#but he’s got connections at the district office

[mythrae]

who’s ready for my friday morning rant - 7:10am and running late edition

[reidsmanuscript]

Cracks in the System

Summary: What happens when a string of murders tied to the District Attorney's office lands on the BAU's desk, a high Spencer Reid struggles through withdrawal, and reader, the genius A.D.A., stumbles upon Reid's darkest secret? Tensions rise as professional and personal boundaries blur, leading to revelations that could shatter them both. Pairing: Spencer reid x lawyer!reader Genre: HEAVY ANGST, a little bit of comfort, open-bittersweet-ending Tw: spencer's addiction arc, no y/n but reader has a lastname and a nickname bc it would be impossible otherwise, mental health issues, mention of food and skipping meals?, imppliead reader's past with drugs and abuse (not graphic tho), canon typical cm violence, reader dislikes gideon as father figure wc: 9.2k! A/N: i always HATED how reid´s addiction got portrayed so here´s my take on it, english is not my first language part I - part II - part III - ...

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In the chill of autumn morning, while the BAU reunited for the debriefing of a case where their help had been specially requested per the District Attorney, old college friend of Hotch, a string of murder had been recently connected due to the victim’s correlation to the office.

Morgan, Prentiss, Gideon, and Hotch sat in their usual spots, reviewing the files as JJ prepared to brief them. Spencer Reid entered late for the second time that week, a distant look in his eyes, his demeanor unusually absent. No one acknowledged his lateness.

JJ took it as her cue to begin. “A string of murders have been committed around the capitol's perimeter, 3 women all killed and found at the surroundings of their home, Sarah Jennings, 23, defense attorney. Found in a downtown alley.." She clicked to the next slide, revealing another victim. "Second, Nicole Hart, 25, paralegal. And finally, Emily Russell, 30, judge. Found just outside her apartment. All victims were killed within a three-month span. Each one of them were found with a different note”

"Your silence speaks for itself."

"Mitigating circumstances should not overshadow the gravity of the crime."

"Your behavior demonstrates a pattern of reckless disregard for justice."

“M.O.?” asks Prentiss. “Strangulation and multiple stabs to the chest were revealed by the reports” answers JJ.

Morgan adds “So overkill and legal connection, did they knew each other?”

“Families have denied any possibility of any of them being friends with each other” JJ answers.

Reid, who has been anxiously tapping his fingers in the arms of his chair, huffs in frustration, ignoring how annoying his subtle tremor is “So outside a simple note no connection.”

Gideos shoots him a glare but before he can say anything Garcia appears through the tv screen “My dear fuzzy friends, i have found something," She adjusts her glasses and clicks away at her keyboard. "All four victims have recent ties to cases handled by the District Attorney's office, big ones, too. Corruption charges, high-profile lawsuits, political scandals. It's a feast of legal drama."

Morgan leans forward, his interest piqued. "Anything specific about their involvement?"

"Funny you should ask," Garcia says with a wry grin. “Jennings provided testimonies in ongoing cases. Hart did legal research for one of those cases, and Russell? Well, she worked directly with the DA's office on prepping trial strategies. But here's the kicker—none of them worked together. Different cases, different departments. And all of them seemed to be very successful on their own"

Prentiss raises an eyebrow. "So 3 successful women with overkill, that sounds like envy to me"

Reid, his voice laced with a nervous edge, blurts out “Envy could be a factor, but it's also the level of violence. Overkill is usually a sign of a deep personal rage. It's like the unsub is targeting not just their professional lives, but something deeper, maybe the idea of success they represent.”

Gideon glances at the screen. "Any connections between the cases themselves?"

Garcia shakes her head. "Nothing that stands out yet, but I’m digging deeper. Let me keep working on it. I'll be needing access to the information the D.A. office has”

Gideon folds his arms over the table. “If they're found around their personal home it could mean the unsub is following them or getting the information from somewhere else. Someone inside the DA’s office could be leaking it."

Morgan shakes his head. "How do we narrow it down? A place like that probably has dozens of people handling sensitive information."

Hotch rises from his chair. "We need a list of who has access to it and interrogate them, but first, we should brief the DA. If someone in their office is compromised, they need to be aware of the risks."

JJ nods. "The District Attorney requested our help specifically. She mentioned an ADA, Woodvale, her right hand, who might be able to help us get a clearer picture of the internal dynamics in their office.” A photo of you in professional attire, looking sharp with an almost predatory confidence appears on the tv screen while JJ explains how you have been working with all the victims for different cases.

Morgan smirks. "Sounds like she’s got her hands full with this mess."

Reid rolls his eyes, muttering under his breath, "Perfect. Another overachiever."

The team exchanges uneasy glances but says nothing. Hotch sends Morgan and Reid to the D.A. office while Prenttis, Gideon and him go to the victims' workplace. As the team disperses, Reid lingers behind, rubbing his temples in frustration. Gideon notices but says nothing.

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At your office, returning from Judge Gibson’s chambers after pushing for a warrant, your assistant, Molly, looks up from her desk.

"Austin’s waiting in your office," she says, a small smile tugging at her lips.

You thank her and add, “Call the detectives and let them know the warrant is secured.”

As you step into your office, Austin is lounging in the chair across from your desk, a familiar paper bag dangling from his hand.

“Your mom sent you this,” he announces, lifting the bag as if it’s a prized trophy.

You let out a sigh, already knowing what’s inside and taking off the clip that holds your hair in a half pony off, relaxing a bit. “Can you stop going to my parents’ house without me? It’s kind of weird.”

“It’s not weird. She always gives me sweets and pastries. You should see the look on her face when I take them.”

“Well, I’m glad someone enjoys them” you mutter, dropping your leather bag in your chair, taking the bag and peeking inside, finding a full banana loaf and a neatly packed sandwich that your mom always sends every couple weeks to ensure you eat enough and take time to rest.

You grab the loaf and glance back at the door. “Molly, I’m taking fifteen for lunch” you call. As you step toward her desk, handing over to her the dessert, you notice two men standing in front of it.

Neither of them looks familiar, no badges in sight, so they're not cops or detectives. One of them’s dressed too casually to be a lawyer, and the tall one has a leather messenger bag just like yours. He seemed distracted, his sharp features catching the light as he frowned slightly, visibly uncomfortable with the brightness in the room.

