in the back. He condensed that whole argument into a meaningful glance of his own, that Tsukauchi couldn’t hold for more than two seconds lest he drove them all straight into the back of a truck. Toshinori took that as unspoken permission to proceed as he saw fit.

“I’ll be leaving this in your capable hands then.” Tsukauchi said as the two stepped out of the car. The man had a veritable talent for conveying irony while maintaining the straightest of faces and the driest of tones.

“Your trust is deeply appreciated. Drive safely!” Toshinori shut the door of the car decisively and waved him off with a dazzling smile.

“Uhm. Okay.” Midoriya said, his eyes darting between the hero and the speeding car with obvious perplexity. “Mom won’t be here for at least another forty minutes. I can fetch that photo you wanted in the meantime. I think I know where it is… probably...”

“I’ll take you up on that, thank you.” Toshinori followed him across the parking lot and up the stairs of the apartment complex. The boy’s eagerness to please was a sight for sore eyes in this cold, self-serving world. “You really did something commendable today, you know? Not many people would be so ready to relieve the pain of those who hurt them. That villain owes you more than he’ll ever know.”

“Oh…” The boy fiddled with his keys as a light redness tinged his cheeks. “It’s nothing, really. It isn’t my place to judge anyone... let alone steal from them. I just hope he’ll get better soon.”

“I’ll keep you up to date on his condition, if you want.”

“Oh, you don’t need to! It’s fine!” Midoriya’s instinctual politeness clashed against Toshinori’s no-nonsense availability. It was a fierce battle, but one didn’t become the number one hero without developing a certain skill in staring people into reasonableness. Midoriya surrendered with a small smile. “...I-It would put my mind at ease though.”

“Then I shall.” Toshinori claimed with finality. “Honestly, I wish I could have done more today for you and Tsukauchi. You two took care of all the heavy lifting and data collecting while I just stood around doing nothing the whole time.”

“You did, didn't you…?” Toshinori’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. Well, he hadn’t been expecting that candid a confirmation of his uselessness. Midoriya flinched and started flailing about in obvious distress as soon as he realized he’d voiced that thought aloud. “N-No! I mean- I don’t mean that you were- What I’m saying is that you didn’t really need to come. But you did anyway! F-For my sake, I get that. Because you promised you’d help me out, even if you surely have better things to do with your time, and… I truly appreciate it. Really.”

Toshinori laughed softly. Yes, ‘truly appreciative’ was indeed the boy’s default mood whenever he was graced with the barest amount of consideration, as far as the hero had witnessed in their short acquaintance. He didn’t think it was some sort of hero-worship-related response either, the kid just seemed that sensitive to it. “Don’t worry about it. It’s part of the job.”

“Is it?” Midoriya finally opened the door and they stepped inside. He let out a small chuckle of his own as they removed their shoes. “I guess I have new insight to add to the online speculation about All Might’s decreasing workload. I guess it is to be expected if yo- if he’s taken to follow up on all his cases so thoroughly.”

Toshinori had to fight back a traitorous cough. “W-well, there is really no need for me to overexert myself nowadays as I used to do in the past.“ He started, automatically supplying his PR-certified response to any inquiry on the topic. Goodness, people really did notice, didn’t they? It was hardly a new concern, but still… “The crime rate has been decreasing steadily, and the industry is so saturated with heroes that there’s someone ready to intervene almost at any place and at any given time. And those heroes could use the money and exposure way more than me…” Toshinori trailed off as they made their way to the living room. The boy was regarding him with unnerving attention, as if memorizing his speech word for word. “There are other reasons too, of course…”

Midoriya cocked his head to the side curiously, expecting further elaboration. Then it clicked, and he fleetingly glanced at the hero from head to toe with open contrition. “O-Oh! Of course! Your… Sorry, I forgot.”

That simple sentence confused Toshinori so much that he couldn’t help but gape back. The silence grew very awkward very quickly. “...Uhm. So, that photo of yours?”

“R-Right! I’ll go look for it! Make yourself comfortable! Be right back!” The boy bolted fast enough to leave metaphorical dust clouds behind him.

