#because by the end of the game it had to feel like lincoln could make any of those choices by himself

[eagleeyethree]

Mafia protagonists and violence

One origin of the Sicilian Mafia is said to be from the protection of lemon trees—the Italian state was very weak during the 19th century, and so it could not protect the people or their property very well.

Violence and the threat of violence then became a tool to solve problems with.

And each Mafia protagonist views and uses violence differently, sometimes closer to the original idea of protection, sometimes further.

Violence has never really been Tommy Angelo's choice of language. He's the least likely to resort to violence, and he views the Mafia as his job that just happens to be illegal. In fact, he never really gets used to violence, not really. He wanted to be able to talk about it with his wife like it was a normal job. Frank tried to teach him that enforcing Salieri's laws was no different than enforcing the state's. But still, Tommy only stomachs violence if he can justify it as self-defense. Ironically, the only time he's able to kill outside of that frame is in his last act of violence to leave the Mafia for good. To protect his family.

Vito Scaletta, by nature and by environment, resorts more quickly to violence. He's constantly surrounded by the idea that violence solves problems. The largest influences in his life--his father, the military, jail, and Joe—all reinforce this idea, and his mother and sister who don't, serve as an example of how to be exploited.

But, he also only uses force in an aggressive environment, whether that's in a shootout or to defend someone being harassed. In fact, Vito was the one trying to convince Joe not to go in guns blazing after Henry's death. He wanted to know why Henry was killed. What was the problem that pushed Wong toward murder? Was it justified?

In Mafia 3, he works fine with Cassandra despite clashing with them in the past because it was all business. No hard feelings because now he knows the rules to violence.

On the other hand, Lincoln Clay knows violence is just a means to an end. He's the most aware of the psychological intimidation factor associated with violence, and that's the entire basis of the game. A fight where no one fights is ideal, but the next best thing is a fight where the opponent is emotional and irrational and you have the advantage. Hell, he's probably been aware of that from a young age—how he appears to people, society and how to play to expectations. It's only gotten reinforced by the Vietnam War and CIA.

It's his tool for revenge, for interrogation, but he doesn't like prolonging it unnecessarily. He falls into violence as a way to ease his feelings for guilt a little bit, but then spares Alvarez when he remembers the ultimate purpose behind his violence: to protect others from Marcano.

[anjellaufeyson]

The truth lays within jealousy- Bellamy Blake

Warnings: basically just cursing and knife play

Summary: Bellamy's your enemy but things begin to take a turn once you start fighting to push through emotions you feel towards each other.

Bellamy Blake made my blood boil, and I prayed I made him feel the same way. I was best friends with his sister, Octavia. Meaning, I had no choice but to be in the same tent or room as him. The rivalry between Bellamy and I formed when the 100 first came to Earth. We were on dividing sides, he had everyone in his control and made them feel free but that ended dangerously. I was with the group that wanted to help and make sure we survived. 

“Do you always have to disagree with me, Blake?” 

He turned to look my way, his hand resting on the map below our waists laying on a table. “Do you always have to have disagreeable ideas–Kane?” He spit my last name out as if it left a bitter taste. 

I’m just thankful he didn’t call me that other name, the one he knew I so deeply despised. My eyes rolled on instinct, “You’re such a dick, you are aware of that flaw right?” 

He glared my way, “You always keep me aware don’t you, princess?” 

I fucking hated him, “Don’t call me that, Blake.” 

“What will you do if I say it again?” 

My father made me train with guards on the Ark since I was a child, I could easily take Bellamy, and him forgetting that made me always want to remind him. I stabbed my knife into the wood table and as soon as I did Octavia walked in. 

She moved the tent opening away, “What is going on?” 

Bellamy folded his arms making his muscles fight with his shirt. I tried my best to not stare but as much as I loathed this man and wished him nothing but the absolute worst–he was the formation of my desires. And that left lingering resentment. “Your friend is threatening me, O.” 

I unstuck the knife and pointed it at him from the other side of the table as I talked, “He was testing me, Tavia. It’s his favorite pastime,” I said staring harshly at Bellamy. 

“How about you both go train, maybe away from each other? You can work with Murphy and I’m sure you can find someone, Bell.” 

I gave a half smile, “I’m sure every–what’s the number now?” I made it look like I was deep in thought, “Like 50 girls now? Are willing to train with you, you know your way around the 100, Blake.” 

Bellamy gave me dead eyes as his jaw clenched. I struck a nerve. “O, get out.”

Octavia usually hates when Bellamy orders her around just cause he's older than her but she listened without a fight this time. She knew I crossed some form of a line. She mouthed sorry to me and walked out. 

I moved over to him, my knife laying close to his throat. He didn't care, he didn't even bat an eye. He almost smirked at the notion.

“Tell me, princess, was I supposed to pent up everything I was feeling like you do? Tell me, how's that going for you?” 

My eyes widened a bit, “I’m sorry do you want me to just go sleeping around with every dude on this earth because what? I can’t deal with my emotions correctly?” 

He bit his tongue. 

“I guess maybe I should take your advice because I see how greatly it’s been going for you. The known asshole you only go to for a hit and quit it.” 

Bellamy eyed me, “Is this you trying to offer up, princess?” 

My breath was shaky, I scoffed, “Go float yourself.” I stormed out of the tent and went to the only place inside Arkadia where you could blow off steam. The training spot. Bellamy usually overwatches, sometimes with Lincoln so I wouldn’t be surprised if he made his way over here.

Murphy made his way over to me, “Need a partner?” 

I nodded my head and decided to not take my anger out on him–at least not with words. “Yes, but I can’t promise I’ll go easy on you, Murphy.” 

He smiled as he got into his stance, “I didn’t expect you to. I remember seeing you training from time to time with soldiers. I’m going to have to bring my A-game now.” 

I laughed and it made me feel a bit better, say what you want about Murphy–but his sarcasm and wit will always make you laugh. I got into position and Murphy punched towards me and I moved my hand fast enough to push it away and block it. We kept going back and forth, not taking it seriously. 

Soon, as expected Bellamy appeared. He crossed his arms as he analyzed our performances. Suddenly both of us began to take it a bit seriously, but I chose to ignore Bellamy. He knew I was holding back, it showed in Bellamy's face.

“Let me try.”

I ignored him but Murphy stopped fighting, I tried to regain my breath. Murphy was like Bellamy’s sidekick since the beginning, that faded and nobody tried to make an enemy of Bellamy. Like it or not he did run a lot of things we live by. Especially with Clarke gone. 

He got into position and I immediately went to attack. I moved close and elbowed his face causing him to move forward. I went straight for a kick to his bent knee and easily got him down. When getting up his hand stayed on my thigh as he rised up, it was like he was purposefully trying to mess me up. That could be the only reason.

“Damn Bell, maybe she should replace you as a trainer,” Octavia said while spectating. Monty and Jasper laughed. 

Bellamy stood up and hit me immediately in the gut. From the force, I took a couple of steps back, and I cursed under my breath. He shrugged with a grin forming on his lips. When he went to pull another move I grabbed his arm pointed it up, and used my left arm to push down on his arm. I twisted his shoulder and I knew I was causing pain. I had this move done to me and I was in pain for a couple of days. 

For a split second, I heard a groan from him, it almost put a smile on my face. “C’mon Blake, are you even trying? If you lose this–I can only assume where you’re going to go to…or who.” Maybe it was a low blow but he pissed me off before. 

My fist came towards him and he grabbed my arm tightly, almost hard enough to leave a bruise, and flipped me onto the ground. I tried not to give him the satisfaction of knowing I was hanging onto this fight by a thread. I kicked his stomach and he caught my leg and tried to make me fall but I did the one trick that took me years to master–I kicked with enough force off the ground for a second to gain a stance to be able to kick him back. 

Bellamy went to hit me in the face but I got to him first and elbowed him. He spit out blood and turned his head up with a grin as he wiped the blood. He tricked me and by making it seem like he was going for a low attack, I didn’t move up in time to block him and he punched me. My lip began to bleed. 

“Guys, I think you should stop now. You proved you both can fight–now stop,” Octavia warned. 

We ignored her warning and kept going. I was determined to beat him, and I didn’t have a real reason why. Part of me wondered if this was my only source of letting my emotions go, maybe I wasn’t that different from that man that I hated. We are both stubborn, witted, determined, quick-tempered, reckless, and aggressive. 

“One hit and we’re done,” he said. “Better make yours count, princess,” he whispered. The way he made it seem, that nickname was for our ears only. He never said it loud enough for others to hear and I almost preferred it that way. And when he did, he was only focused on me. As if nobody else was on the earth with us. 

My thoughts were distracted and he immediately brought me down. My back hit the ground and I winced in pain, my back arched a bit hoping that would help the pain. Before anyone could help, Bellamy quickly moved to my side. “Are you okay,” he asked almost frantically in a low voice. He sounded genuine.

The gaze I had on him changed, it softened even though I was in pain. I was utterly confused. “What are we doing,” I whispered, his back covering everyone’s view of my lips. At best, they’d hear mumbles. 

“Your solution to letting your emotions out, remember?” He lightly laughed, “Fuck, we’re idiots.” Bellamy brushed his thumb on my bottom lip, “Truce?” 

My brow almost furrowed, “Truce? Does that mean we suddenly don’t hate each other?”

He laughed and began to help me up, “No, definitely not. You’re still the bane of my being.”

I stood up and got my words out fast enough before everyone crowded me to see if I needed Abby, “And you’re still the only person I hate in this world.” 

Bellamy slowly backed away as we kept our eyes on each other, everyone kept asking if I was okay but I didn’t reply. I was too fixated on the man I detested. “I’m fine, I’m fine,” I said while brushing past them. The one person who got horrendously hurt was Bellamy, yet he didn’t complain or stop them from helping me. 

“I’ll help you to, Abby,” I said putting his arm around my shoulder which felt oddly–right. When I looked back to show Octavia I was going to help him, I just saw a group of disbelieving faces. I’d be shocked too, never would I have ever felt pity or thought of helping Bellamy. “I kicked your ass.” 

He laughed as if he didn’t have drops of blood on his shirt, “I’d call it a fair fight.” 

“I’d call it my win.” 

He glanced at my lips then my eyes, we came to a halt. “You want to finish this?” 

I could feel his hand brushing along my neck, “I think we’re probably banned from training together for a bit. Though I think that wasn’t a training session–that was fighting.” 

Bellamy’s gaze dropped, he stared at me, almost desperate as if he was yearning for something he never even got to get ahold of for years. His touch became more apparent, he stared at my lips as he talked. “I’m not talking about in the training spot.” 

My lips parted and suddenly every feeling I had for him disappeared. Only one stayed- the desire I clung to. Instead of going to Abby, Bellamy and I went into his tent.

It was as if both our strengths had been regain, like we were both pushing our limits to be ignoring our pain to mix it with pleasure. Bellamy took his shirt off with such poise and it made me roll my eyes. I started undressing myself also. My eyes lingered on his chest, God, he was so defined. Like a Greek god or a statue made out of generosity.

"My eyes are up here, princess," he said as he pushes me down onto his bed.

I didn't like how much I secretly enjoyed him calling me princess. "You're so full of it, Blake."

He kissed me roughly, as if we didn't have time to spare to be kind to one another. Our hate lingered and I loved it. I winced in pain because of my lip and that caused him to groan into my mouth. He was making it harder and harder for me to not rush this.

I switched spots with Bellamy, God forbid he lets me control one thing. I kissed down his neck being anything but gentle to the parts I knew he was going to have a bruise at tomorrow.

"Fuck," he whispered.

My hands traveled down his chest and before I could do anything he traded spots with me. "Watch yourself princess, if you keep going- I don't think I can stop myself."

"I don't want you to."

Bellamy used his knee to spread apart my legs. He put his hand around my neck and slowly pushed down so I’d be lying flat on my back. I felt my stomach growing butterflies. “I will be anything but gentle with you–” He paused and stared at my lips. “But I think you can take it.”

[agent-calivide]

Can we talk about how each IEYTD game goes out of its way to humanize the Zoraxis workers more and more?