Molly glances at you, then back at the men. “They asked to see you, Ms. Woodvale.”

You study them for a moment, your fingers still wrapped around the paper bag from Austin. The tall one stood out, his tousled hair, a quiet intensity in his eyes. You quickly push the thought aside. “And you are?”

The broad one steps forward, offering a warm but professional smile. “Agent Morgan. This is Dr. Spencer Reid. We’re with the FBI.”

Your eyes narrow slightly, not out of distrust but because an unannounced visit from the FBI rarely means good news. “FBI? What’s going on?”

Morgan’s gaze shifts between you and Austin who is now standing behind you with his arms crossed, casually leaning against the doorframe. “Can we speak in private?” he asks, his tone calm but firm.

You frown but nod slightly, feeling the sensitivity of the conversation, opening the door widely for them to enter, looking at Austin apologetically, and you see him frowned as well but gets the hint.

Austin pushes off the doorframe, clearly reluctant to leave. “I’ll be outside if you need me, Woody.” you would’ve preferred he did not use the dumb nickname he gave you in front of the feds, but at least it softened the tension in the air. It was a subtle reminder that you had allies.

Once inside, you clip your hair back and slip into professional mode as they take in your office, your diplomas, the little wooden chess board your father gifted you when you were 15, your little trinkets arranged through the shelfs. You set the paper bag down on your desk, smooth your blue suit, crossing your arms as Morgan steps forward, his tone polite but serious. “We’re here about the leak in your office. The D.A. suggested you might have information that could help us.”

Your expression hardens, a mix of frustration and worry bubbling beneath the surface. You’d been working to deal with the fallout, but if the FBI was here now, it meant the situation had escalated far beyond your control. “I’m already working with the detectives assigned to the case,” you say, keeping your tone even. “Why is the FBI suddenly involved?”

“Because people are dying,” answers Reid sharply and a bit too harshly, with a too obvious expression.

Morgan glares at him briefly, before stepping in to clarify. “We believe the leak in your office is connected to a string of murders. The unsub is targeting individuals tied to the office, we believe is a male driven by envy towards powerful and successful women and possibly has someone from here leaking personal information. Does that ring any bells?”

Your brow furrows as you digest the information. “Envy over women?” You let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “That doesn’t help or narrow anything down in a place like this. And ff there’s someone leaking information in this office, I would’ve—”

“Maybe you’re too close to it to see the cracks,” Reid interrupts, frustration clear in his voice. His gaze is sharp, challenging, and for a brief moment, you feel like you’re being dissected under a microscope.

“Excuse me?” The words come out clipped, your irritation flaring at his insinuation.

Morgan steps in, shooting Reid a pointed look that speaks volumes. “What Dr. Reid is trying to say,” he begins, his tone patient, “Is that we’re not ruling anything out yet. We’re here to figure out how the information is getting out, not to place blame.”

Your eyes linger on Reid for a moment. His posture is rigid, his hands curling around the straps of his bag, fingers flexing into fists before relaxing again. There’s something raw about him, an edge that feels out of place but oddly familiar. You can’t decide if it’s irritation, exhaustion, or something else entirely.

“And what exactly makes you think the information is still coming from here?”

Morgan reaches into his jacket, pulling out a thin file. He places it on your desk and flips it open, revealing photos of victims and case files. “These are the people we’ve identified so far. All of them were connected to cases your office has handled in the past 3 months. The timeline suggests the leak is ongoing.”

You skim the photos, the pit in your stomach growing heavier with each passing second. “And you’re sure this isn’t coincidental?”

Reid answers again, his voice tight. “Murders tied to your office’s cases? That’s not a coincidence. It’s a pattern.”

“Reid,” Morgan says firmly, his voice a quiet warning.

Reid exhales sharply, scratching his neck he mutters, “Sorry. I mean... it’s statistically significant.”

You straighten up, your gaze flicking between the two agents. “What do you need from me?”

Morgan’s grin softens the tension in the room. “Your insight, the D.A. said she trusted you to be our inside guide. We think you can help us fill in some blanks.”

You go through the file and nod “Fine. But if we’re doing this, I want access to everything you have so far. I don’t work blind.”

“Fair enough, we will also need a list of the people who have access to sensible information for our tech analyst, and if you can come to our office it would be useful” Morgan says.

“I'll have my assistant send it, let me just get some stuff” they nod and step out of your office, you grab your coat, satchel leather bag swinging it over one shoulder and eyed the untouched lunch.

“She’s going to be pissed if you give that to anyone else,” Austin says from the doorframe. You roll your eyes and bite the sandwich, your mother is an incredible woman and baker, but in your opinion she always excels herself when it comes to savory. “What was that about?” He asks.

“Apparently we have a mole in the office that's connected to murder by someone who’s envious of women” you answer halfway through that sandwich.

Austin’s expression sharpens as he steps closer. “Need me to look into it?” he offers, he’s an experienced private investigator who’s helped you through more cases than you can count. His connections, street smarts, and knack for digging up information have been invaluable to you, especially when things get too tangled for the usual channels. You could call him your best friend; though sometimes you threaten to kill him for knowing way too much about you.

You nod, finishing the sandwich, crumpling the paper bag and walking to the door “I'll text you if I need your help” you leave the office, going through the hallways to find the agents who lead you to their SUV on the way to Quantico.

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At headquarters, you stand in a room in front of the plastic board, all the victims, your ex-colleagues, none of them were truly friends, just girls you have worked with and you have lamented their deaths when you find out. You never thought their deaths could be related, less so to your office. You never thought their deaths would affect you so… personally.

You had already been introduced to the team, they all seemed professional and grounded, though you already knew Agent Hotchner from when he was a prosecutor, you shaked hands with Prentiss, Gideon, and JJ, letting your coat and bag in one of the chair’s arm in the conference room after being hand out the files.

The team gathers around the plastic board, Reid standing slightly to the side, tapping a pen against his palm with restless energy. He was looking at you and the way your eyes moved through the board, like you were physically trying to connect the dots, the way you were flicking your nails unconsciously, it was driving him crazy.

They had given the full profile of the unsub. Male from 30 to 35, probably has a job in the criminal justice world but his work goes unnoticed which lead to him being envious of women and blaming them when it comes to injustice, therefore the accusing notes.