Toshinori wandered to the nearest chair with small steps. He forgot. That was quite the feat, while literally standing in front of the sad, wrecked husk that Toshinori had become. Or maybe the kid hadn’t realized that his appearance was a relatively recent development. That seemed more likely. Perhaps he had interpreted his vague answer about his quirk to mean that the number one hero had always been just that, a sickly, overachieving twig in a bodysuit keeping his own skeleton in the closet for nearly forty years.

Toshinori let out a sigh. Quite the uplifting impression he was leaving with this young one.

His circling thoughts were interrupted by a yelp, and the thundering noise of some heavy objects crashing just outside the living room.

“Midoriya?” Toshinori called, jumping to his feet. The second unanswered call had him by the source of the noise in a moment.

“I’m here! I’m fine!” Midoriya’s voice finally answered, from behind a half-closed door conspicuously marked as ‘Izuku’ by a familiar blond-banged nameplate.

“What was that?”

“Just… some stuff that fell down...” Toshinori approached it and peeked inside. Even from his limited perspective, he could see the boy sitting on the floor and rubbing his forehead, next to a tipped-over chair.

“And did that stuff happen to include you?” Toshinori deadpanned, inviting himself in... and pausing on the threshold. Taking in the interior of the boy’s bedroom. Which wasn’t the priority right now. He willed himself to ignore the star-spangled elephant in the room assaulting his senses and knelt down beside Midoriya, gently peeling his hand away from the sore spot. “Are you hurt?”

“No, no, it’s just a bump.”

“You should put some ice on it.” There were no cuts or outer signs or damage, which was a good start. Toshinori’s eyes fell on the bottom half of the toppled piece of furniture beside them. “...Did you seriously try to climb on a rolling chair?”

“I do that all the time. It’s steadier than it looks!” There was no appropriate reply to such a claim, but Toshinori’s judgemental glare was enough to make the boy squirm. “I’m fine, really-”

“Ice.” He pointed sternly at the corridor. Maybe there was still a minimal chance of preventing an oversized lump on Midoriya’s forehead from outing to Tsukauchi and other responsible adults the fact the boy had nearly cracked his skull within five minutes of being left in Toshinori’s charge.

“All right. Just a second.” Toshinori kept an eye on the kid, making sure he wasn’t struggling to keep his balance, as he made his way out of the room. Room that Toshinori was now free to observe in all its embarrassing magnificence.

A soft All Might carpet. All Might-themed bedding. Walls plastered with All Might posters. All Might-patterned curtains. Shelves and shelves and shelves of All Might action figures and books.

It was always… humbling to be reminded of how much passion and care people from so many different walks of life could put in something as trivial as collecting hero merchandise - his hero merchandise, more often than not. Popularity and revenue were Toshinori’s very last priorities when it came to his job, but, despite merchandising being exactly about those, he wasn’t opposed to the practice in principle. It did help cement the reassuring image of the Symbol of Peace in the collective mind, which was definitely one of his lifetime goals. It brought a sizable influx of wealth to the agency’s treasury, which he largely redirected to charity and assorted emergency relief funds. It did seem to spark genuine joy and entertainment in both children and adults. And, when none of these arguments were enough to wash away the vague sense of guilt that came with profiting off the love and admiration of Japan’s fine citizens, Toshinori reminded himself that there were much worse, self-destructive indulgences people could waste their savings on. Alcohol. Tobacco. Drugs. Troll 2 DVDs. The like.

Midoriya reappeared nursing an ice pack against his temple. “Sorry about that. The photo should be in one of those boxes.” He gestured towards the wardrobe that sported a brown cardboard box on the top, and then towards the floor, where its twin lay sideways after a presumably rough landing. They cut through the tape of the latter and, after Midoriya emphatically assured him that he didn’t mind him browsing through his personal belongings in the slightest, Toshinori joined the kid on the carpet in their quest for the photographic Holy Grail.