Like, the first game the only Operatives we see are the hit man in Squeaky Clean and Caliente, all the other operatives are exclusively audio or text. And sure, there are some good ones, like Lincoln and Ulanova, but they're the good ones. They tried to reach out to the EOD and run away from Zoraxis, they're people who just had a come to Jesus moment.

Then in the second game, we see more of the operatives physically. The have character models, they're implied to be right there, and we hear them interacting with each other. They warn when the boss is having a bad day, they rag on each other, but they also snap at each other and have an obvious pecking order. Sometimes they're friends, sometimes they're coworkers, but there's this one-dimensional air to them. They have no growth, no goal of escape, they just have the goal of helping The Boss.

Then we get to the third game, where there's the obvious one of Ollie. A man who was tricked by Zoraxis into being in those accursed Kinesium underwater labs. He's kind, he was tricked, so again, it's a sort of "he's one of the good ones". He didn't know Zoraxis was evil, how could he? He feels bad for the giant squid, he just wants to help the world! He's a victim! But then there's the Kinesium mines. The days since last incident board has a note apologizing to the victim with a frowny face, the supervisor has a love letter from their partner in their locker and carved their initials into their helmet. Their password is their and their partner's initials, and while left and right robot indicate that the supervisor isn't great to them, it's clear this faceless, nameless person is that. A person.

And it makes you feel bad for having to shoot at a sniper, or gas a henchman, or throw someone's grenade at them when you go back and replay the older games. Because these people at Zoraxis are just that. People. They're not like Fabricator, or Sans, or Caliente or Hivemind or Zor themselves. They don't relish in their work, they don't look for reasons to hurt people. They just have their job, which entails getting their hands dirty.

And once you get deep enough into Zoraxis, you can't pull back. Look what happened to Lincoln, who was given threats to her family for trying to keep Zoraxis from hurting people, or Anna who got shot for trying to defect. Maybe it's because they're traitors, you may say, after all, they were working against Zoraxis. Maybe if they left quietly they would have been fine.

But we know that's not true. Because when someone retires from Zoraxis, we know that they don't just get to have a peaceful retirement for one reason.

Zor doesn't leave loose ends. When you leave Zoraxis, you'll likely lose your life. Once you're too far in, there's no. Getting. Out.

The average Operative is just as much a victim as the average EOD agent.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Is antitrust anti-labor?

If you find the word “antitrust” has a dusty, old-fashioned feel, that’s only to be expected — after all, the word has its origins in the late 19th century, when the first billionaire was created: John D Rockefeller, who formed a “trust” with his oil industry competitors, through which they all agreed to stop competing with one another so they could concentrate on extracting more from their workers and their customers.

If you’d like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here’s a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/14/aiming-at-dollars/#not-men

Trusts were an incredibly successful business structure. A bunch of competing companies would be sold to a new holding company (“the trust”), and the owners of those old standalone companies would get stock in this new trust. The trust would operate as a single entity, hiking prices and suppressing wages. If anyone tried fight the trust with a new, independent company, the trust could freeze them out, by selling goods below cost, or by doing exclusive deals with key suppliers and customers, or both. Once a trust sewed up an industry, no one could compete. The trust barons were rulers for life.

The first successful trust was Rockefeller’s Standard Oil, which amassed a 90% share of all US oil. Other “capitalists” got in on the game, forming the Cotton Seed Oil Trust (75% market share), the Sugar Trust (85%). Then came the Whiskey Trust and the Beef Trust. America was becoming a planned economy, run by a handful of unelected “industrialists” with lifetime appointments and the power to choose their successors.

A century after overthrowing the King, America had new kings: “kings over the production, transportation and sale of the necessities of life”. That’s how Senator John Sherman described the situation in 1890, when he was campaigning for the passage of the Sherman Act, the first “anti-trust” act. The Sherman Act wasn’t the first time American lawmakers tried to protect competition, but it was the first law passed after the failure of competition law led to the hijacking of the nation by people Sherman called the “autocrats of trade.”

https://marker.medium.com/we-should-not-endure-a-king-dfef34628153

The Sherman Act — and its successors, like the Clayton Act, are landmark laws in that they explicitly seek to protect workers and customers from corporate power. Antitrust is about making sure that no corporation gets so powerful that it’s too big to fail, nor too big to jail — that a company can’t get so big that it subverts the political process, capturing its own regulators:

https://doctorow.medium.com/small-government-fd5870a9462e

If American workers are derided as “temporarily embarrassed millionaires” who won’t join the fight against the rich because they assume they’ll soon join their ranks, then the American rich are “temporarily embarrassed aristocrats” who would welcome hereditary rule, provided they got to found one of the noble families. The goal of the American elite has always been to create a vast and durable dynasty, wealth so vast and well-insulated that even the most Habsburg-jawed failson can’t piss it away.

The American elite has always hated antitrust. In the 1980s, Ronald Reagan, abetted by Robert Bork and his co-conspirators at the Chicago School of Economics gutted antitrust through something called the “consumer welfare standard,” which ended anti-monopoly enforcement except in instances where price hikes could be directly and unarguably attributed to market power, which is, basically, never.

It’s been 40 years since Reagan took antitrust out behind the Lincoln Monument and shot it in the guts, and America has turned into the kind of aristocratic kleptocracy that Sherman railed against, where “great families” control the nation’s wealth and politics and even its Supreme Court judges:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/06/clarence-thomas/#harlan-crow

Anything that can’t go on forever will eventually stop. Monopoly threatens the living standards, health, freedom and prosperity of nearly every person in America. The undeniable enshittification of the country by its guillotine-ready finance ghouls, tech bros and pharma profiteers has led to a resurgence in antitrust, and a complete renewal of the @FTC and @JusticeATR:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2021/08/party-its-1979-og-antitrust-back-baby

Key to the new and vibrant FTC is Commissioner Alvaro Bedoya, who, along with Commissioner  Rebecca SlaughterFTC and Chairwoman Lina Khan, is part of the Democratic majority on the Commission. Bedoya has a background in tech and privacy and civil rights, and is a longtime advocate against predatory finance. He’s also a law professor and a sprightly scholarly writer.

Earlier this week, Bedoya gave a prepared speech for the Utah Project on Antitrust and Consumer Protection conference, entitled “Aiming at Dollars, Not Men.” It’s a banger:

https://www.ftc.gov/system/files/ftc_gov/pdf/bedoya-aiming-dollars-not-men.pdf

Criticisms of the new antitrust don’t just come from America’s oligarchs — the labor movement is skeptical of antitrust as well, and with good cause. Antitrust law prohibits collusion among businesses to raise prices, and at many junctures since the passage of the Sherman Act, judges have willfully perverted antitrust to punish labor organizers, treating workers demanding better working conditions as if they were Rockefeller and his cronies conspiring to raise prices.

This is the subject of Bedoya’s speech, whose transcript is painstakingly footnoted, and whose text makes it crystal clear that this is not what antitrust is for, and we should not tolerate its perversion in service to crushing worker power. The title comes from a 1914 remark by Democratic Congressman Thomas Konop, who said, of antitrust: “We are aiming at the gigantic trusts and combinations of capital and not at associations of men for the betterment of their condition. We are aiming at the dollars and not at men.”

Konop was arguing for the passage of the Clayton Act, a successor to the Sherman Act, which was passed in part because judges refused to enforce the Sherman Act according to its plain language and its legislative intent, and kept using it against workers. In 1892, two years after the Sherman Act’s passage, it was used to crush the New Orleans General Strike, an interracial uprising against labor exploitation from longshoremen to printers to carpenters to hearse drivers.

Bosses went to a federal judge asking for an injunction against the strike. Though the judge admitted that the Sherman Act was designed to fight “the evils of massed capital,” he still issued the injunction.

The Sherman Act was used to clobber the Pullman Porters union, which organized Black workers who served on the Pullman cars on America’s railroads. The workers struck in 1894, after a 25% wage-cut, and they complained that they could no longer afford to eat and feed their families, so George Pullman fired them all. The workers struck, led by Eugene Debs. Pullman argued that the strike violated the Sherman Act. The Supreme Court voted 9:0 for Pullman, ordered the strike called off, and put Debs in prison.

In 1902, mercury-sickened hatters in Danbury, CT demanded better working conditions — after just a few years on the job, hatters would be disabled for life with mercury poisoning, with such bad tremors they couldn’t even feed themselves. 250 hatters at the DE Loewe company tried to unionize. Loewe sued them under the Sherman Act, and went to the Supreme Court, who awarded Loewe $6.8m in today’s money, which allowed Loewe to seize his former workers’ homes.

This is what sent Congress back to the drawing board to pass the Clayton Act. Though the Sherman Act was clear that it was about trustbusting, the courts kept interpreting it as a charter for union-busting. The Clayton Act explicitly permits workers to form unions, call for boycotts, and to organize sympathy strikes.

They made all this abundantly clear: writing in language so plain that judges had to understand the legislative intent. And yet…judges still managed to misread the Clayton Act, using it to block 2,100 strikes in the 1920s. It appears that passing the Clayton Act did not save a single strike that would have been killed by the bad (and bad faith) Sherman Act precedents that led to the Clayton Act in the first place.

The extent to which greedy bosses used the Clayton Act to attack their workers is genuinely ghastly. Bedoya describes one coal strike, against the Red Jacket Coal Company of Mingo, WV. The mine’s profits had grown by 600%, but workers’ wages weren’t keeping up with inflation. The miners sought a raise of $0.10 on the $0.66 they got paid for ever carload of coal they mined. The company didn’t even pay the workers with real money — just “company scrip”: coupons that could only be spent at the company store. Red Jacket gave its workers a $0.09/car raise — and raised prices at the company store by $0.25/item.

The workers struck, Red Jacket sued. The Fourth Circuit refused to apply the Clayton Act, following a precedent from a case called Duplex Printing that held that the Clayton Act only applied to people who stood “in the proximate relation of employer and employee.”

Congress was pissed. They passed the Norris-LaGuardia Act of 1932, with LaGuardia spitting about judges who “willfully disobeyed the law…emasculating it, taking out the meaning intended by Congress, making the law absolutely destructive of Congress’s intent.” Norris-LaGuardia creates an antitrust exemption for labor that applies “regardless of whether the disputants stand in the proximate relation of employer and employee.” So, basically: “CONGRESS TO JUDGES, GET BENT.”

And yet, judges still found ways to use antitrust as a cudgel to beat up workers. In Columbia River Packers, the court held that fishermen weren’t protected by the exemption for workers, because they were selling “commodities�� (e.g. fish) not their labor. Presumably, the fish just leapt into the boats without anyone doing any work.

The willingness of enforcers to misread antitrust continued down through the ages. In 1999, the FTC destroyed the hopes of the some of the country’s most abused workers: “independent” port truckers, who worked 80 hours/week and still couldn’t pay the bills. Truckers were only paid to move trailers around the ports, but they were required to do hours and hours of unpaid work — loading containers, hauling equipment for repair, all for free. The truckers tried to organize a union — and the FTC subpoenaed the organizers for an investigation of price-fixing.

But the problem wasn’t with the laws. It was with judges who set precedents that — as LaGuardia said, “willfully disobeyed the law…emasculating it, taking out the meaning intended by Congress, making the law absolutely destructive of Congress’s intent.”

Congress passed laws to strengthen workers and judges — temporarily embarrassed aristocrats — simply acted as if the law was intended to smash workers. But by 2016, judges had it figured out. That’s when jockeys at the Camarero racetrack in Canóvana, Puerto Rico went on strike, demanding pay parity with their mainland peers — Puerto Rican jockeys got $20 to risk their lives riding, a fifth of what riders on the mainland received.

Predictably, the horse owners and racetrack sued. The jockeys lost in the lower court, and the court ordered the jockeys to pay the owners and the track a million dollars. They even sued the jockeys’ spouses, so that they could go after their paychecks to get that million bucks.

The case went to the First Circuit appeals court and Judge Sandra Lynch said: you know what, it doesn’t matter if the jockeys are employers or contractors. It doesn’t matter if they sell a commodity or their labor. The jockeys have the right to strike, period. That’s what the Clayton Act says. She overturned the lower court and threw out the fines.