You could think in a couple names from that description, but none of them were capable of murder, let alone how violent the crime scene pictures showed. From the list of people with recent access you had gave out, you secretly wished they were wrong about a mole. Although something sat wrong for you when you looked at the notes, why would someone-

A bright sound cuts through the room and your thoughts, Garcia’s voice, announcing through the screen, “Okay, folks, I’ve cross-checked the office access records with everything we have so far, and guess what? We have a match.” She sounded confident “Someone on the inside had access to all of the victims’ files. And it’s not just anyone. We have a name, and a face.” she announced showing a picture of a Paralegal friend of you, no. “Ana Lopez” Garcia continues, the name sounding almost foreign as it leaves her lips. “She’s been in and out of the office with access to every victim’s file, and I’ve cross-referenced her movements—she’s had a direct connection to every single one of them. And what's more... she had an unusual interest in the victim's case files long before things escalated.”

“it´s not Ana” the words leave your tongue before you can stop them.

Prentiss looks at you with a concerned expression “is she your friend? look i know it can be hard to digest that she-”

“She's very advocate to the victims,” you interrupt, with a voice tight, as you shakes your head. “Ana's been one of the most outspoken advocates for justice in the office. She’s passionate about these cases, about the women who get overlooked. She doesn’t fit the profile. This isn’t her."

“People can do out-of-character things when they’re pushed to their limit” Gideon interjects calmly, cutting through your spiraling thoughts and rambling. His voice is soft, but there’s an undeniable weight to it. “We’ve all seen it. The pressure can change people. It’s not always what it seems.”

Hotch nods, already stepping into action. “We’ll have to bring Ana in for questioning. Morgan, JJ, go to her house, Garcia will send you the address.”

Morgan gives a nod, and JJ’s gaze flickers to you, but she doesn’t say anything, respecting the heavy tension that hangs in the air.

You stand still, a knot of frustration tightening in the chest. You couldn’t shake the feeling of wrongness in all of this. Partially because Ana was a steady paralegal who wouldn´t hand out sensitive information, and partially because you felt there was something else buried deeper, and you needed answers.

“Look… let me dig further into this,” you reach for your phone, desperately avoiding the feeling of becoming someone who clings to conspiracy theories. “How are you planning on doing that?” Hotch’s voice is firm, questioning, but not dismissive.

“You have your sources, and I have mine,” your tone sharp as you speed dials a number. The phone rings once, twice, before it clicks. “Austin,” you step into the bullpen to take the call. “They think the mole is Ana”

“Lopez? That can be it. One time, I saw her take down a guy who was trying to cut corners on a case. She was too righteous about it, if you ask me.”

You exhale sharply, a mix of frustration and confusion clawing, making the room too warm for your liking, leading you to take your navy blazer off and settle it over a desk chair. “I don’t know, Austin. My gut tells me there's something more. I need answers.”

“You think someone’s using her name? Hacking her or setting her up?” Austin asks, picking up on her suspicions.

“Exactly,” you answer quickly. “I don’t know how they’re doing it, but I need you to dig into everything—anything that could explain this. There has to be something we’re missing. Get me answers, Austin.”

“Understood, Captain,” he replies, his voice laced with a touch of humor despite the seriousness of the situation. “I’ll get to work on this and call you with anything I find.” he hangs up.

You save your phone, square your shoulders and take a deep breath, noticing Prentiss walking towards you, concern in her eyes. She stops just a few feet away and speaks gently, “Hey… I know this is a lot, and I know it’s close to home for you. Do you want some coffee? It might help clear your head for a moment.”

You glance at her, tired but appreciative of the offer. A small sigh escapes your lips as you nod. “Yeah, I think that’s a good idea.”

She leads you to the break room, a quiet part of the office where the noise of the investigation feels a little further away. The sound of the coffee machine brews in the background as she pours two cups, and you deny when she asks for how much sugar. She hands one before sitting down across from you at the table.

You take the mug in your hands, feeling the warmth seep through, the bitter and burn taste grounding your thoughts. “I get that you’re all just doing your jobs, Prentiss. I understand that. It’s just... as an attorney, you learn to read people. And sometimes, you have to trust your gut. Right now, my gut is telling me I missed something, not about Ana but about all of this.”

Prentiss nods like she understands what you are saying, letting the silence settle between you for a moment “You know you seem young to be A.D.A.” she jokes lightly.

Raising up your cup “That’s what the defense always says before losing” you say back, thanking internally for the attempt to ease up “I'm 22… I graduated from law school at 20 and immediately got an internship… so since then i’ve been working up my position”

Prentiss chuckles softly, leaning back in her chair. “Don't tell me you are a genius too… I can see why though. You’ve got a sharp edge to you—good for the courtroom, probably not so great for poker.”

You chuckle, a small smirk tugging at your lips. “Well, let’s just say I prefer chess.” Sensing where the conversation might go, you subtly steer it away, curious about what she meant by too but before you can say more, Austin’s ringtone erupts, cutting through the quiet hum of the break room. You quickly pull your phone out and answer. “Got you answers” he says.

That was enough for you to put him on speaker mode and head back to the room with the rest of the team.

“Turns out Ana had an intern who’s been frequenting closed files, Daniel Reeves” he states, and when you don´t recognize the name it weirds you out. “I don’t recall that name”.

“That’s because he was at the office while you and I were on vacation in L.A. in February,” Austin explains. You’re too focused on connecting the dots to notice Gideon’s raised eyebrows or Spencer’s subtle eye roll.

“Anyway,” Austin continues, “This kid’s good with computers and had access to her credentials. Nobody paid too much attention to him, but an officer told me he’s been prowling around the file room for the last couple of months. I can’t guarantee he’s your guy, but it’s definitely worth looking into.”

“Daniel Reeves…” Garcia says through the desk phone speaker. “Graduated top of his class in computer science, specialized in cybersecurity, and interned with several law firms before Ana’s office. If anyone could hack a system and cover their tracks, it’s him.”

“Looks like he had access to the same systems Ana uses,” Garcia adds “And—oh, this is interesting—there’s a flagged incident from his previous internship. Something about unauthorized access to confidential records, but no charges were filed.”

Hotch steps forward, his posture commanding as always. “Garcia, send the new address to Morgan and JJ. I’ll let them know we found the mole”

“On it, Hotch. They’ll be there in no time.” She answers.