“I probably slipped it inside one of these…” The boy said, pulling out small piles of notebooks and publications. Toshinori confined his perusal to dated magazines, comics and books that didn’t seem likely to invade Midoriya’s privacy. The first box yielded no result.

“Maybe it’s in that one. Let me get another chair- oh.” Toshinori only needed to raise his arms and strain slightly on his toes to comfortably reach the top of the wardrobe and retrieve the second- crap, that was heavy. How the kid planned to pull it down himself while standing on wheels was beyond him. “Thank you.”

Toshinori was sitting cross-legged and flipping through an old gossip magazine lavishing pages and pages of speculation on the meager information they had managed to scrape together on his association with Dave - ah, those were the days… - when Midoriya finally let out a triumphant Aha!

“Found it!” He regarded his prize with joy, but his expression quickly morphed into concentration and then confusion. Toshinori held out his hand expectantly, and the boy deposited the photo into it while indicating a specific spot. “It’s, uh… my father’s this one.”

Toshinori looked at the man in question.

And froze.

“He doesn’t…” He heard the boy say distantly, as if from kilometres away. “He looks… a bit different from the picture in the police file…”

Toshinori coughed. He was different, all right. Subtly, cunningly so. Both men had short, snow-white hair, both had relatively plain features and pale complexion, both had faintly-colored eyes that could pass as blue under the right light. They were similar enough that they could be mistaken for one another, when described verbally. But the man in Tsukauchi’s file was a stranger to Toshinori. The man in this photo wasn’t.

“This-” The hero managed, between small bursts of coughs that he couldn’t restrain. “This is the man that- told you to keep quiet about your quirk-”

“Y-Yes.” Midoriya was gawking at him with obvious concern, and it only got worse when the hero’s words sank in. “I-I mean, he didn’t- he just- we sort of agreed that-”

“And the-” Toshinori covered his mouth with his hand, already tasting iron on his tongue as he patted his trousers to find some tissues. “The last time you spoke to him was…?”

“A little less than a month ago.”

Something inside Toshinori just gave up on trying to hold it together. He erupted into a brutal fit, vicious enough to shake his whole body and squeeze his eyes shut. He heard the boy asking something in alarm, and he felt warm blood trickling down his chin before he finally got ahold of a handkerchief to press against his lips. He hacked and spluttered for an interminable minute, his throat and chest tight and sore from the effort. Eventually it died down, and he found himself hunched over and bracing himself against the floor, wheezing and struggling for breath as something shuffled beside him. He turned to check on the noise, and saw Midoriya tapping on his phone.

“Don’t.” Toshinori rasped, swallowing down the remaining blood coating his mouth and reaching out to gesture at him dismissively with his clean hand. “I’m fine.”

“N-no, you aren’t.” The kid looked on the verge of fainting himself. Toshinori followed his horrified gaze, only to notice he’d sprayed plenty of little crimson stains on both the photo and the carpet, not to mention his own clothes. Damn, that was a mess even by his standards. “B-But- it’s okay, I’ll call an-”

Toshinori unceremoniously plucked the phone from Midoriya’s grasp, made sure that he hadn’t dialed any number, and tossed it on his bed. No need to make the situation even more headache-inducing than it already was. “I mean it. It happens. Don’t worry.”

Toshinori cleared his throat as he contemplated the ruined piece of evidence anew. At least he hadn’t marred the spot containing ‘Hisashi Midoriya’. Despite the less than optimal angle, there could really be no doubt. There was no mistaking that face for anyone else’s, it had been seared in Toshinori’s mind by more than three decades of pain and regret.

...Shit.

Shit.

Toshinori collected the picture from the floor and stood up to drop it on the kid’s desk, where it sat innocently surrounded by dozens of pieces of licensed All Might memorabilia.

“...So this is your father, and he’s alive and well.” He stated it aloud and with scorn, because he felt it was important for the universe to hear that its sense of humor didn’t fly with everyone.

“Ehr. Yes. Do you-”

“All right. Okay. Fine.” Toshinori turned on his heels and headed for the door. “Excuse me, I have to make a phone call.”