As Bedoya says, antitrust is “law written to rein in the oil trust, the sugar trust, the beef trust…the gigantic trusts and combinations of capital…dollars and not at men.” Congress made that plain, “not once, not twice, but three times, each time in a louder and clearer voice.”

Bedoya, part of the FTC’s Democratic majority, finishes: “Congress has made it clear that worker organizing and collective bargaining are not violations of the antitrust laws. When I vote, when I consider investigations and policy matters, that history will guide me.”

There's only three days left in the Kickstarter campaign for the audiobook of my next novel, a post-cyberpunk anti-finance finance thriller about Silicon Valley scams called Red Team Blues. Amazon's Audible refuses to carry my audiobooks because they're DRM free, but crowdfunding makes them possible.

[kiarajyshi]

introducing! statistics

full name: kiara joshi

nickname: ki, ara

age: twenty-nine

date of birth: september 21st

zodiac: virgo

hometown & current: lincoln city, oregon

previous residence: cambridge, massachusetts

gender identity: cis woman

pronouns: she/her

sexual orientation: exploring

faceclaim: simone ashley

tw: cancer mention, therapy mention

before

born in san francisco, the joshi family moved to lincoln just in time for her baby brother to be born when she was five years old. truthfully, she didn't have many feelings outside of crying about missing her friends and dealing with having to suddenly share her parents.

a bit of a nerd in highschool, only in the sense that she was a mathlete and in the science club. the girl was a math genius. could have probably been a world renown mathematician if she had put her mind to it. but as a student, she was into robotics and football [soccer].

kiara was always a bit of a blunt person. not to be cruel or to cause way issues but genuinely because she didn't want to waste time with beating around the bush all the time.

While most knew she was applying to harvard, after all, she was the kind of girl that the regalia from the school even before being there. she always secretly applied to MIT. mostly, for her own enjoyment. to make sure she could actually do it. what do you know, she did. while it was sort of a backup school, she was proud of that acceptance and kept the letter. right next to the robot she built for bot wars that she was never allowed to participate in.

she may not have always looked it, but kiara also loves sports. her parents only let her join one, but she was often at all of the american football and basketball games. her books and homework in her lap while. pray you never bet against her or got into a fantasy football league she was in. because you definitely lost.

the problem with how they played that damn game… was that they couldn’t tell who’s dares were who’s. her dare had been about that lake… could it have been her’s? it was a question that tormented her for the weeks that followed. Into her next year of school…

after

the first year of harvard was one of the worst times she had experienced after chris disappeared. the guilt of what may have been hung over her head like an axe and all her focus seemed to go right down the drain. kiara had worked so hard to get into harvard, and things just weren't going how she needed. it was what led her into the office of her first therapist. anything to help.

kiara has one sorta ex. maybe. they never really talked about it. a first kiss and mostly emotional connection. a girl that was with her through the hardest part of her first year of college. with all of her issues at the time, the relationship had been rough and while she still holds her as a friend, they didn't make it after she left harvard and decided to go into education at cambridge college. but she still held her in her heart for being the person who got her to the therapist’s office in the first place.

therapy was... the best decision she ever made. while there were still some things she didn't speak of, there was so much more she did. in the end the coping mechanisms she learned through them helped her handle the things she couldn't say out loud.

through that, she also found the courage to walk away from the path of being a doctor and instead became a teach of math and science. she never knew she would enjoy it so much.

kiara found herself back in lincoln two years before the invitation. her father was diagnosed with cancer and while her brother was off at harvard... her mother needed help at home with everything. putting her big girl pants on, she offered and found herself teaching math and science to seniors and coaching soccer at new horizons.

this new... dare... has put kiara on edge but truth be told... she figured it was about time to face what happened. she didn't know about everyone else but she refused to allow it to fester in her nightmares anymore. something happened that night. something more than just a dare and it was about damn time they figured it out. they deserved that much... chris did too.

connection ideas

friends

you aren't her ride or die, but you matter. she'll listen when you need and ear. she'll help you when she can but won't drop everything. there are limits to her devotion. but you can count on the fact that she will tell you the truth whenever you need it.

besties

you are one of the chosen few. maybe someone from high school that lasted through the years? maybe someone she met after she moved back to lincoln or met in cambridge. all that matters is you are someone she considered close. someone she would be for if you called in the middle of the night. no questions asked.

fellow nerds

were you just nerds supporting other nerds? did you help her build the battle bot she never submitted?

people she tore down when they tried to bully her

she had a habit of tearing down athletes verbally based on their sports statistics so watch out.

crushes

she didn't have the option of dating or the energy really. she would have had to hide it from her parents. sneak around. AND deal with school? not happening. but she crushed. a lot. would you like to be one?

crusher..er?

idk, someone that had a crush on her? she probably never saw it or maybe destroyed your heart.. there are options.

enemy

were you an asshole? did you make fun of people just cause you could? were you a bully? well come on down! i bet you could have been her enemy.

arch nemesis... academically

you, you're the one that annoyed her. wasn't as smart as she was, or so she thought, and had to deal with it if somehow you got a .5 higher than her. you drove her to do better and in school, she hated you for it... now, she would thank you

extras

pinterest [x] playlist [x]

[cascowriteswords]

Doorstep from the prompt list, please!!!

It’s the 3rd bag of flaming shit Lexa has found on her doorstep in the same number of days.

She’d fallen for it the first time, quickly stamping the burning paper out only to find herself with an unfortunately smelly situation on her hands (er, feet?) and a ruined pair of house slippers. A quick and angry text was immediately shot off to Clarke in response, an image of her ruined shoes following. I really didn’t think you would resort to middle-school warfare tactics, Clarke. 

It had been met with unapologetic indignance. Raven is a free agent, Lexa. I can’t control how she reacts to her best friend being betrayed.

Lexa hadn’t answered, because Clarke was right and there was nothing else she could really say. She had betrayed Clarke, but she couldn’t apologize for what she had done when she believed it was the right thing to do. So even if she personally thinks Raven’s reaction is/was overkill, it doesn’t surprise her that she would come to Clarke’s defense so fiercely, and in the most annoying way possible. 

Lexa sighs and pulls the small fire extinguisher she normally keeps in the kitchen out from beside the front door, the space which has become its unlikely new home. She puts out the fire and then sweeps the bag and its contents into a dustpan, dumping it outside so as not to make her entire house smell like literal burning shit. 

When she goes to bed that evening it’s in a cold bed and a quiet room, no warm body tucked up against her or endearing quiet snores that Clarke swears she doesn’t make. 

I had to do it, I had to do it, she tells herself over and over again until she falls asleep. 

Somehow it doesn’t make her feel any better. 

xxx 

It happens again the next evening like clockwork. Lexa is sitting in the living room watching reruns of SVU when her doorbell rings. She sighs and clenches her jaw, teeth grinding audibly as she grits them and stands up. She knows there’s no point in trying to catch Raven in the act; she’s already long gone, and what would she do anyways? All that there is to do is clean up the mess she’s left and try to enjoy another evening spent painfully alone after more than two years of spending nearly every night hanging out with Clarke. 

I had to do it, I had to do it, the mantra repeats in the back of her mind. 

She grabs the fire extinguisher. 

Opens the door. 

But there is no flaming bag of feces on her doorstep. 

There is Clarke. 

Lexa stares for long enough that her eyes start to go dry, forcing a cartoon-like slow blink that makes Clarke smirk. She says, “Hey,” and Lexa blinks again. She’s been thinking about what she might say if Clarke reached out to her and now that it’s happening she can’t form even a single word. Classic. 

“This is silly,” Clarke says, evidently not needing Lexa to say anything anyways. “I miss you. I want to come home. Plus I think Lincoln is getting tired of having Raven and me crashing at his and O’s place. It’s not that big of a house you know.”

“I miss you too,” Lexa says, finally finding her voice. “The door has always been open, Clarke. I want you to come home.”

“Okay, good,” Clarke says, smiling and looking relieved. “So just say you’re sorry and we can pretend none of this ever happened.”

Lexa balks. “Clarke, I can’t. You know I can’t,” she says sadly, assuming this means Clarke will end up returning to Lincoln’s instead of walking through the front door with her. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Not technically Lexa, no you didn’t. But morally? Not even a twinge of regret for completely turning on me and stabbing me in the back?”

I had to do it, I had to do it. “I couldn’t show favoritism, Clarke. It goes against everything I stand for.”

“You didn’t have to show favoritism!” Clarke exclaims. Lexa’s eyes widen a tad at the raised voice and Clarke visibly gathers herself, chest rising as she takes a deep breath. “All you had to do was not hit me with a +4 card when I was about to finally win a game of Uno. I never win, Lexa, and you couldn’t just let me have it this once.”

“It wouldn’t have been fair,” Lexa repeats for the umpteenth time. Deflating because it seems like they’re just going round and round with this conversation versus finding any middle ground. 

“Lexa,” Clarke says, “Sometimes when you’re playing a harmless game with your friends and the woman you love, who makes you cum harder than you ever have in your life - your words, not mine - you can sacrifice just a smidgen of fairness. Don’t you think?” Lexa is about to argue that no, she can’t, until Clarke suddenly looks up at her through her eyelashes and takes a small step forward, the fingertips of one of her hands landing on Lexa’s hip. “I’ve really been missing you,” Clarke says. Her thumb finds the small strip of exposed skin between Lexa’s jeans sweatpants and her t-shirt and rubs a small circle. Lexa gulps, eyes darting down to Clarke’s mouth just as she’s licking her lips. 

“O-okay. You’re right and I’m sorry,” Lexa says, and the words only taste bitter for a split second because Clarke steps closer to her with those huge hungry blue eyes and she loses all train of thought. 

“Thank god,” Clarke says, both of her hands now on Lexa’s hips as she pushes her backward into the house. “That couch was killing my back, I’m too old for that shit. Now come remind me how comfortable our bed is, please,” she says, taking Lexa by the hand and tugging her towards the bedroom. 

Lexa is happy to oblige, abandoned morals all but forgotten. 

xxx 

An hour later, as they lay in a panting and sweaty heap diagonally across the mattress, the doorbell rings. Clarke raises a brow in question, and Lexa groans. “Can you please text Raven and tell her we’ve kissed and made up.”

“We did a lot more than kiss, babe,” Clarke laughs. “But yes. Texting her right now.”

[basilpaste]

🎶✨when u get this, list 5 songs u like to listen to, publish. then, send this ask to 10 of your favorite followers (positivity is cool)🎶✨

i dont do ask bait games like this and i am not going to send asks to other people because of that. but i AM going to take this as an excuse to music post because i listen to a lot of fucking music and im annoying about it.

JUDAS by the reverent marigold rewired my brain the first time i heard it. i was never raised particularly religious but its always had undertones in my life and i love queer stories told with biblical imagery.

life, the universe, and everything by lincoln is a song ive been listening to a lot recently. it has this feeling of. waugh wording is not working but like. uncertainty throughout that i like.

come over by noah kahan is like. one of those songs i come back to when im feeling particularly Weird. it doesnt make me stop feeling weird but it is comforting to have those feelings.

rotted out with flies by kevin atwater is so. man i really dont know how to describe this song coherently. i dont think i could articulate why i like it so much atm. its good.

and then the angels by cuttlephone is just really fun. a song about angels and the end of the world with a cowboy inspired sound. the other half of the single (by cowboy/by angel), endtimes cowboy, is also really fun but i listen to it much less often.

oh also bonus: 6. the pattern by the narcissist cookbook. yayyyy this is how we get better mention. its just really good.

dont see this as an excuse to send me more ask bait asks this was an excuse for ME to infodump.

[berniecranes]

One thing that kind have irked me a little bit is John's views in the game. No, not the fundamentals I disagree with, as that is obvious. But the inconsistencies with what they built up for him. They're minor details, it doesn't really change much, but excuse this ramble I am going into. It's going to be talking about the VW, and some of the tactics used in it, so I want to give a full warning for this.

Also I want to preface this as this is not to defend John. I have been more than adamant on the fact that John is a scary, shitty, C*A Officer regardless of anything else.