You take a deep breath, rubbing your forehead and letting settle the satisfaction that you are being useful to stop this madness. You glance at the phone, and press the speakerphone off. “Thanks for your help, Austin.”

The voice on the other end crackles with a slight delay, but Austin’s tone is unmistakable “Glad I could help Woody, take care”. You smile faintly at the nickname. “You too,” you say before hanging up and saving your phone in your bag, returning your attention to the team.

Reid, still fidgeting with the files in front of him, looks up briefly, his gaze lingering just a little too long. The flicker of his interest escapes you, your thoughts focused on the notes but you don't acknowledge it, choosing instead to focus on the case.

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There was something oddly familiar about the notes; and, of course, you were the only one noticing it. Since Austin’s discovery, they had brought in Daniel Reeves, who confessed to being blackmailed, claiming he had no idea who was behind any of this, so it was almost a dead end. You flicked your nails unconsciously, if you had a pen you would swirl it and if you weren’t so anxious you would be seated with your leg bouncing.

"Your silence speaks for itself."

"Integrity means different things to different people. Some get to define it for themselves."

"Your behavior demonstrates a pattern of reckless disregard for justice."

"Your behavior demonstrates a pattern of reckless disregard for justice." That one had stuck up with you. Reckless disregard. Reckless disregard. Reckless disregard. The way it rolled through your tongue gave you the clue of something else. You knew you had used those words before, if you could only place where; thousands of citations, warrants? Your eyes would move from point to point like you were physically searching, your nails would flick faster and faster. Where?

“God, could you stop doing that!?” Reid snaps, his gaze sharp with annoyance, and you look at him with the eyes of a deer caught in headlights.

You have learned over the years to not take stuff thrown at you personally, whether it is an out loud objection, a dirty trick in court with a judge, an inmate yelling at you for getting a sentence, an annoyed face in the search of a judge to sign a warrant, you do-not-take-it-personally.

But the look on Reid’s face made you feel like a 15-year-old misfit again, the girl who would cry, jump, and be on the verge of a panic attack if anyone accidentally touched her or if something too sweet triggered memories of hands creeping up, a teenager surrounded by college students who believed she was a narcissist egomaniac violent freak, a look you were afraid to find in your parents eyes when the therapist had told them about your anger issues and impulsiveness after you had destroyed the lamp in your bedroom, a look of plain annoyance not for what you had done but for who you are and what you represent, a mere obstacle, you were awkward and overwhelmed by everything. For a moment, the confident prosecutor, the woman in charge, vanished.

And you knew everybody in the room had noticed it, even after you had recovered from that second, you noticed it in the look on Derek's face, the way he looked at you apologetically, “Reid.” Gideon said, like a father scold his kid.

“It's okay I'll.. i need a coffee” you excuse yourself out of the room as fast and collected as you can, looking for some air.

In the room Reid senses his outburst has landed harder than he would’ve imagined. “Reid, go back to the scene. Start digging through the evidence again. There might be something we missed.” Hotch’s voice cuts through the air, and he opens his mouth to protest “Now.” Hotch remarks, which stops him from going further.

It was just so fucking annoying, the way she flicked her nails nonstop. Why did nobody see it?. So on his way out he grabs the leather bag that’s in one of the chairs of the room and finds it so irritating when Gideon follows him to notice there’s another satchel, in his desk chair covered with a blue blazer, his satchel.

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You had poured yourself another cup of extra bitter coffee, why did it affect you so much? god it was pathetic, you had faced worse than some guy calling you annoying. Maybe because you haven't seen it coming, maybe because it was so… reckless.

Reckless disregard. Reckless disregard.

Now where the fuck did you know that from? While being focused you sensed someone coming and discovered it was Morgan’s footsteps echoing through the bullpen, drawing your attention back to the present.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice low as he stepped into your line of sight. “How you holding up?”

You took a deep breath, trying to center yourself. “I’m fine, just… thinking. I guess.” you tried to brush off, your mind was already elsewhere.

“Look, Reid is going th—”

“I’ve had it worse, really. I mean, law school is not for the weak,” you interrupted, joking, before he could start feeling pity for you.

He huffs with humor and decides to drop the apology on Reid’s behalf. Instead, he leans casually against the wall, arms crossed, his eyes watching you carefully “Occupational hazard I suppose... you know sometimes I wonder what happens after we catch the Unsubs”

“Well the fight doesn't end there, it does bring peace to the victims but believe me.. the legal battle sometimes is worse than the haunt.” you stare at the wall as you recall some of the people you have helped over the years.

“What do you mean?” Morgan's brows furrowed as he leaned closer, genuinely intrigued.

“Well…” you began, taking a deep breath, “The system is messy. It’s not like TV where the bad guy just goes to jail, and everyone walks away happy. Families have to relive their trauma during trials. There are plea deals, technicalities, appeals... It drags on. And sometimes,” you pause, gripping your cup a little tighter, “Justice doesn’t feel like justice at all.”

Morgan tilted his head, his voice softer now. “You’ve seen that happen, haven’t you?”

You exhale sharply, giving him a sidelong glance. “More times than I’d like to admit. You work so hard to get the right outcome, and then… loopholes, errors, or even just bad luck. It’s like pouring water into a cracked glass. It never fills up.”

He nodded, his expression thoughtful. “And the people who go through that… they don’t always come out the other side, do they?”

“No, they don’t.” You look down into your coffee, your mind turning over the notes again. “Sometimes they snap under the weight of it all, the pain, the guilt, the blame, the...”

Blame

Your head snaps at him as you realize. “Blame.” That was it.

He furrowed his eyebrows not catching your thoughts “What?”

The cup clatters onto the counter, the sound sharp in the quiet hallway, but you’re already moving, your steps brisk as you head toward the conference room. Morgan calls after you, his voice a mix of confusion and concern. “Hey, hold up! What’s going on?”

You don’t answer immediately, your mind racing as you burst into the room. The others look up, startled by your sudden entrance. Without a word, you grab the bag containing the notes from the board, your hands moving with purpose as you spread them out in front of you.

“Blame,” you say, your voice firm, almost breathless. “These notes and murders—they’re not coming from someone who’s envious, but from someone who’s blaming the system. Not because it didn’t recognize them, but because it failed them!” The words tumble out faster than you can organize them, your thoughts racing ahead of your mouth. You’re not even fully conscious of what you’re saying, already dissecting the next connection in your mind.