“...To your doctor?” Midoriya asked apprehensively, visibly starting to doubt the hero’s mental as well as physical well-being.

“No.” He almost stamped a huge, bloody handprint on his slacks before remembering that he still looked like he’d just slaughtered a pig and devoured it raw. “Can I use the bathroom?”

“Second door on the left.” The boy muttered, too stunned by now to object to any of Toshinori’s tangents.

Toshinori washed his face, neck and hands, and rinsed his mouth. He decided he couldn’t bother to do anything about the state of his clothes. He took care of scrubbing the sink too once he was done, making sure he didn’t accidentally leave any red smears on it. He dried his hands and fetched his phone.

“Tsukauchi? Sorry, can you make it back to Midoriya’s house? Yes, as soon as you can. ...No, but we found that photo. You need to see it, it’s… it’s him.”

He closed the call and stared at his reflection on the mirror. His brain didn’t produce a single coherent thought. He walked back to the kid’s room.

Midoriya was peering at the picture intently, even though he hadn’t moved it from where Toshinori had left it. The man’s eyes fell on the scattered blots on the carpet. In his experience, there wasn’t much hope of removing them completely, but it seemed rude not to try, at least. “Got any cleaning supplies?”

Midoriya blinked at him owlishly. “In the bathroom. Under the sink.”

One short trip later, Toshinori was back with paper towels and rubbing alcohol. He waved the boy off when he made to kneel down beside him to help. He handed him the ice pack that lay forgotten on the floor, and the kid pressed it back on his forehead mechanically as he sat on his bed. Toshinori could benefit from only a couple of minutes of silence before Midoriya spoke.

“You know him.”

“...Yes.”

“You’re upset.”

Toshinori wondered if it showed on his face, or if it was just an educated guess based on the half-baked spontaneous hemorrhage he’d just displayed. He didn’t reply, his attention ostensibly focused on dabbing lightly at each smudge.

“Why…” The boy’s voice faltered. “W-Why is there a photo of another man in the police records?”

Toshinori couldn’t hold back a deep exhale. He wasn’t sure he was the most qualified person to have this conversation with the boy. He surely wasn’t the most eager to.

“All Might.” He felt compelled to raise his gaze. Midoriya was pale, his eyes wide and shiny with unshed tears. His expression was heartbreakingly imploring. “Please.”

He was going to find out anyway, at least the bare bones of it. Kindness was one thing, cowardice was another. Denying him an answer at this point felt more like the latter.

“I know him because he is known to the police. He’s a villain.”

“...A villain…?” The information bounced right against Midoriya’s shock. Toshinori gave him a curt nod. “No… no, that’s… not…”

Toshinori could track the gradual, painstaking process of acceptance the poor kid was going through from the aborted expressions quickly blurring into each other. Horror, fear, confusion, disbelief. Tears rolled down his cheeks, and he clamped a hand over his mouth to stifle a sob.

“A-Are you sure?”

Toshinori hesitated. Was there any other possibility they weren’t considering? “Are you absolutely certain that that’s the person you’ve been talking to?”

“I… I’ve never met him in person. B-But mom has, and she’s been talking to him too. She said it’s him.”

“...Then I’m afraid there can be no mistake.” It felt like dropping a boulder on the child’s chest, and the way Midoriya crumpled onto himself, cradling his head in both his hands, reinforced that gut-churning impression. Toshinori made no effort to conceal the sympathy in his whisper. “I’m sorry, kid.”

“H-He said…” The rest of that thought was swallowed into distraught silence.

“He told you he worked for the government?”

Midoriya took his time to answer, and he did so with a half-choked snort. “He… he never did, actually. I thought… He said things that… made me think…”

Toshinori grit his teeth. Figures. That silver-tongued demon wouldn’t spare even a child from his precious little mind games. “I can imagine.”

The silence that followed was only broken by the boy’s quiet sniffles, and it was so long that Toshinori believed the kid to have exhausted his reserve of bravery for further questions. He’d resumed his ill-concealed procrastination via blood-cleaning when the next inquiry dropped.