As you may know, John makes a passing comment to Lincoln about how LBJ is handling the war. He says "President Johnson is a goddamn pussy. He started that war, he should finish it." which clearly shows John, a. Puts blame on LBJ for pushing the war, obviously being lighter towards Jack's actions earlier on. Whether he is a believer that Jack wouldn't have escalated the war, or he wouldn't have had it get this bad/would have handled it better, that is up for debate. And b. He wants it to end. Which is an obvious, I think assuming him and Lincoln want this war to be over makes sense. But, especially with the idea he was a C*A Officer; because at this time, the C*A and M*litary were not hand in hand allies, as I believe that happened either with N*xon or the 80s, I cannot remember fully right now. They often opposed views. And with this, the C*A believing they "ACTUALLY want to the end the war"; whereas the m*litary wants "glory." Now, I would like to point out, just because John wants the war to end doesn't make him anti-war. As we hear how he feels abt anti-war protesters. Clearly he still believes they should do their """civic duty""" or whatever. Regardless of if you're happy with it or not, or be quiet and go along with it, I guess.

But this really is where my biggest gripe comes in. John says the way to end the war is "filling up the sky with B-52s" AKA, keep bombing V*etnam. This has been the tactic that has been FAILING. LBJ has been critiqued even in his own Party that he needs to stop the bombing & to start negotiations. But the thing with LBJ, he is too stubborn likes to do things his way. And, do you know who opposed continuous bombing? The C*A. While I know clearly not EVERYONE did, but then tell me why....when they established John is unhappy with how things are going, especially with what LBJ is doing.....WHY he would be pro the tactics that ISN'T working? UGH! It just makes no sense to me. And to go on and continue to mock him when he haults the bombings? Like hello?

And no, I do not believe he would want N*xon or whatever because I still do believe he is a democrat. I think his staunch support for Jack should definitely still be noted. He wouldn't go SO hard for a politician he believed in...if he didn't believe in him you know? Remember John is a man of this time, he's an actively present adult. He isn't looking at it 60 yrs later, he's looking at it in the moment. I think it's more than fair to say his frustration of LBJ doesn't show he is suddenly against him or whatever. Because they're just that; frustrations. Especially in the conference, we see how the war fucked with John and how he feels about everything as a whole. But it is true, the handling of the war overshadowed literally EVERYTHING LBJ did. And I'm not saying that is a bad thing, when your screw up (putting that lightly) is a literal mass killing of an entire group of people, that is GONNA be the focus of what you did. Oh, but with the line where John says if Jack was still around N*xon wouldn't be president. I believe that is a rather loaded answer, not as simple as Jack would be elected, because he couldn't have been, it would already be 2nd term. The plan always would have been Bobby would try after Jack, then Teddy. But I think he still holds a lot of his hopes in what the nation could have been with him, and truly feels Am*rica "lost its way" or whatever. But yeah, I think it's clear he still is aligned this way regardless of the many wrong things John does or say.

Like I mentioned, this is by no means me defending him or the C*A, as they were doing terrible shit. As we know the Ph*onix Pr*gram (which to remind you, M3 has John AND Lincoln involved in that for some reason...) exists, and many other things are public about their doings there. I just think this shows how the game lacks to really show anyone's core views or thoughts. Instead of using John as a way to show the many different views, they should have stuck to one and have him do that. Instead, they went with this, something that literally makes NO sense.

Below the cut are all the John lines I mentioned and also a passage or two from the book V*etnam: A History by St*nley K*rnow

Added in alt text so hopefully they're all easier to read, I apologize abt the book pictures, they were taken last year in the middle of me reading so often I just got a quick pic and continued on, aha

[itlivesproject]

here is the abel simp anon ILW FINALE thought dump (part 2! covers from when we play as devon until as we play as rowan)

2 months later? damn

NOW PLAYING AS DEVON??????? I HAD TO PUT THE GAME DOWN JUST TO GASP

….the memorial? oh dear grab the tissues

WE SAVED EVERY POSSIBLE SURVIVOR LET’S GO

connor is back and i am just as in love with him as ever

“Besides, you know how great a couple she and Abel make. I'm sure they're both doing great together.” i think i actually just squeaked

YOU CAN’T REMIND ME OF MAYOR GREEN.. AFTER WHAT YOU DID TO HER ???

and janie :(

loha… she deserved so much better :(

and finally, jessica, the start of it all (whose cg remains to be one of the best things i’ve ever seen in my life)

lincoln giving ratty matty’s money to a nonprofit for DA, that’s our guy!!!!!

i think lincoln aquino is a beautiful name! much better than the ties to the mcquoid name, i’m happy for him<3

amalia and jocelyn being besties? impeccable friendship

AND THE CURE IS WORKING! I’M SO HAPPY FOR THEM ALL

and amalia’s school record are fixed ??? THAT’S MY GIRL!!! SHE’S GONNA BE THE BEST LAWYER THIS WORLD HAS EVER SEEN

ELLIOT AND ROBBIE!!!!

harper and tom being the cutest for 1 minute straight

omg devon and harper having a handshake?? besties confirmed

CONNOR AND NOAH MY LOVES

someone pay for connor’s therapy PLEASE he will need bucket-loads of it at this point

THE COPS DROPPED NOAH’S INVESTIGATION?? MY BOY!! HE IS FREE!!!

“you know you can stay here for as long as you need” CONNOR AND NOAH ARE BEST FRIENDS CANONICALLY BECAUSE I SAY SO

noah’s mother hate club ‼️

sunny and luis deserve every happiness this world has to offer

ava thinking that being possessed was cool is so on brand😭

“Also, you need therapy.” dan keepin things real

the green siblings have my whole heart

CONNOR DIRTY THIRTY???????????? this is truly the best possible ending.

new music track????

“I love you when you're teasing me, I love you when we fight. love you when you're covered in blood or monster guts.” “Connor tells you these words every morning when you wake up, and every night when he goes to bed, but somehow, it always manages to feel like it's the first time he's said them.” he is the only man to ever exist. (alongside abel of course)

also connor, strong disagree with the chocolate in the fridge thing

STOP IT !???? PROPOSAL ???!?????? I STOOD UP. I WAS SAT DOWN AND I HAD TO STAND UP.

YES. HELL YES. MARRIAGE?!!

“Come on, sweetheart. Marry me?” WELL HOW THE HELL DO I SAY NO TO THAT???

i am grinning like a FOOL

“Your heart lifts to your throat as you examine the ring. It's so detailed, so personal. Leaves, like the forest around you, the forest you fell in love in. Your initials carved into the bottom. A diamond like you've always wanted.” i think i just died and went to heaven. HE IS THE CUTEST MAN EVER STOP IT

AND HE MADE IT HIMSELF? why don’t men like him actually exist.

i am now sat back down but i will stand back up if i need to. that is a threat.

THERES MORE?

“It's a house. With a yard for a dog, and enough rooms for guests and offices, and an address that doesn't confuse delivery drivers. It looks happy. And it's ours, if you want it.” the only reason i am not crying rn is because i am positively overwhelmed

i could literally quote all of his dialogue because it is all so incredible but i’m going to stop because this is long enough as it is😭

“God, you're so put together and capable. It's hot.” devon keeping it real

“Sweetheart, I love you, but all my lines work on you.” i said i would stop quoting connor and i lied, i just love him so much

“It’s no wonder there are deep grooves in the paint” YOU DIDN’T

for the one and only connor dirty thirty…. you guys nailed it (😏) also fun fact, if you remember getting as ask right at the very start of the project asking if connor green was in it and if we could bang him… that was me😳

“He wraps his arms around you, and it feels like coming home” ok it’s like you’re TRYING to get me to tear up now

(continued in part 3!)

-abel simp anon🤍

PART TWO

[nevalizona]

Thinking about Lincoln and Ivy Nicole going to a carnival to get away from everything for a bit. Just the two of them. A moment to breathe and play. Nothing serious. Lincoln wins Ivy Nicole a stuffed animal and they both compete to see who can win what games and who has a better throw. They're both smiling and laughing and nothing else matters in that moment.

They eat fried foods that they normally wouldn't try, and sweets that are somewhat sickening. They rest under a cloth umbrella, big enough to cover the tables.

"Thank you." Ivy Nicole says, she squeezes his hand as she talks. He smiles and in his cool Lincoln way says "Don't mention it." They feel warm and complete.

Lincoln teases Ivy Nicole about being afraid of rollercoasters buts regrets it as soon as they are in line for one. Neither wants to chicken out. Once they are in the ride and it's slowly starting up the track, they grip each other's hand. Lincoln doesn't realize he's holding onto Ivy Nicole's hand just as tight as she is holding onto his until after the ride. Once they get off they can't stop laughing because neither wanted to actually go on that damn thing to begin with but they made it to the end, even though they think their stomachs are still catching up to them. They hoot and holler about how they're never going on that death trap again, even though both of them secretly want to experience the rush again.

Night starts setting in and the feelings is a bit more somber. Ivy Nicole asks Lincoln to go on the ferris wheel with her, despite the fact that Lincoln doesn't like heights, he agrees because he knows it means a lot to her to see the lights of the carnival, see everything from so high up. He gets it. He needs that too. They climb on and slowly make their way around. When they are stopped at the tippy top, Lincoln clears his throat and tells Ivy Nicole that he had a good time, that he needed this. She agrees but doesn't say more because she feels like talking like this means it's close to being over.

When they finally finish the ferris wheel, they make their way out of the fairgrounds and to Lincoln’s car. Both are sad that it's over, but both are so glad to have had this time with each other. Ivy Nicole realizes here, that Lincoln really is her friend and that she cares about him more than she could have ever imagined. She tries to find a way to say this but can't. She hopes he understands.

[alltimefail-sims]

Hello! I love your CAS designs of your IT Lives series and if you have MCs for you, is it okay if I ask about them? ( I hope that's okay to ask! )

Hi! ❤️

Thank you so much, I really appreciate that! And of course, I'm happy to talk about my MCs! I've actually thought of making them as sims and dropping them in a sim dump this week!

This will be kind of long and have spoilers for ILITW, ILB, and vague spoilers for ILW so I'm going to put my answers under a read more cut!

In It Lives in the Woods I played as Devon Liu - I actually wanted to romance Noah Marshall my first playthrough because I loved their dynamic and was very shocked by the ending "twist" lmao. Devon had the long black hair that was shaved on one side. I used the "Asian" sprite for her and I pictured her as tiny. Despite her tininess, she was a loyal but completely fearless takes-no-shit badass basically lmao. Because of her closeness with Noah she was able to either die for Noah or have Noah sacrifice himself, and I thought it was more angsty for her to die so she chose to sacrifice herself and take Jane's place. Everyone in my group lived except Devon because I wouldn't have been able to live with myself if I lost a single one of those angels. In the fan project It Lives Within, I'm still doing the Noah/MC route because I'm shamefully a Noah apologist first and foremost lmao.

In It Lives Beneath I played as Harper Vance - I was the least attached to this book personally, but my favorite part of her character was her love for her little brother. She did save grandpa, lost her pinky, survived in the end, and her whole crew survived (and Parker didn't leave). She romanced Tom but honestly if I played through it again I think I'd have her romance Imogen because I loved her bubbly personality next to my MCs kind of sarcastic and goofy personality and then her and Elliot could be the gay rights sibling icons they deserve to be lmao. I love Tom, don't get me wrong, but his platonic route is just as good as his romance one and he is a great bestie. She had the really curly hair and I picked the "Hispanic" sprite.

In the fan project It Lives Within I actually have 4 MCs to play each of the four different LI routes, but my main MC is Rowan Burke. I'll try to avoid spoilers here as best as possible as this project is still ongoing! She is a "genuine" MC and is basically a cinnamon roll thrusted in the worst circumstances lmfao. She is just barely going down the "Blood" route I believe, although we don't know what that means yet 😬. Rowan romances Abel Flint and has a great relationship with pretty much everyone. She does not trust Matthias (I'm sorry Matthias simps lmao) nor does she trust Annie's ghost (she's been honest with the team about Annie at this point). She's got the tied back dark brown hair and is plus sized which is AMAZING like finally! I used the Caucasian sprite for her. I hope I can keep my streak up and keep all of them alive but we'll have to see. 😂

The other LIs I have for ILW are Joseph ("Joey" - sarcastic personality; romances Amalia); Xavier ("X" - genuine personality; he romances Lincoln); and Lorelai ("Lolo" - mix of all personalities honestly, and she romances Joss). Literally the MC customization is so good in this game I couldn't help playing multiple routes lmao.