JJ steps closer, his brows furrowed in curiosity. “Failed them how?”

“They’re not jealous of the people they’re targeting,” you continue, pointing to the scattered notes as your mind sharpens. “They’re angry. Angry at the system for not delivering justice, for letting them down when they needed it the most.” You reach for one of the notes, holding it up as you ramble. “Look at the phrasing they’re accusatory they’re challenging the idea of accountability, of consequences it’s not about wanting what these people have it’s about punishing them for what the unsub sees as complicity in their pain.”

In your state of mind you barely recall the sound of Hotch’s phone and him stepping out of the room, too focused on looking at Morgan, Prentiss and JJ.

“The profile is wrong” Prentiss says, nodding slowly as she starts piecing it together herself. Her eyes flick to the board covered with crime scene photos and victims’ profiles. “That’s why he’s targeting people from both sides, defense and prosecution. It’s not about personal grudges against individuals; it’s about what they represent.”

“Exactly,” you reply, your voice firm. “He sees them as symbols of a broken system. Defense attorneys, paralegals, judges—they’re all complicit in his eyes. They’re the ones who allowed the system to fail him.”

Prentiss gestures to the timeline on the board. “But what was the trigger? What pushed him from feeling betrayed to committing these murders?”

You take a deep breath, your eyes scanning the notes again. “It’s got to be personal—a case he was directly connected to. Something happened that made him feel like the system didn’t just fail, but actively betrayed him. He have go to the records”

Morgan pushes off the table, already reaching for the phone. “Hey, Babygirl, we need you to go through court files and find something that stands out, any cases around three months ago when the murders started.”

“Okay, do you have anything more specific to know what I’m looking for?” Garcia’s voice crackles through the speaker, the familiar clacking of her keyboard filling the room as she prepares to search.

“We need to focus on high-profile cases that could have shaken the system. Look for any parole hearings, controversial verdicts, or any case that resulted in a big upset—something that would’ve made the Unsub feel like the system betrayed him,” He explains, already pacing with his phone pressed to his ear.

"Got it," Garcia responds, her fingers already flying across the keyboard. "I'll start pulling up all cases with defense or prosecution lawyers involved. High stakes stuff."

But before all of you could start digging and theorizing, Hotch’s voice cuts through the air, leaving you all frozen. “They’ve found another body with another note.”

The tension in the room thickens. Your breath takes off and without missing a beat, you all gather your things, it takes you a minute to find your blazer but in the heat of the moment you didn’t question why and how had your bag gotten under it, instincts kicking into gear as you rush to the scene.

“JJ you are with me, Gideon and Reid are already going to the scene” they all nod at the commanding voice of Hotch and you rush to get in the back seat of the black SUV with Morgan and Prentiss.

　　　　 　　　 .˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅.　　　　　　

In the car you take a moment to breathe and collect your thoughts to be able to think of anyone who can feel betrayed enough to commit murder. The problem is that anyone can feel betrayed enough to have an outburst. Hell, you were no one to talk about outburst if more than a couple times you had imagined yourself throwing something to inmates or smashing their heads against the table when all the evidence pointed at them being guilty and insisted on dragging the trials off.

“Can I ask why L.A. in the winter?” Prentiss' voice from the passenger seat brings you back to the car.

“What?”

“I mean it wouldn’t be my first choice for a romantic getaway” she thinks out loud.

“Ohh.. wait, romantic? Austin is not my boyfriend.. I just don’t like travelling alone” you are quick to correct her. You weren't lying, the statistics show how dangerous it is for women to travel alone and it gave your parents some peace to think someone will be there to keep you company that they trusted, plus he’s a good travel buddy because he knows when to bother and when to not do it.

Prentiss nods, as if taking mental notes, probably profiling you. “I just thought L.A. in the winter was more of a vacation spot, you know? Beaches, sunshine... not really the first place you’d think of for a quiet getaway.”

“They hold the biggest Doctor Who convention there during that time of the year ” you mumble, noticing how both Morgan and Prentiss look at each other as if sharing a thought and before you can ask, the blue and red lights hit you, announcing the arrival to the apartment complex, the crime scene.

You all step out of the car, the place is full of officers and you rush to where Gideon and Hotch are standing, note in hand. You notice how Reid has some urgency to tell you something but when JJ hands you the bag that secures evidence with the note.

"No one is above the law. Except for the guilty who’ve been given second chances."

Glancing at the note, your mind races, piecing together fragments of information, second chances. “Parole,” you murmur “The unsub is a victim, and their victimizer got out on parole!” Your eyes dart from point to point, connecting the dots. “That’s what he means by second chances.”

Hotch nods sharply “Garcia is already going through parole records.”

Just as the words settle, a new idea strikes you like lightning, and you barely take a breath before blurting, “I think I know something about the notes!” The sudden burst of realization sends you sprinting to the car, leaving the team, and a startled Spencer Reid, in your wake.

“Wait-” Spencer starts, his voice tight and laced with something unspoken, but you’re already too far gone to hear the rest, leaving him with panic in his eyes and an open mouth as he was about to say something.

Fumbling through your bag, your hands shake with the adrenaline coursing through you. “Your silence speaks for itself. Integrity means different things to different people. Some get to define it for themselves. Reckless disregard for justice. Second chances...” You mutter fragments aloud, recognizing the phrases. They weren’t random. You’ve read these words before, somewhere specific. A draft of a closing statement? A court transcript? Your fingers move frantically, searching for your phone, your notes, something. Why did you brought your copy of Crime and Punishment? and why did it look a little bit newer than yours? Where's your phone? Where are your files?. Not every criminal can get out on parole—they need good behavior, a stable support system… Maybe you put it in the front pocket.

Your hand grazes something cold and smooth. Glass. Then something sharp, metal. You freeze, pulling the objects into view. Two small bottles of Dilaudid and a needle. Your throat tightens, and you feel the air around you thin and the familiar warm that comes with anger starts to settle down your back.

You glance up, almost instinctively, and your furious eyes land on him. Spencer’s standing a few feet away, his expression is a contorted pale mask of fear, guilt, and helplessness, his eyes wide and pleading as they lock onto yours, making you look away at the full disclosure of a crime scene.