“What did he do?”

Oh, man. What didn’t he do? “He’s been involved in a variety of criminal activities, both directly and indirectly. He’s… quite the nasty customer.”

“Since when? How long for?” Midoriya gripped his head even more tightly, his fingers digging deep among his curls.

Toshinori had the distinct feeling that his well-meaning honesty was now trespassing into inadvertent cruelty. “We should wait for your mother before discussing this any-”

“Please.” Midoriya’s head snapped up, and the weight and emotion of those emerald eyes pierced through him like a blade. “Please, just tell me.”

Fourteen years of lies. Toshinori couldn’t bear to add even one more to the heap. “...Since long before you were born.”

Midoriya’s head dropped anew. Toshinori got back on his feet, unsure whether a kind word or a pat on the head could possibly ease that burden even slightly-

The ring of the doorbell made them both flinch, bursting that odd bubble of private desolation that had enveloped the boy’s room. They made their way out of the room, Midoriya quietly trailing behind the hero as the man opened the front door.

Tsukauchi opened his mouth to greet them, and froze. His eyes immediately homed in on the blood liberally splattered on Toshinori’s clothes, and on the melted ice pack Midoriya was still absently pressing to his temple.

“...What happened?”

Inko Midoriya had the same dark green hair as her son, styled in a way that made something inside Toshinori’s chest ache with nostalgia and familiarity. She had the countenance of a demure, quiet, respectable housewife that valued stability and her loved ones’ well-being above all, and would never even conceive of starting a family with anyone any less sensible than she was.

That was why Toshinori was thrown for a loop when, upon being informed that her absentee husband was a criminal, she simply closed her eyes and bowed her head with a sigh and a resigned “...Yes, I am aware.”

Toshinori let Tsukauchi lead the questioning, as usual. Inko had met ‘Hisashi Midoriya’ (under a different alias, at the time) when she was twenty-six, working as a secretary at the main branch of Detnerat. The man had been introduced to her as a representative from another support item company doing some preliminary checks on Detnerat for a potential merger.

This was unusual, but not exceedingly so. In the nearly thirty years he’d spent meticulously dismantling All For One’s organization, Toshinori had gathered evidence of him personally handling certain aspects of his schemes with surprising regularity, even relatively minor tasks or dirty deeds that could easily and safely be entrusted to his subordinates. He hardly ever found any specific reasons for All For One’s direct involvement. Toshinori strongly suspected that the bastard simply didn’t enjoy the lifestyle of the cooped-up, invisible puppeteer, and sometimes just felt like wrecking some havoc with his own diabolical hands.

Inko had been charged with supplying him with quite a sizable amount of rather sensitive data, but since the CEO in person had given the authorization, she had performed her task diligently and unsuspectingly.

Now, Toshinori had been expecting the worst to emerge while questioning the circumstances that had led Inko Midoriya to her current marital status. Without exaggerating, the very worst. Any sort of revolting account of manipulation, coercion, even human experimentation, there was no low All For One wouldn’t stoop to. They had confined the boy to his room before starting for that exact reason.

But apparently the universe wasn’t done throwing curve balls at Toshinori that day, and what they’d gotten instead was the succinct description of what seemed to be, by all accounts, a perfectly ordinary and unassuming workplace romance. One instigated mainly by Inko herself, no less. Toshinori’s strained mind didn’t quite know what to make of that baffling information, so it promptly repressed it.

“We didn’t keep seeing each other after he stopped coming to the company, but I did reach out to him when I found out I was pregnant. That was when I became aware that there was much I didn’t know about him.”

“How so?”

“He told me.” Inko replied simply. “He was... forward about it, in a way. He said that he couldn’t settle down in any given place, nor spare the time for being part of a family. He offered to let me join him in his activities, but… the way he worded it made it clear that he wasn’t talking of any sort of legal business.”

“Did he mention any details about what his ‘business’ entailed, in general or in that specific time frame?”