If you have any specific questions I didn't cover, please feel free to ask them! I love talking about these books because the fandom is so small online, but I literally have no one irl who plays these books lmao (except my husband who I force to play with me sakskljadksd).

[chrispitoniak]

There's a somewhat sad story to this one, but stick with me and I promise there's a happy ending. When I was around eighteen years old I found myself drifting through the days longing for a change to escape what at the time felt like some pretty big problems (They weren't). With that, and with being drunk off of the newfound power one feels crossing into adulthood I made the decision to do something tremendously stupid but ultimately very rewarding. I had a friend who I had known and spent several years playing video games with online, so as I looked for an exit to a troubled home life moving to their area of Cedar Rapids, Iowa felt like a logical move. So, just a few short days after making that decision I was on my way, catching a ride with a total stranger 2000 miles from Phoenix Arizona up to the Midwestern city. It was poorly planned, unjustified, and dangerous to boot, all hallmarks of the sort of dumb decisions we're capable of making in our formative years. I had managed to arrange a living situation via Craigslist with yet another stranger, and within about a week I touched down in my new home, after several days of hitchhiking from Lincoln Nebraska where my previous ride had left me, rather unceremoniously. The details aren't too exciting, but it is important to note that after only a few weeks living there, that friend and I parted ways seemingly for good. I was living with a stranger, who I rarely saw or spoke to, I didn't know a soul in my area, my family was thousands of miles away, and for the first time in my life I found myself completely and truly alone. I was alone, and I would stay that way for several months, secluded in my corner of the home well into the winter months, working nights as a truck unloader at the local Walmart. You may be thinking "wow that sounds terrible" and while it wasn't great, I did a lot of growing up in that short time, learned a great deal about myself, and learned a valuable lesson which was the importance of being comfortable in your own company. Even today, I often think back to those nights I spent with winter in full swing, watching out the window powerless to the snow storms going on outside, bringing with them subzero temperatures and faulty space heaters dug from the nearby broom closet. The house I stayed in was poorly insulated, and the nights were brutally cold even indoors, which leads us to this piece of work you see here. After the storms would pass and the morning would roll around, I relish the memory of taking short walks through the neighborhood enjoying the scenery of the snow, and the quietness of everyone being bundled in their homes. It was on these walks I would run into an individual who introduced me to a group of amazing friends who years later I still keep in contact with. I don't take walks like that anymore, I'm not sure I ever could, because they were more than just walks through an unassuming neighborhood in middle America, They were the start of me truly finding myself and the experiences that would shape me for years to follow.

[dreamwritesimagines]

Twisted 27 - When The War Comes [Spencer Reid x Reader]

A.N.: Thank you so much for your wonderful support my loves! Here’s the next chapter, I hope you will like it as well, and please let me know what you think of it! ❤❤ Ily, kisses! ❤❤❤

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Murder, serial killers, violence, manipulation, mentions of sex, drinking, smoking, guns, knives, sharp objects, stabbing, hallucinations. 

Word Count: 7500

Summary: Who will you become?

You had to control your anger. You had to control the fire in your veins until you were sure that your niece was safe, that your family was safe, then—

Then you would handle this situation. Until then, it had to wait.

All the training your father had given you was basically screaming at you to attack the threat, but you managed to keep yourself from doing so while you followed him through the woods, paying close attention to your surroundings.

The cabin. This was the way to your father’s cabin in the woods.

You had counted ten armed men on the way here but you had to assume there were more scattered along the woods. You stepped over a tree root before you looked up at the night sky and quickly found the stars that would help you. Thankfully it was a clear night, and your father had taught you long before how to read the sky for direction, in case you needed to-

Hunt.

A shudder went down your spine but you quickly shook your head, you had no time for that fear lurking in your head.

Fear could wait until you made sure you and everyone back home survived.

Considering how your family had no boundaries when it came to you, you were one hundred percent sure that by the time tonight was over, they would arrive at your apartment to see where you were.

“So what is your game here?” you moved your wrists that he had bound the moment you two had reached the end of the road and got off the car to walk into the woods, “You take me there and what? You’ll kill me?”

He looked over his shoulder, “How can you ask me that?” he said and you raised your brows.

“How can I not ask you that?”

At least you could leave a note. Lincoln was just that stupid.

“They’ll come looking for me,” you told him as he rolled his eyes, still pointing the gun at you.

“Who, your boyfriend?”

“He works in the FBI, you fu—“ you had to remember to stop yourself. He had access to Lily, so you knew you had to play it along, even if you barely felt anything other than anger. “Yeah. My boyfriend.”

“You broke up with him once, you can do it again,” he said and pointed at the pen and paper on the kitchen island, “Just write you need some time or whatever, he can see it when he gets here. Less suspicions.”

You grabbed the pen and paper, then clenched your teeth, your mind working nonstop.

“I’m waiting, Y/N.”

You stole a look at him, then leaned in to write on the paper;

Hamlet,

I need some time alone.

Ophelia.

Ophelia died in a lake, and you hoped that Spencer could make the connection between that and the time you had told him about Lincoln pushing you into the lake by the cabin.

He took a look at the note, then made a face.

“You call him Hamlet?” he said, shaking his head, “I never really liked that play. Let’s go.”

“Do you seriously think I would harm you, in any way?” he asked when you got to the stone stairs leading to the cabin, “I will explain everything once we sit down.”

“Will you untie me?”

“I’m not an idiot,” he answered as you climbed the stairs after him, his grip on your arm almost too tight and you gritted your teeth to stop yourself from coming up with a comeback. You looked up at the cabin, the memory of the last time you were there hitting you out of nowhere and churning your stomach, but you managed not to throw up as he slightly pushed you through the open door.

Don’t be scared, you commanded yourself in your head Fear is useless.

That was one of the things your father had taught you during those predator and prey games. Prey always got scared, which led them to panic, which led them to making mistakes that would cost them their lives.

You were a predator. You had always been a predator, since you were a child, and there was no fucking way Lincoln of all people could turn you into a prey.

He pulled a chair, then motioned at you to sit down.

“Remember, if you try anything…” he said, “If I don’t send the code to my friend—“

“Yeah, you’ll hurt my niece,” you spat, “Some man, aren’t you? Threatening a kid.”

He untied your hands, then pulled them behind the chair and started tying them again, and you raised your brows slightly.

Rather than wrapping the rope around your wrists separately then pulling them together, he was just tying them together, which was a terrible rookie mistake your father would never have done. Escaping from those, especially with a rope was almost easy with enough knowledge, and you slightly widened the gap between your wrists by pressing your thumbs together, not wide enough to make him suspicious but wide enough to give you enough space to move your wrists when you wanted to get rid of the ropes.

Almost everything was automatic at this point, you were following everything your father had made sure to engrave into your mind.

“There, that’s better,” he said and let out a breath, a small smile pulling at his lips, “Hi.”

You tilted your head, looking at him silently.

“That was a bluff by the way. I would never hurt anyone you love, I thought you knew that by now.”

That seemed to distract you from the fury, “What?”

“Everyone that I killed,” he pulled a seat for himself so that he could sit across from you and leaned in slightly, elbows on his knees, “Everyone, that was for you. I did it for you. Don’t you see that? From that childhood friend to your douchebag ex?”

Oh God you were going to be sick.

Spencer was right. You were sitting with the copycat killer back there, at the charity auction.

“I can’t believe you don’t remember,” he ran a hand through his hair, “You told me what was happening, when we were kids. You told me a week before that night in the graveyard, that’s how your father let me come with you both. My parents had drunk too much at your parents’ party— you don’t remember any of that? I was the one who you shared that sacred secret with, no one else, not even your family. It was me.”

“Sacred?” you repeated, “My father was a monster, Lincoln.”

“Don’t say that,” he shook his head, the glare in his eyes sharpening, “Never say that. He…he is way ahead of all of us, if he didn’t get caught he’d be an even bigger legend than he already is. He brought us together.”

“You brought me here by threatening me and you tied me to a chair. My father is a terrible person, but this right here is your choice you fucking asshole.”

“Because I need you to understand,” he nodded to himself, “You will understand.”

“I will understand what?”

“That I did this for us!” he snapped and he swallowed thickly, taking a deep breath, “That I love you.”

A hysterical laugh escaped from your lips and you gawked at him.

“You love me,” you repeated, “You— you have been terrorizing me for months, you killed people, you fucking destroyed my life because you love me?”

“I’ll set you free,” he said, “Free of all these bounds everyone else put you into. I’ve seen your potential back when we were still kids, then after your father was arrested they turned you into something else, some shadow of what you’re capable of. Then I came back and you…” he ran a hand over his face, “You decided to get into an agent’s bed.”

“Don’t even—“

“He would try to change you,” he cut you off, sniffling, “He would, Petal. He would smother you with these stupid ethical rules and all that bullshit, but I’ll— we’ll be free together.”

If your last encounter with your father had taught you anything, it was that delusional killers didn’t exactly react well to a reality check. You moved your hands under the ropes, pulling at them just a little.

You would just have to play along until you were free, then you could be out of there.

The more you know about your prey, your father’s voice echoed in your ears, The easier it will be to take them down.

“How about your girlfriend?”

His head shot up and he shrugged,

“I mean,” he trailed off, “She thinks she’s my girlfriend.”

You gritted your teeth. “Erica,” you said, “Right. My girlfriend doesn’t have the same financial status as we do, huh? My fucking assistant, Lincoln? What did you offer her?”

“Offer her?” he asked, “I didn’t have to offer her anything. Who did you think your father’s outside source was?”

You pulled back slightly and he scoffed a laugh.

“I know,” he said, “She wants to kill you, not that I would ever let her, but she can believe that for the time being. I know you feel betrayed honey—“

“Don’t call me that.”

“But we only need her until a point, after she makes a phone call to get your family off our backs, she will be my gift to you.”

You dug your fingernails into your palms to remind yourself to focus, “Your gift?”

“There’s nothing like killing someone you know,” he dragged the tip of his tongue over his bottom lip, “It’s not like strangers, not at all. That shit’s special, Petal. You’ll see when the time comes.”

Before you could even think of an answer, you heard the footsteps coming closer and the door opened, making you turn your head to see Erica who almost looked intimidated for a moment upon seeing you, but she managed to pull herself together.

“You might want to check out the west team,” she told Lincoln and he paused.

“Can I trust you with this?”

Erica frowned, “You can trust me with anything, you know that,” she said softly and you closed your eyes for a moment, pulling at the ropes tight enough to hurt before you felt it get loose just a little. The rough material of the ropes almost burnt your skin the more you kept moving your hands, but you gritted your teeth, trying to ignore it.

You heard the door close and the lock sliding into its place as you opened your eyes, and saw Erica putting the key into her pocket.

“I like your dress,” she said as she sat down, “Too bad it’ll get bloody.”

“You were my father’s outside source?” you asked, trying to ignore her comment, “You?”

She gave you a bright smile, and rested her arm on the back of the chair, making herself comfortable.

“That’s right.”

“Whatever he’s paying you—“

“He’s not paying me,” she spat as if she was insulted at the implication, “You ungrateful little bitch. I’m doing this because I want to, because I respect him. I believe in what he stands for, not like you would understand.”

“Jesus, you’re one of those freaks,” you muttered to yourself, tugging at the ropes around your wrists, “Serial killer groupie huh?”

“I’m not a groupie,” she spat,  “I respect your father, not just any serial killer. It’s him. No one in your family deserves him, much less you, and—“ she shook her head, “The way you disrespect him and his name…”

“Disrespect him?” you let out a laugh, “Oh that’s rich.”

“He was right, you know?” she said, “Only the smart and strong is supposed to survive in this world, not weak. And he tried to raise you to follow in his footsteps, but you were too weak to do so. He just doesn’t see that.”