The chaos of the crime scene rushes back to you. The flash of blue and red lights dancing across every surface, the sharp crackle of radio chatter blending with raised voices, the metallic tang of blood still fresh in the air. Officers move purposefully, their dark uniforms a blur of activity as evidence is collected and barriers are secured.

There are 3 things going on in your brain right now.

This is not your bag, it's Spencer’s.

Spencer is an addict.

You are in the middle of a crime scene, surrounded by cops with a full stash of illegal drugs.

You have to think, think fast and now. The unsub, the drugs, the notes, his sharpness, the victims.

You see Morgan stepping out of the building, his sharp gaze scanning the scene. Panic rushes through you like ice water. You shove the Dilaudid and needle back into the bag, your hands trembling as you close it. Your mind races, desperate to piece together what to do next. “Morgan I need you to drive me to my office”

“What? Why?” he looks at you like you are out of your mind.

“I need a file I thought I had it with me but I don't and it would be faster I don't think the words of the notes are random I think I have seen them before in some legal file that could lead us to the Unsub” the words rush, you are rambling desperate to get out that place, clutching the strap of the bag to your chest.

Morgan’s sharp gaze lingers on you as he signals the car. “Get in,” he says before telling Prentiss and Hotch about it and getting in the car.

You slide into the passenger seat, gripping the bag so tightly your knuckles ache. Morgan settles into the driver’s seat and starts the engine, the rumble of the car barely masking the tension between you. As you approach your office building, you mentally rehearse your next steps. Get upstairs, dispose of the drugs, and look for the file. Your mind spins with the weight of the discovery, but you shove it aside as Morgan pulls up to the curb.

You get out of the car and enter the building. It’s past 10 pm so no one is around, except you two, as you get closer to your office you hear a noise somewhere that makes Morgan instincts spark up. “It's probably the janitor” you brush off.

“I’ll take a look” you nod and ask for his phone to call Garcia if needed, he gives it to you as he takes off his gun and you thank whatever mess that cleaning man was making, giving you the opportunity to execute your plan alone.

You open the door and rush to the bathroom taking the bottles out. How could Reid do something like this? Did his team know? The anger, a familiar flame, burns through you as you flush the contents of the bottle and went back to the office to look for the paper bag that had contained your lunch this morning.

It was irrational for you to be this angry at him without even knowing him but it was there, simmering under the surface. How could someone do this to himself? To his team? To the people who rely on him?

The crumpled paper bag from earlier sat on your desk, you broke the needle off, and shoved it inside with the empty bottles to dump it deep into one of the trash cans in the hallway. Out of sight, out of mind. At least for now.

You go through your cabinets, looking for the draft files. “Where is it?” you muttered under your breath, flipping through yet another folder. The contents were a jumble of case summaries, old briefs, and legal drafts, but none of them held the connection you were chasing. You were good with names, especially if it was tied to a legal document, which could be sad but right now is useful when you finally stumble upon a file that felt too familiar. You pulled it out, the edges worn from use, and opened it. A closing statement you’d written 5 years ago during a case.

Lawrence Finch. Larry.

Father of two kids with a wife, family that was taken away from him because in a car accident where the other driver was a rich guy who was too high to understand anything and got out harmless, Evan Grayson was his name. You remember how hollow he looked and how much he had thanked you after you got the guy sentenced. In your closing statement you spoke about the depth of his loss, about the void that could never be filled. You'd used his words, his pain, to hammer home the injustice, the lives lost because of one reckless decision. You remembered how his face had softened in that brief moment of relief after the sentence was handed down. He’d shaken your hand and said, “You gave me my justice.”

Glancing at the words you realize how the words you’d written, once so full of conviction, now echoed in your head, twisted and distorted. The Unsub had taken your closing statement—Lawrence Finch’s words—and turned them into something chilling.

"Your silence speaks for the victims. They can no longer speak for themselves." had become "Your silence speaks for itself."

"Integrity is the foundation of justice. It means holding those responsible accountable, no matter who they are." was now "Integrity means different things to different people. Some get to define it for themselves."

"His behavior demonstrates a complete disregard for human life, a pattern of recklessness that cannot go unpunished." had morphed into "Your behavior demonstrates a pattern of reckless disregard for justice."

And the final sting, the one that had sealed the fate of the driver who’d taken a family’s life, was now twisted into something far more personal "No one is above the law, not even those who believe their privilege protects them from it." turned into "No one is above the law. Except for the guilty who’ve been given second chances."

He wasn’t just echoing your words—he was using them, warping them into a weapon.

You grab Morgan’s phone and look through the contacts before pressing call “Garcia, I need you to look up something for me,” the urgency was clear in your voice.

“You are not my chocolate thunder but speak and you'll be heard” Garcia responded, always upbeat even when the stakes were high.

“Evan Grayson. I need everything you can find on him—parole status, criminal record, anything recent,” you said, pacing the room as your mind spun with connections you were still piecing together.

"Got it! Give me a second, I’ll dig into the system,” Garcia said, her voice clicking into business mode. A few moments of silence passed, you hear some rustling outside but ignore it, before she spoke again, her tone more focused. “Okay, here we go. Evan Grayson, 27, convicted of vehicular manslaughter five years ago. Served three years, got released early on good behavior.”

“Garcia, they guy murdered almost an entire family five years ago, the only one left was the father Larry Finch, he’s our unsub, he’s been using the words of trial for the notes!” you said, your voice tight. “We need to localize him and inform the rest of the team that-.”

Before you could finish, a scuffle echoed from down the hallway, followed by a muffled shout that cut through the silence of the building. Morgan’s voice calling your name with an edge of panic. Garcia’s voice asking what was going on felt far.

You bolted toward the sound, heart pounding in your chest. The door to your office was ajar, and you caught sight of Morgan wrestling with someone, a blur of motion. The other figure was struggling, trying to break free, but Morgan’s grip was like steel.

"Get down!" Morgan barked, his voice gruff with exertion.

Your eyes widened as you recognized the man, Larry Finch, the very person whose family had been torn apart in the accident. He was here. Right here. In your office. Probably looking for you.

Your mind raced, trying to process the situation, but Morgan didn’t give you time to think. He quickly subdued Larry, pinning him to the ground with the precision only years of training could provide. The fight drained from Larry’s body as Morgan cuffed him, his breath coming in ragged gasps with his gaze towards the officers that were running towards him.