“No, not at all. But considering how we met, I assume he must be involved in industrial espionage.” Grief, brief but intense, shadowed on the woman’s features for a moment. “I… I resigned from Detnerat as soon as I found out. He had been asking rather sensitive questions about the inner workings of the company, and… even though I never technically shared confidential information, I felt like I had exposed it to too great a danger because of my irresponsible conduct. And, honestly… I was afraid of what could emerge if I kept working there in my condition.”

Toshinori rubbed his hands in his lap uncomfortably. No job, a son on the way, a presumably disreputable partner to deal with… What a wretched situation to find oneself in.

“You said he offered you to join him? In what way, exactly?” Tsukauchi asked from above the pages and pages of notes filling his notepad.

“...I am not sure. I didn’t ask, I had no intention of getting caught in that sort of environment. Nor did I want Izuku to grow up embroiled in dubious activities from an early age.” Inko’s brows furrowed, and her fist clenched slightly. “...I didn’t want him to feel abandoned either though. I didn’t want him to grow thinking his father had deserted him. I asked Hisashi to grant us that, at least. Financial support and the decency to call, once in a while.”

Toshinori couldn’t hold back a sharp cough at that. Inko regarded him with a mix of concern and suspicion.

He couldn’t blame her for it. He had accidentally caused her a fair share of grief when, her son having forgotten to warn her to expect guests upon her return, she’d opened the front door and found a freakishly tall, gaunt, haunted-looking, bloodied stranger looming in her hallway. Toshinori had waited in a conveniently secluded corner of the living room, trying to make himself look as small and non-threatening as possible, while Tsukauchi delivered the proper introductions and deflected the few concerned neighbors her terrified scream had attracted. Not exactly brilliant, as first impressions went.

“And he agreed to that?” Toshinori croaked.

“Yes. I was expecting some resistance, but… he agreed almost immediately.”

Toshinori gaped at the remissive-looking, soft-spoken woman who had once been capable of browbeating All For One into exercising a modicum of fatherly commitment. This whole Midoriya case was getting more and more unbelievable by the hour.

Tsukauchi cleared his throat pointedly. Toshinori scraped back together what little dignity he had left and tried to soldier on.

“Please continue, Mrs. Midoriya.” The detective encouraged.

“There isn’t much else to say, I think. I didn’t hear from him for months after that. I contacted him a few days after Izuku was born, and we’ve kept in touch ever since.”

Tsukauchi tapped his chin with his pen for a few moments, his expression deeply focussed. Then he looked Inko straight in the eye.

“You are being… unexpectedly forthcoming about all this, if I may.”

Inko let out a deep sigh. “I was never under the impression that we could escape the consequences of Hisashi’s actions forever. As soon as Izuku was born, I decided that I would never subject myself or my son to undue duresses just to keep my husband’s secrets. I told Hisashi as much as well.”

Toshinori had to stifle another wet cough with his handkerchief. How on earth was this woman still alive?

“And he had no qualms about this declaration?”

“No. It rather amused him, actually. He said that any mother worth her salt would put her offspring’s safety above that of their parents. And… something about natural selection and survival of the fittest…” Inko’s eyes flickered upwards briefly, like those of a very normal wife exasperated by the very normal idiosyncrasies of her very normal husband. “He does go off on such tangents.”

“So you aren’t concerned about any possible retaliations on your husband’s part because of your cooperation with us?”

“Oh!” Her eyes went wide, almost shocked by the mere suggestion. “Oh no, I really don’t think he’d be capable of something like that.”

Oh, how very wrong she was. Toshinori frowned, admittedly perturbed by the level of trust All For One had managed to establish within the family without ever even deigning to step in their household. Precautions would have to be taken to protect the Midoriyas from the tragic fate that usually befell all those who were deemed traitors by the Symbol of Fear.