You clicked your tongue, “But you see that?”

“If he were my father,” she leaned in, gritting her teeth, “It doesn’t matter. By the time this is over, after I get rid of you and prove myself, he will see me as a daughter. Not you. You’re not strong enough to survive in our world. Lincoln agrees—“

“Lincoln is using you,” you cut her off, “He’s going to get rid of you as soon as he’s done. Let me guess, he told you you could kill me?”

“We’ll make you regret disrespecting father’s name first, then I will kill you, yes.”

“Yeah that’s not gonna happen,” you said, “Face it, you fucking idiot. He’s using you, just like my father is using—“ you didn’t get to finish your sentence when she lunged from her seat and slapped you across the face, her ring splitting your lip. You made a face, and spat out the blood filling your mouth, trying to ignore the sting on your tongue upon biting it.

“You know what?” she asked, “Lincoln always said no for some reason, but if you keep going like that, I can make you hurt really bad.”

“Aw sweetheart, you don’t have enough training for that,” you cooed, “What, you did some google search, looked up my father’s methods and now you think you can torture people? You think that’s how it goes?”

“I didn’t say it’d be physical,” she curled her lips, “You wouldn’t want your family to get hurt, do you?”

Your eyes snapped up to hers, that fire awakening at the pit of your stomach. She tilted her head, obviously pleased with your reaction.

“I suggested Lily instead of your ex….Anthony, was it? I said we should kill her and put her in the middle of your living room back then, but Linc said no. He said it’d hurt your father too.”

A numbness spread over your forehead, then went to the back of your head, reaching your spine as you blinked a couple of times.

“You were going to kill my niece?” you heard yourself ask and Erica crossed her legs.

“I bet that would’ve made you think twice before you disrespected John.”

You could almost feel it. Feel the fury taking over, that anger your father had always insisted you possessed roaring through you until it reached your heart, wrapping itself around it tighter and tighter.

Let the predator come out Petal, your father used to say Let it come out.

You rolled your shoulder back and cracked your neck with your eyes closed, an exact copy of your father as you twisted your hands under the ropes before you opened your eyes again to look at Erica.

“You don’t deserve him,” she insisted, “You all—you all just locked him away and forgot about him until Linc came back, until we started this. He will see soon that blood means nothing, me and Linc are going to be his legacy, not you.”

You tugged a little harder around the knot, then turned your wrist and managed to pull it out of the tight rope even if it scratched the skin over your wrists, making the burn spread over your arm.

“He taught you some stuff, big fucking deal,” she said, “I learned by myself. Without anyone to help me. Without someone else holding my hand.”

You clenched your fists, trying to ignore the throbbing as you slowly pulled your other hand out of the knotted rope.

“Yeah you missed a rule though,” you asked, dragging the tip of your tongue over the dried blood on your lip, “You’re not supposed to make them bleed unless you can kill them.”

Erica pulled her brows together, then a shriek escaped from her lips as soon as you let the rope fall, raising your hands in a mocking manner so that she could see.

“You chose the wrong victim, baby,” you said and she kicked the chair at you, then darted for upstairs, screaming while you just raised your brows, rolling your eyes.

Panic always led to mistakes like these, like rushing to somewhere one couldn’t escape from.

Upstairs was always a bad idea.

You made your way to the kitchen and pulled open the second drawer where your mother used to keep the knives, then grabbed a huge knife before you flipped it in your hand.

“Erica,” you called out, “Get back here, you’re fucking fired!”

She slammed a door upstairs and you scoffed a laugh, adrenaline pulsing through you as you dragged the tip of the knife over the walls, climbing the stairs.

“You know, if you give me the key I might make it quick,” you flipped the knife again, playing with it before you ran it over the steel staircase finial, letting her hear the sharp noise, “No promises though.”

Silence.

“I know you’re in here,” you sang, looking into the dark. Your father had taught you this long ago, if you couldn’t see, you had to make sure how to listen in the dark to find the location of whoever you wanted to hunt.

You took a deep breath and held it, not even moving a muscle and sure enough, a very faint creak reached your ears and you turned your head.

Second door to the left.

It used to be Mina’s room.

You let out a whistle echoing in the otherwise silent hall, disappearing into the dark before you stood in front of the door and ran the tip of the knife over the wood, almost relishing the slight whimper coming from the other side of the room.

“You were going to go after my family?” your voice rose as you kicked at the door, and Erica let out another scream.

“Lincoln!”

“Oh come on, where’s that strong survivor you’ve been telling me so much about?” you taunted, kicking at the door again but it didn’t open. “Hm? I thought you were going to prove yourself?”

“I-I swallowed the key, I can’t give it to you!”

“Ah well, I guess I’ll have to cut you open!” you shouted and kicked at the door once again and at last, the lock broke with a click and the door swung open, hitting the wall. Erica grabbed the chair closest to her, holding it up.

“Don’t!”

You flipped the knife in your hand, the grinned and took a step to her, so focused on adrenaline pulsing through your system that you didn’t even notice her eyes focusing on something over your shoulder until it was too late. Before you could even turn around, someone pulled you back, expertly avoiding the knife by bending your arm back and pressed a cloth over your mouth and nose, that sharp scent making you gag.

Chloroform.

Lincoln.

A tingling reached your head and that fuzzy warmth reached the back of your head, then closed your eyes shut.

                                                ***

You had no idea how long it took you out, but when you opened your eyes, it was still night. You grabbed at the side of your head and sat up in the bed, the whole room spinning around you.

Your childhood bedroom. You were in your childhood bedroom in the cabin.

“Hey,” Lincoln’s voice reached you and you turned your head to see him leaning on the doorframe.

Shit.

That was a mistake. Of course that was a mistake, and you couldn’t even believe yourself just how stupid you had been to act so careless.

“Easy, chloroform messes you up,” Lincoln said, “I’d stay in the bed for a while if I were you. You can’t attack anyone like this, you know?”

You weren’t supposed to follow your dad’s example in a situation like this. There was a reason why he was locked away, a reason why people had caught up with what he was doing, he was way too impulsive, way too destructive in terms of physical means. You had been so focused on protecting your family and going after the nearest threat that you had forgotten who you were.

You weren’t just your father’s daughter, you were also your mother’s.

And this right here? It wasn’t your father’s expertise yet, his time would come when you would have to fight your way out.

It was your mother’s.

Manipulation.

It was time to channel her, not your father.

“What happened?” you asked and Lincoln heaved a sigh, then pushed himself off the doorframe.

“You went after Erica,” he said, “She’s pretty shaken, but I told you Petal. You need to be patient, we just need her up to a point. After that, she’s all yours.”

You narrowed your eyes and slowly swung your legs over the edge of the bed, running a hand through your hair.

“And how much longer will I be subjected to this humiliation of yours? Can you give me an exact time or should I just wait here?”

He stared at you for a moment, trying to understand what you meant and you just arched a brow, a look of completely nonchalant sneer flashing over your face, the exact same expression you had seen on your mother countless times.

“I’ll take this silence as a no.”

“Humiliation?” he repeated, “When- how did I humiliate you?”

“How did you humiliate me?” you scoffed a laugh, “Are you serious right now?”

Jesus, your head was absolutely killing you but you had to focus.

“I’d never humiliate you, I love you.”

“Yeah yeah,” you waved a dismissive hand in the air, “You love me, we’re supposed to be together. I guess I’ll have to take your word for it while ignoring your actions, is that it?”

“My actions? Y/N—“

“So you bring me in here,” you cut him off, glaring at him, “You give me this whole speech about how you’d do anything for me, how we’re—we’re meant to be, and then you leave me in the same room with your ex so that she can boast about you? How you two are in love, how you two are together?”

“I told you, we just need her until—“

“That’s your love?” you interrupted him again and pushed yourself to stand up, crossing your arms while looking him dead in the eye, “Is that the proof of your love? Rubbing your girlfriend on my face? All the while she talks about how you two are going to be my father’s legacy together, like I don’t exist?”

“She just thinks that, I made her think that so that we can use her—“

“And then,” you said through your teeth, “You stop me and knock me out while I’m going after her to get rid of her?” you clapped your hands slowly, “Yeah. Proclamation of love right there Linc, congratulations.”

He licked his lips, obviously taking aback. “Y/N, we need her for now.”

“Mm hm, exactly,” you shot him a sweet smile “Looks like you need her a lot.”

“Not like that,” he shook his head, “Not what you think, I swear. She’s nothing.”

“No, I think she’s not nothing,” you clicked your tongue, “I think you formed some sort of attachment to your prey—“

“I didn’t!”

“Because you grew soft for her, and now you’re confused whether you want me more or her.”

He strode to you in three steps and pulled you closer, tilting your head up, and you had to command yourself not to make a face.

“I want you,” he said, “I always have, you know that.”

“Bullshit.”

He groaned, “Y/N-“

“No, it’s fucking bullshit.” You pushed his hands away, and searched your mind for the final nail on the coffin.

“Did you sleep with her?”

The expression on Lincoln’s face shifted and he averted his eyes.

Bingo.

“Did you? While you were in love with me, while you knew that we were meant to be, did you or did you not sleep with her?”

“You slept with that agent,” he shot back and you shook your head.

“I didn’t know you would do anything for me,” you insisted, “I had no idea—you said you had a girlfriend, I barely remember anything from my childhood let alone sharing so much with you and you didn’t tell me. But you knew,” you dug your finger into his chest, “You knew everything and you kept it hidden from me, so answer me this, did you sleep with her? While you knew you were in love with me?”

He swallowed thickly and opened his mouth, then closed it again, and you took a step back, trying to look heartbroken.

“Wow.”

“Y/N.”

“Wow. You actually did.”

“Listen to me, she doesn’t mean anything, I swear to you. It was just to manipulate—“

“Get out of my room.”

He frowned, “What?”

“Get the fuck out of my room and leave me alone until you’re ready to show me you actually love me.”

“You don’t mean that,” he started and took a step towards you, but you grabbed the nearest object which turned out to be one of your old dusty plushies and threw it to him.

“Get out!” you yelled and he took a step back, raising his hands.

“I’ll… I’ll come back when you’re calmer,” he said and closed the door behind him, and you lost your balance, falling on your knees.

People were just so easy to manipulate, thanks to your mother.

“Okay,” you whispered to yourself, “Thanks mom, time for dad’s turn.”

Weapons.

You reached under your bed to take a look at the secret compartment that your dad used to make you put your knives, but it was of course empty. Lincoln was stupid when it came to you, but he wasn’t a complete idiot, apparently. You pushed yourself off your knees and stood up, then closed your eyes and focused on your breathing, trying to clear your mind.

Your father had taught you this long before, in every room, there was something you could use as a weapon or turn into one.

You took a deep breath, exhaled it and opened your eyes.

It would have to be something precise, Lincoln had a point, you were in no shape to get into an actual fight with him. So you would need something sharp, and something that you could hide in either your sleeve or somewhere easily reachable. Something that Lincoln wouldn’t see until the next time.

You could tear down the bed to get to the bed springs, but it would take a long time and there was the danger of him walking in on you.

There was a chair and your post-its, some tape, small notebooks by the corner, hair ties and a music box on the desk in front of the window—

The music box.

The music box had a mirror.

“There you are,” you muttered to yourself as you took the music box, then grabbed the tape and your hair ties. You checked the door, then sat down, covered the mirror with the long skirt of your dress, then pushed on it with your elbow until you heard the small noise of the mirror breaking. You pulled back and uncovered it, then grabbed the longest shard, ripped out a couple of pages from your notebook and started taping it around the shard before you wrapped your hair ties around it so as not to let it slip or hurt your hand.

By the time you heard Lincoln’s footsteps coming upstairs, you had spent almost an hour preparing your weapon. You looked up, then closed the music box and put it back before tucking your newly made weapon under the lacy sleeve of your dress, and got on the bed, leaned your back to the bedframe and crossed your arms.

“Petal?” Lincoln called out and you gritted your teeth and turned your head when he peeked his head in.

“Hey, do you want to join me for some food downstairs?”

You narrowed your eyes, “Depends. Will your girlfriend be joining us?”