His words pierced the air, heavy with accusation. “You promised me he would never get out! You failed me! All of you failed me!” Larry’s voice was raw, full of grief and rage. This wasn’t the grieving father you’d met 5 years ago, this was a man hollowed out by loss, filled with nothing but rage and betrayal. His words struck deep because he wasn’t wrong, you understood profusely the feelings and you had failed him somehow and maybe if you had known about Evan Grayson getting out you could’ve done something. Those eyes full of hurt and betrayal were locked on you as they pulled him away, Morgan´s concerned gaze on your figure frozen behind the door of your office, with your hands still clenching the statement.

He went to put a hand on your shoulder to comfort you “Wanna step outside for some air?” he offers. You shake your head, moving on to the next task, locking your feelings away “i’ll meet you outside, I just… I need to do something real quick.”. He hesitates but nods and leaves you alone giving your shoulder a brief squeeze as you walk back to your desk, focused on the pace of your breaths and working on keeping them even. You see Morgan’s phone screen with a message from Garcia “i heard noises and called for backup”

So everyone was downstairs. Everyone including Reid. Reid. Dilaudid. Your fault. Anger.

You exhaled slowly, willing yourself to stay in control and not destroy or throw anything that was at your reach, you grab the black desk phone, speed dialing 9 without even looking. When a calming “Hello?” sounds in the other line you breathe deep again, the grip on the phone getting tighter, you close your eyes, steadying yourself as you grab a pen and paper with shaking hands.

“Dr. Fitzgerald i… i need your help”

　　　　 　　　 .˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅.　　　　　　

You step outside just as JJ and Reid emerge from a black SUV. JJ barely spares a glance before rushing toward Morgan, Prentiss, and Hotch, but Reid stops. His gaze lands on you, then drifts lower to the satchel slung across your body. His satchel.

Your breath catches for half a second, but you don’t give him the chance. Before he can take a step in your direction, you move first. Quick, deliberate. You make your way to another SUV, open the backseat, and set the bag inside without so much as a glance in his direction. Then, with Larry’s file gripped tight in your hand, you head straight for the team.

You don’t look at him. You can’t.

But it doesn’t stop you from feeling the weight of his stare. From sensing the way he lingers, trying to find a moment, an opening, to talk to you alone. You know exactly how that conversation will go, how the fury and frustration bubbling under your skin will erupt the second he speaks. If he tries, you will yell. And you don’t trust yourself to stop.

So, instead, you focus. You lay out what you’ve found to the rest of the team members, flipping through the notes, explaining the connections, your voice steady despite the storm inside you, trusting that he’ll have the decency to not approach you.

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch movement. Reid. He’s walking toward another SUV, the leather bag, your leather bag, slipping from his shoulder as he places it inside without hesitation.

He caught on.

You force yourself to keep talking, to keep your focus on the case, but inside, you're torn. Part of you wants to be grateful that he understood, that he’s playing along. Another part of you hates that he did.

Because it means he knows. And that’s almost worse.

　　　　 　　　 .˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅.　　　　　　

You watched the chessboard, considering the game’s progress. The case was wrapped up, but you still had some files and reports to gather. More than that, you liked talking to the team, there was something about the spirit of family among them that you hadn’t expected. It was a strange feeling, one that tugged at you.

“Would you like to play?” you heard someone ask you, making you turn around to see Agent Gideon, speaking of “family”, you had noticed how he acted like a mentor or father to Reid, maybe he was. You knew fathers weren't perfect, you guess that extended to figurative ones too, but how could someone so proud of playing that role ignore something as obvious as Reid’s addiction? No help, no support. Did he even know what it was like to battle something like that? did he even know what it was like having an addiction? did he know Reid has one?

“Yes” you answer to him, chess has always played an important part in your life, a way out, literally and metaphorically, a board of 46 squares and more possible moves than the amount of atoms in the universe, a regulated and controlled space, where you had all the control.

You both sat at opposite sides of the board, rearranging the pieces. “Black or white?” he asked. “I'm fine with either”. You didn't believe in luck or coincidences, so when he grabbed both queens and made you pick, drawing black, you didn't think much of it. Mathematically you were at a disadvantage, when two machines play chess, black always loses. But you’d gone through enough to know better than to give up on a weak starting position.

So move after move, you weren't playing to win really, and judging his moves he wasn't either, you can tell a lot from someone's way to play chess. “It's nice to play against someone new you know?”. Gideon glanced for a second at Reid with a brief smile. That made you doubt your next move, because your rage has always made you freeze for a second and erratic the next. How could he?. Yes, you have been avoiding Reid at all costs. No, you didn't know if he and Dr. Fitzgerald had talked. You had helped him in the best way you could've possibly found fighting to not panic too much.

So you hummed in response, letting the wheels in your head turn as you shifted your strategy, so when you started playing to win, the game was too advance for him to do a proper counter attack.

“Checkmate” a smile appeared on your face, the same one when you knew the inmate was going to get convicted, when your closing statement had convinced the jury. When someone underestimated you.

Gideon tilted his head, eyebrows raised, lips pursed. He glanced between you and the board. “Didn’t see that one coming,”

With your fingers still resting lightly on the queen, you paused for a second. “Yeah there's a lot of things you either don't see or choose to ignore, Agent Gideon” your piercing stare and a cool voice, heavy with the weight of frustration.

Gideon’s smile faltered, and for the first time, his eyes showed something more than just the calm resolve he always projected. Your words had hit the mark. He knew it wasn’t just about chess.

You had outplayed him, just as you had outplayed the situation. And just as you had done with Reid, by realizing and taking action, something that clearly no one else had.

After talking to Hotch, reports in hand, as you walked out of the Headquarters and stumble upon Morgan, who gives you a warm and friendly smile as he says hi.

"Hey umm.. I wasn't really able to thanked you the other night after you saved my life, I truly thought it was just a cleaning lady" It felt so shameful how unaware you had been at the danger that night because of your meltdown.

He moves his hand as it was nothing. "Hey I'm just glad I decided to go with you instead of waiting in the car"

Reaching for one of your presentation cards, neatly saved in your new black leather bag, holding it between your index and middle finger to him "Well... I still own a big one. So if you ever need legal help or anything else, don't hesitate to reach for me"

He takes it nodding and reads it out loud your full name with a funny pace "I'll hold on to that one Miss A.D.A. Woodvale".