More and more questions followed. With his habitual thoroughness, Tsukauchi pursued a multitude of topics and leads that hadn’t even occurred to Toshinori, at least not so readily. Timing and means of communications, occasional postal deliveries to and from the family, details about the sums of money regularly deposited in the family’s account, and so forth. Toshinori was rather out of his depth here, but he tried his best to help Tsukauchi sort through the reams of documents, receipts, records, and diverse paperwork Inko produced at the detective’s request. By the time Tsukauchi declared to be satisfied with his preliminary inquiries, he had earned himself two plastic bags bursting with evidence, and Toshinori had developed a burgeoning migraine.

As they finally made their way to the entrance, Toshinori glanced at the door to Midoriya’s bedroom. Amidst that cascade of new revelations, they’d barely touched upon the topic of the villain attack and of Midoriya’s quirk with his mother. Toshinori felt genuinely sorry for the difficult conversations that were sure to follow between those two.

He hadn’t realized how late it’d gotten until he stepped outside the Midoriyas’ apartment. Sunset had come and gone, and the lampposts and the bright squares of the neighbors’ windows were the only sources of light in the moonless night of that unassuming residential area. As the door closed behind his back, squeezing into nothingness the rectangular glow framing him and Tsukauchi, Toshinori felt the darkness weigh on his shoulders and seep in his bones almost physically.

He felt, suddenly, extremely tired.

“I’ll drive you home.” Tsukauchi’s wasn’t an offer, so Toshinori didn’t refuse.

“Thank you.”

They walked to the car as his friend made a couple of quick calls to instruct some agents to watch the house until the next morning. The fresh night air would have felt like a small bliss to Toshinori on any other day, but in that moment it only rattled whatever unpleasant manifestation of his unease had lodged itself in his lung earlier that afternoon and hadn’t left since. He coughed a few times in his fist, then a few more on purpose to make sure he got most of the discomfort in his throat out of his system before he settled in the passenger’s seat.

The drive was quiet. Toshinori gazed absently out of the window, letting the new awareness sink in his mind like a stone in a pond. All For One was alive. All For One was still alive, somehow. Toshinori couldn’t fathom how. They had never retrieved the body, that was true, but there was precious little they had managed to retrieve from the location of their fight back then. It was nothing short of a miracle they’d found Toshinori himself quickly enough to lend medical assistance. The only reason why they’d been able to keep the public from learning of the accident was because it hadn’t happened on the mainland, and the tiny, uninhabited island that hosted it had all but been wiped from the maps. That his foe may have survived that disaster, considering the damage he’d sustained, was almost inconceivable. Toshinori was pretty sure he’d actually caught a glimpse of the man’s exposed brain after landing the last-

“Are you all right?” Tsukauchi asked quietly.

The corner of Toshinori’s mouth twitched upwards. “I’m never going to defy New Year’s fortunes again. Moving away from Tokyo was a terrible idea.”

“This is a good thing. If you hadn’t, All For One would still be out there, and we’d be none the wiser.”

Hell. Five years. For five years they’d been none the wiser. How much strength had All For One regained in five years, while Toshinori’s own slowly went down the drain? How much of his criminal network had he managed to rebuild? How many unnoticed, unreported atrocities had he been plotting and executing, unbeknownst to all? The mere notion made Toshinori’s skin crawl.

But Tsukauchi had the right idea, there was no point in brooding over the current situation. Things could have turned out a lot worse. If Toshinori had already chosen a successor and exhausted One For All’s embers, by now he’d be powerless and useless, and the burden of facing his revived nemesis would have fallen entirely on the new, inexperienced wielder. That truly would have been a worst-case scenario. But as things stood, he could still rely on his quirk for a decent amount of time. He could still tie this dreadful loose end himself before passing the torch, and he’d spare no effort in the endeavor. He’d pursue the monster to the ends of the Earth if he had to, even if it meant wearing himself down to nothing for the rest of his life.

Or meeting his gruesome, bitter end in the process.

Toshinori shivered.

“So,” he heard himself say, “where do we go from here?”

Tsukauchi gave him a stern, silent scrutiny, then he told him.

#my hero academia #boku no hero academia #All Might #Toshinori Yagi #Naomasa Tsukauchi #deku #izuku midoriya #inko midoriya

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