“I knocked her out and put her in your dad’s basement,” Lincoln said, “She will stay there until you feel like getting rid of her, and I won’t stand in your way this time. Okay?”

He offered you his hand and you eyed it, then pushed it away and managed to stand up on your own.

“Still dizzy?”

“A little,” you confessed, “Still angry too.”

Lincoln chuckled and heaved a sigh, “We need to talk about this jealousy of yours babe.”

You managed to control your expression and ignored him as you went downstairs. The rug was pulled to the side so that you could see the hidden door to the basement, but it was closed. You looked at the table in the middle of the living room that was covered in food, and there was a vase of jasmine flowers between the lit candles. You were still sure that you couldn’t engage in an actual fight until the chloroform was completely out of your system, but you didn’t have to worry about it since Lincoln seemed not to put any knives on the table. Your dad’s old vinyl was playing by the corner, the soothing melody creating a complete contrast with what was happening.

“A dance before dinner?” he asked you, “Come on. That dress needs to be used in a dance, don’t you think?”

You thought for a moment, then shrugged your shoulders and took his hand, then wrapped your arms around his neck as he pressed his hands to the small of your back, pulling you closer before you started swaying with the melody.

You just needed an exact time for him to lower his defenses completely, because you only had one shot at this.

Stab the prey, twist the knife, pull it back and watch them bleed.

“You have no idea how much I waited for this,” he said, “When I was in Italy, I would….dream of this at night.”

You didn’t answer, you just made sure to keep your wrist at an angle so that the mirror shard wouldn’t slip.

“And when I came back and saw you for the first time in that red gown…” he murmured, “I thought I would drop dead. You were even more beautiful than I pictured.”

“Why didn’t you tell me back then?” you asked absentmindedly and he shrugged.

“I didn’t know how you would react.”

“And all those people who died?”

“Some of them were diversion,” he said, “Some of them were chosen. I promised myself no one could make you sad, ever. I would’ve killed that agent too if he was the one to break up with you, but then you said it was your choice, and… I don’t know. I thought it’d raise suspicions.”

Spencer.

He had considered killing Spencer.

Goosebumps rose on your skin but you reminded yourself to stay calm and focus, you had already slipped once because of your anger, you wouldn’t get a second chance.

“What about Anthony?” you asked, “You killed him… was it to frame me?”

“God no,” he said, shaking his head, “Of course not. Erica thought it was revenge for how you were treating John, but I wanted to make you remember how it felt to be in the scene of your father’s doing, how….how powerful it made you feel. I thought that would make you see how everyone around you was trying to make you into something you’re not. Deep down, Y/N, you’re just like me. That’s why we will be legends.”

A bitter taste appeared at the back of your throat and you swallowed thickly.

“And my father?”

“He knew we were supposed to be together,” he said, “He knew you would need a…companion in this. Us, free together. That’s why your father failed, because he couldn’t share who he was with your mother. It won’t happen with us, ever.”

Stab the prey, twist the knife, pull it back and watch them bleed.

You moved your wrist so that the shard could slip low enough for you to hold it and Lincoln leaned in slightly, his eyes closing.

“I love you,” he whispered against your lips and you smiled.

“Oh Lincoln,” you murmured, your heart beating in your ears, “You should’ve known better.”

With that, you drove the shard right into his stomach, making him gasp and open his eyes. Betrayal was written all over his face, it was very clear he hadn’t expected it as you twisted the shard, making him lose his breath before you pulled it back, blood splashing over your face and your dress. You shoved him, making him lose his balance and fall down, taking the coffee table with him, causing some noise and as if on cue, Erica started screaming his name from the basement.

“Erica, shut up before I come down there and break your fucking neck!” you called out and the screaming stopped.

“Thank you,” you said and turned to grin at Lincoln who was breathing hard, his face pale.

“Y/N—“

“Oh don’t worry, you won’t die right away,” you said, “Dad taught me that one, ages ago. I stabbed you in the stomach, and it’s a pretty thin shard, so it’s not the blood loss that will kill you. It’ll be the toxic shock, because right now everything in your stomach including acid is contaminating your system. Should be fun, huh?”

“Why did you—“ he coughed, and you snapped your fingers.

“Hold that thought, I gotta get something from the kitchen,” you said and walked to the kitchen to open the drawers, then grabbed some knives and scissors before you want back to the living room, “Yeah, you were saying?”

“We’re meant to be,” he managed to say, trying to breathe and you hopped on the table before you cut the floor length skirt, ripping it out.

If you were going to run through the woods, you needed to be in something you could easily move and fight in.

“Nah we’re not,” you said, “You’re delusional, that’s it.”

“Petal—“

“See, I could’ve gone easy on you,” you said, wrapping the cloth around your injured wrist, “Really. I could’ve just escaped and handed you to the FBI and be done with it, but no. You two had to bring my family and Spencer into this so now,” you tut-tutted, “Now you get to suffer.”

“He doesn’t understand you,” he said, pressing on the wound and leaning his head back to the wall, “He never will, not like I do. We’re meant to get rid of every weak person in the world, everyone who deserves to die.”

You let out a laugh, now wrapping the cloth around your knuckles, “Uh huh.”

“You’re meant to be the legacy.”

“Maybe. Or maybe I’m just meant to be a wedding planner,” you pointed at him with the knife and walked to him to grab the key from his pocket, then you pulled his boots off his feet, took off your heels and started getting into his boots.

“Petal, we’re supposed to be together.”

“Because my insane sadistic father said so?”

“Because I know you.”

You looked up from the boots you were tying as tight as possible, “Hm? You know me?”

“I do.”

You put two of the knives in each boot and jumped down to rock on the balls of your feet, trying to see if you could move well.

“That’s your first mistake buddy,” you said, now wrapping the rope over your boots, “See if you knew me, you wouldn’t be so careless, would you? You took me here and what? You didn’t think I’d kill my way out? You didn’t think I’d turn you and your serial killer groupie partner into my prey?” You pulled at the rope, “Honestly, you two fucked with the wrong legacy.”

“I don’t—“

“My father raised me to be unstoppable,” you said, “And apparently you know that. So you should’ve considered that it’d take more than two copycats to take me down, and—“ a manic laughter escaped from your lips, “Did you seriously think you could beat me at my own fucking game?”

He coughed, making a face and closed his eyes.

“You have hours until you die, but if I make it out on time, maybe I’ll send some medics here. Maybe. Depends on if I feel merciful, who knows?” you grinned, “Your survival depends on my mood, isn’t that ironic?”

“There are ten men between here and your weekend house, you’d never make it out.”

“I’m not going north,” you said and Lincoln frowned.

“South? That’s just woods.”

“No, it’s a longer way than north, but there’s a road at the end. Dad once made me find my way through the woods.”

“You can’t leave me behind,” he coughed again, “We’re meant to be together. We’re meant to work together and kill together, that’s our love story.”

You pursed your lips, then grabbed a jasmine from the vase and walked towards him.

“Even if I wanted to follow in that monster’s footsteps,” you said, looking down at him, “Even if I wanted a companion, it wouldn’t be you. You’re fucking dead weight, Linc. You don’t have what it takes.”

With that, you let the flower drop on him, unlocked the door and stepped outside, the chill air filling your lungs. After looking around to see whether it was safe, you went to the back of the house, and looked up at the stars, calculating which way to go.

Then, you tied your hair up and started running.

                                             ***

As it turned out, Lincoln had fewer men on the south of the woods, but there were still people. You had gotten rid of two of them and tied them up with the rope you had taken with you, but it would take one mistake for them to drag you back to the cabin, so you couldn’t take any risks.

You heard the faint noise of a radio and looked over your shoulder, then climbed up to the nearest tree, keeping as silent as possible. The light of a flashlight soon lit up under you and a man came into your view.

“South number five is clear,” he said into the radio and as soon as he put it into his pocket, you jumped down silently, standing behind him for a moment before you smacked his head into the tree, making him pass out. You unwrapped a part of the rope and tied his hands and feet before you stuck the cloth around your arm into his mouth so that when he woke up he wouldn’t be able to ask for help. You let out a breath and walked deeper into the woods, but as soon as you jumped over a tree root, someone grabbed you by the hair and slammed you head first into the tree. A ringing echoed in your ears, getting louder and louder but you managed to pull the knife from your boot and drive it into his leg, making him grunt and you used your whole body weight to turn around with his arm around you, popping it out of its socket and he dropped you with a yelp, kicking you in the ribs and a fire spread from your ribs into your whole body, making you stop the scream at the last minute.

“You fucking bitch-“ he said but as soon as he grabbed you again, you managed to push yourself up and grab the rest of the rope you had left. You kicked him back and jumped on his back, wrapping the rope around his neck as he tried to get you off.

“I’m not killing you you fucking idiot!” you grit out as he slammed back into the tree to get you off, “I’m making you pass out, that’s all!”

Soon enough, he dropped to his knees and fell to the ground while you tried to catch your breath, but everything hurt. You wiped at the blood that was seeping from the cut on your forehead, drenching your face and your dress but managed to tie him up and get away from him.

It didn’t take you long though. It felt like the whole forest was spinning around you and you felt someone pulling the ground from under your feet before you fell back, your eyes closing.

You had no idea how long you stayed there unconscious but the unmistakable sound of a shot being fired made you open your eyes with a gasp as you winced at the pain pulsing through your whole body.

“It doesn’t sound so good.”

You slowly turned your head to see your father sitting by the tree, his arms crossed and you let out a groan.

“Is this hell?” you asked, “I just died and it’s hell, right? There’s no way I’m hallucinating about you.”

“You didn’t die yet,” your father said as he looked at the way the shot was fired. “I assume you didn’t search for Lincoln’s gun before you walked out of the cabin?”

“Lincoln can’t move,” you said and your father tut-tutted.

“Erica could move just fine the last you saw her though.”

“Shit.” You closed your eyes for a moment and your father heaved a sigh.

“So what do we have here?” he said, “Head injury, concussion, loss of blood, and that guy over there just broke a rib or two, right?”

“Shut up.”

“I’m just saying, you wouldn’t stand a chance against someone coming at you with a gun when you’re like this.”

You swallowed thickly, your eyes burning.

“I can’t move,” you managed to say through your teeth, “It hurts.”

“Does it hurt enough to kill you? Because that’s what will happen if she and her men find you here.”

You tried to blink back the tears, “What if it’s supposed to end this way?”

“Supposed to end this way?” your father stood up and glared down at you, “Petal, I didn’t spend years to train you just so that you could die in a forest in the middle of nowhere. Get up.”

“Dad, I tried to survive, okay?” you said, “I tried—”

“Well, that’s not enough right now, is it though?” he asked and snapped his fingers, “You’re a survivor, your mother and I made sure of that. Stop acting like a prey, get up.”

“Dad-“

“Get up!” his voice shot through your head and you opened your eyes again, coughing, that ringing in your ears due to the pain blocking out everything but the gunshot that sounded much closer than before. You dug your fingernails into your palms and pulled yourself up by grabbing at the nearest tree, then wiped the blood off your face again.

“Okay,” you muttered to yourself, “Okay, Stop acting like a prey. Which way to go?”

You looked up at the night sky and found the star you were looking for before you started making your way through the forest, even if it felt like you could pass out any second. You had no idea how long you had been walking when all of a sudden the brightness of flashlight entered your vision, making you hold your breath and grab the handle of your knife tighter, thinking that it was Lincoln and Erica’s men.

It was only when you saw a very familiar face wearing an FBI vest that you let out the breath you were holding, the knife slipping from your grip.

“Spencer?” you rasped out and he just stared at you before he started running to you.

“You’re alive,” he managed to say before he pulled you into a tight hug, making you wince in pain. He pulled back immediately, his hands cradling your head.

“Are you—“

He didn’t get to finish that sentence. It happened in less than a second, but the sound of a gunshot that rang through the forest echoed in your ears before blood splattered over his face, making you stumble as if someone pushed you from behind.

“Why is there blood?” you managed to ask before a fire spread through your chest, taking your breath away and Spencer’s eyes widened as he lowered them to the gunshot wound bleeding on your chest. Everyone ran past you, yelling something into the radio and shooting their guns at someone behind you while the fire made its way through your whole system, the ringing in your ears getting worse.

The last thing you remembered was Spencer catching you before you hit the ground but whatever he was saying to you got drowned out in the loud noise of the helicopter flying above you. The lights of it got brighter and brighter before a warmth pulled you out of the pain and surrounded you.

Then everything went black.

Chapter 28

[wutheringmights]

I'm very curious about any director's commentary you might have for the latest chapter!

You know I am always down to over explain my writing

Last chapter's flashback was going to go until Spirit and Mask's reunion, but I had to cut it for space. It reappeared here, but it lacks the impact I originally wanted it to have, which sucks

You were supposed to see Spirit hug Mask and wonder to yourself what was going through his head and if he would blame Mask for his predicament, but that! Did not happen!

This chapter also proves that from the beginning, I should have had one of the significant OCs be a general who would represent all of the nobles. I had initially cut that idea in order to a) avoid accidentally implying that the military was bad because of one person, b) show how interchangeable the nobles were to Warriors, and c) give Zelda a bigger role as a symbol of the military.

But look at me! Making up a whole dude to give a speech about lambs.

Speaking of lambs, I stole that metaphor from a homily I heard at church when I was a teen. The priest meant for it to be a lesson about how life's difficulties bring up closer to Jesus, but I always thought the metaphor was super screwed up and I have been saving it for a moment like this

Weirdly enough, my favorite Spirit bit isn't in the flashback but in the present day, when Wind reads his journal

First off, it's the only time in the story we're given Spirit's perspective on something without it first going through Warriors's lens

Second, I've used it to pre-emptively fill in the story gaps for the upcoming plot developments in the flashback. In the past, Warriors never saw everything Spirit did to sort of beat him at his own game. But you the reader will now know going forward that Spirit put a lot of effort and planning into figuring out what to do

And third, there is a very important word choice Spirit uses in his journal that shows how far he was willing to go to beat Warriors, which as far as I'm aware, no one has picked up on yet

Speaking of the present day, that argument the Chain had was a bitch to write

Favorite moments include Hyrule drawing his sword and Time's breaking point being Warriors insulting Spirit

(Also Time only realizing now, in the present, that Warriors was the one who broke Spirit's shoulder all those years ago)

Least favorite moment was Twilight breaking the coffee table. I wanted it to happen, but a part of me feels like it was a little out of character for him

Warriors's conversation with Midna came to me, like, a day before I wrote it. And I'm glad I included it since I love getting these two to talk shop with each other

Lincoln's emotional issues are something I have been dropping as many hints about as I could, but I'm worried it seemed a little forced. My idea was that Warriors was so self-involved that he always assumed everything Lincoln did was to spite him, which blinded him to seeing any real humanity in Lincoln.

I really like that idea, but a part of me is worried that the realization that Lincoln had this deep relationship with Orlanda and this internal conflict about his role in the war now feels forced

I am also half convinced that the black-blood reveal does not work and you're all just being nice lmao

I almost named the present day section of the chapter "The Prodigal Son" in reference to Warriors begging Lincoln for help, but I didn't want to imply that their relationship was entirely fixed

When I was planning out this story, I knew that there was going to be this bit about having to get rid of Warriors's Triforce mark, and I cycled through a lot of different methods of doing that, including burning his hand completely and chomping the whole thing off

I went with flaying his hand because it was the most fucked up

There is a very immediate and dire consequence to Shigeo flaying Warriors's hand. It's a status quo altering level consequence. My original plan was to end the chapter with the consequence, but my 2am brain was convinced it would be better to open Act 4 with it

And my brain is finally unfried enough to realize how stupid of an idea that was

Like the Act system is meaningless!!! And wouldn't starting a chapter with that consequence undermine it's impact??

So yeah I'm now mad at my past self. Plus I now I have to figure out a way to write the consequence as a compelling opener to the next present day section

This wouldn't have happened if I didn't write half the chapter in one day

Goddamn it

[terrence-silver]

Oooo could you write something about Terry’s little girl’s captor calling Terry, and the maniac literally puts Terry’s little girl on the phone so he can hear her. (This is after the media plan blows to shambles and Terry knows he has to get her himself) could you write about the phone call? LOVE your work by the way

He was in front of the man's house.

Parked, in a run down car.

Run down clothes.

Calling from a run down motel payphone, across a park, at dusk, looking right towards this guy's Lincoln Heights front lawn, unassuming. Ordinary. The perfect cover-up. Right from his own cook-book. It never failed to amuse Terry that if he was born into any sort of destitution, this was probably the type of man he'd be too. Maybe you already are, a voice whispers. -"Dad! Don't pay him anything!"- The familiar voice calls from the other end of the landline and nobody on the call realizes just where Terry was. Thing is, sadists were usually chatty. All you had to do is indulge them in their sadism. Let them talk about their heart's content. Encourage them. Give them a reaction. Fuel. A chatty sadist meant pinpointed locations through phone calls tactically short enough to where he wouldn't suspect and where he'd feel smart about being so careful. Somehow, Terry hated to acknowledge, he knew this, because he knew himself. He was an exhibitionist too. He wasn't afraid to be admitting that. He was proud, in fact. If you have it, show it. Half of the fun in a game was flaunting it. If one couldn't flaunt it, it rendered half of the satisfaction obsolete. What can a cat chase if the mouse doesn't run? Nothing. It is but a boring toy the cat bats with its claws for a few seconds and then leaves. -"Put the punk back on the line, princess."- He orders his daughter firmly, practicing an undercurrent of patience, just for her sake. He hears the man's chuckle buzz through the line and his voice is cocky. Eerily familiar. Terry might as well be talking to himself. Himself, if he was an amateur. The least he would do is leave the country and make for the border. Try to get lost down south. Make this more difficult. -"Did we agree on the price then? Five million? Or you get her back in a wine crate."-

-"Make that six."-

Terry interjects, almost smiling.

If it was possible to smile in sheer wrath. Tonight, he was going to kill.

He wants the blood, craves it, like caviar and jam on creamy toast.

-"Actually, make it ten. I'm a generous man."- He tries for nonchalance and that fake bravado businessmen in trouble tend to have, making his voice shake into the handle, if only slightly. Deliberately. Terry acts like he's a stressed man covering up his anxiety with a cool attitude. Pretending to be pretending. Truth of the matter was, his fear froze in him weeks ago, like a crater in a polar vortex --- now, Terry was ice. Permafrost. He came to the man's house with the intention of vehicular manslaughter. Brought nothing but his fists, so he'd singlehandedly feel the texture of fractured flesh, skin and bone under his own knuckles. Not deny himself that immersive, interactive pleasure. In Vietnam, they'd ambush villages suspected of Vietcong collaboration just like this. Emerge out of the jungle, surprise them at dawn or dusk, shoot the place up, set their straw, ramshackle huts and hooches on fire as an example to everyone else. What happens when you consort with the enemy. Johnny and he, they'd become different individuals, it seemed, during raids like that. During stalemates and ceasefires, they'd simply be two commonplace people. People comprised of feelings. Fears. Anxieties. Sharing a joke. Sharing their hopes. Teasing each other. In combat, they'd be something else. Maybe they were always that something else and John and Terry were merely the cover-up all along? Tonight, Terry finds he is that something else, when the inane cretin cluelessly agrees on a time and place where the bag of money is to be left for the exchange, covertly, without the police being directly involved as he threw in one final threat as a treat. -"Expect my next call, Mr. Silver and don't be late! Someone's little life depends on it."- Punk thinks he's closing off with a clever line.

Punk doesn't realize, that when Terry set down the phone.

Walking across the park, in less than two minutes ---

He was at his front door, showing himself inside.

Tonight, Terry Silver is something else.

[ironlvngs]

They were Machiavelli’s wildest wet dream: two strategists playing a never-ending game of chess just for the thrill of having the upper hand over the other. And Edward had just sacrificed his queen. For too long he had avoided Lincoln, tried to be as clearly opposed to his presence as he could. But, so far, in terms of cracking the puzzle that was Lincoln Crawford, that had gotten Edward nowhere. On the one hand, Crawford still tried everything to approach him – insincere flatteries and fake niceties –, while Edward could never seem to figure out his motives. It was that time in a match where one had to compromise so the game could continue... White Queen to D5. White Queen takes Black Rook. White Queen unprotected. It seemed like an unnecessarily brazen move. Something experienced chess players would only try in the most favorable conditions. After all, Edward’s reputation was on the line. But was that not the old saying? Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Moreover, as corrupt as Lincoln Crawford could be, Edward could hardly fathom them using his sexuality to their advantage. There was honor even among thieves after all.   Incredulous at Crawford’s ability to not let an opportunity go to waste, Edward was unable to retain the scoff that escaped his half-agape mouth. More than ever, his cynical blue glare indicated that he was not falling for their bullshit. “See? So much easier. And you didn’t even have to put effort into making something up. I’m a man of simple tastes.” He said, looking down at his thirty-thousand-dollar watch for the time. A smirk redolent of arrogance and narcissism nested on his face like a bird as though that was its home. Because it was. But then came the jab Edward had not foreseen, and he could feel his picture-perfect smile crack for a second. Clever. Black Bishop to D5. Black Bishop takes White Queen. Lincoln could have waited a few more rounds to capture Edward's Queen with a Pawn. Something much less compromising. But instead, he chose to leave his Bishop unguarded. Surprising. Risky. Their move might have been as calculated as Edward's move, but in the short run, White would seize the opportunity. "That's subtle." He had to admit that he enjoyed it, though. In spite of the shock. He enjoyed Crawford's audacity and sweet talk as much as he enjoyed the idea of grabbing them by the hem of their shirt, pinning them to a wall, and stripping them bare... Of their secrets, of course. What a rampant checkmate that would be. He said nothing for a moment, though. Nothing says you're in control of a situation more than a few seconds of uncomfortable silence. The type that overstays its welcome. But, he does not drop Lincoln's gaze. He holds their stare almost as if in approval. Almost as if his eyes were telling him, ‘good one’. Matching opponents do have to commend each other every now and then, after all. Especially when their playing level was so above everyone else's. Who else would value one's cleverness then, besides their adversary? “You know, I don’t really take requests.” His tone was coated in a healthy amount of arrogance. He liked to feed into the flame that was this unending tension between them. This argument that maybe existed only in his head to find out who would outsmart whom first. “But I will admit I do one hell of a Macbeth.” He clears his throat, “Then live, Macduff. What need I fear of thee?" He stares deep into Lincoln's handsome green eyes, "But yet I’ll make assurance double sure, and take a bond of fate. Thou shalt not live, that I may tell pale-hearted fear it lies, and sleep in spite of thunder.” His words are sober, devoid of the flair he reserved for the stage, but they are painfully sincere. For a moment, he was Macbeth. He was not trying to impress Lincoln, by any means. He didn't even expect him to say anything. He was fully aware of how good an actor he was. He was just playing out his scheme. White Pawn to D5. White Pawn takes Black Bishop. Hopefully that would open path to the Black King.

if link was uncertain about the question of eddie's sexuality, it was confirmed in the way he looks into his eyes as he recites macbeth to him. it was magnetic, like a gravitational pull was urging him to lean forward and kiss him already. or, maybe eddie was already two steps ahead, and using his looks to play link like a fiddle instead. it was impossible to tell, and that was both what frustrated and intrigued him the most about edward. the most enigmatic and hard to read people were the ones that link liked to crack the most — seeing them as a challenge, something fun to do. he wouldn't mind eddie being on the top of his list of things to do.

but link had to keep a careful distance. despite whatever part of him actually would like to go for it, he knew he was playing a dangerous game, doing this with his ex's brother. cara wasn't like the last girl he "dated" — link felt something for her. might still feel something for her. if there was any inkling of that happening again, link figures that chance would slim significantly if he slept with her brother... and for what, a game ? some fucked up idea that he needed all morrisons in his back pocket ?

" i was so right, it sounds infinitely better from your lips. " his eyes make a quick glance to his lips — quick enough for it to be innocent, but link wanted him to notice. " i can imagine that being a pretty good move on the girls... or otherwise. " link says that last part with a grin.