You laugh at his way to pronounce it, feeling too formal for the moment "Please just.. call me Woody"

He chuckles "Wait like the Toy Story character?"

You chuckled too "Yeah it's uhh.. dumb name but.." you shrug as a friendly smile paints your face as you realize you had made a new friend which was weird for you but felt oddly satisfying as you said your goodbyes and walked in opposite's directions.

Your thoughts wandered to Spencer, against your better judgment, they always did recently. It was infuritating the fact that your mind always went back around him, you couldn’t quite say why exactly, because if you would've have never found out what you did, he would've have stayed as the rude and annoying agent you met once.

But then you remembered the other side of him—the trembling hands, the lost stares, the outburst, the bottles you found in his bag. You couldn’t unsee it, couldn’t separate him from the shadow of his addiction. And it broke something inside you, because you knew what that darkness looked like, how it devoured people whole.

You wanted to reach for him, to offer more than the cold anger and frustration you’d shown, but you were too afraid. Afraid of what it might mean for both of you if he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, fight his way out. Afraid that you would fall too, trying to save someone.

You hoped he would get help. You prayed to gods you didn't even believe in for it. You knew all too well what it felt like to be trapped in that cycle, in your body. You couldn’t bear the thought of him staying there, lost.

And so you walked away, keeping your distance, even though a part of you that you didn’t understood ached to stay.

　　　　 　　　 .˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱ˙ ˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅.　　　　　　

part II

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[theglamorousferal]

Just found out about the Enough Stuff Non-Profit in Illinois and it got me thinking about Crime Alley and about if there was a place like that, they’d work hard to keep it going.

Now I’m imagining Danny, ghost king with its coffers, things at relative peace, but not having to actively work. He’d want to still be able to give back I think even if it’s not actively fighting. What if Danny started an Enough Stuff shop. Everything there is free. Everything is donated. It runs on donations. (The first few months it runs on his savings; ghost money translates thankfully).

Danny lives in the apartment above the store and the store has two floors. Sam moves in next door and runs an apothecary and plant store. She ends up running a vegan bakery and coffee shop too. If you perform or write a poem, you get a free coffee and scone. If she has the chance, she’ll teach you about basic herbal remedies and also some basic first aid because while honey is an antibiotic, it doesn’t do shit for something needing stitches. Jazz moves in and opens a free pediatric clinic. Tucker can be found running the business side of the non-profits and pushing Sam to “just get an EMT certification already, you’re more than qualified, and you know you want to.” Val travels a lot, she’s an Olympic martial artist, but when she settles someplace to train it’s usually with the trio in their Frankenstein apartment made up of the top two floors of three connected buildings. Between Danny finding he enjoyed training from his years as a hero and Sam wanting to always be in top form there’s a gym there she can train in and Danny’s usually free. She helps with whoever needs it when she has free time so she doesn’t feel like a mooch for living there only part-time. She ends up saving some kid from a thug and deciding to train him up. This leads to the kid bringing more kids to learn from her. She ends up buying a building on the block and renovating it to be a gym and training facility for her and it gets added to the list of non-profits Tucker is running. (He only leaves his corner office, he insisted, during working hours for lunch or meetings and the occasional lunch meeting).

Tim losing his mind trying to find anything about them. Him constantly hitting firewalls of binary, Egyptian hieroglyphics, Esperanto and some other language he could only describe as auditory Zalgo text. Tim desperately wanting to investigate in person but he promised Jason he’d stay out of it until he asked.

Jason coming back from a long mission with the Outlaws seeing the “cute little trust fund kid’s experiment” not only flourishing, but growing. He goes to research them only to find they’re mostly squeaky clean. There’s some stuff about disturbance of the peace and minor property damage when a teenager, but that doesn’t mean anything for someone setting up in Crime Alley. He watches them for a while, listened to what his guys said about them and the general opinion. He decides they’re above board, but he’d still watch them.

Then he got shot. More accurately, a shot grazed just under his armpit where there was a gap in his armor. He ended up stumbling out of an alleyway and directly into the pathway of one red headed doctor.

Kinda want to add more Amity Parker’s at some point. Debating having Paulina run a fashion house in the fashion district because she couldn’t convince her dad to let her move to a place known as Crime Alley, and just spend a bunch of time at Danny’s shop and maybe drop off ‘fits she made there. Star and Wes running a local radio station. Dash becoming a mechanic (after freaking out about not making it in football). Kwan opens a vet clinic. Eventually the Amity Parker’s own a full two blocks of housing and businesses.

[metamatar]

October 10, 2022

Amit Kumar had everything going for him. After graduating in engineering and landing a decent job, Amit wanted to settle down with his childhood sweetheart Renu. The couple had known each other since Class IX and dreamt of a life together. The only difficulty was that Renu belonged to a Brahmin family and Amit was a Dalit.

With their homes barely a kilometre apart in Garhwa district of Jharkhand, Renu knew her family would never approve of the match. The couple decided to run away and tie the knot in another State. And thus began their tale of unending harassment and tragedy.

The couple married at a temple in Dehradun and got their marriage registered there. They had just about settled down at Paonta Sahib in Himachal Pradesh when, in a midnight raid, the Uttar Pradesh police took away Renu, claiming that she had been abducted. Amit and Renu have not seen or spoken to each other since that fateful night of August 13, 2021.

Amit’s life has been a quagmire of legal battles and dismissed habeas corpus petitions since then. “I fear my wife is no more,” he told The Hindu.

Activists say such tragic situations can be avoided if couples like Amit and Renu are provided safe houses and special protection by the State governments as mandated by the Supreme Court.

According to data from the National Crime Records Bureau (NCRB), the number of “honour killings” in the country was 24, 25 and 33 in 2019, 2020 and 2021, respectively. Punjab, Madhya Pradesh and Jharkhand topped the list in 2021 and 2020, while Manipur was on top in 2019.

The government in 2021 informed Parliament that there were 145 “honour killing” incidents in the country between 2017 and 2019.

Interestingly, though the NCRB report attributed only 25 deaths to “honour killings” in 2020, it said there were 27 deaths due to casteism and 1,558 due to “illicit relationship”. Similarly, in 2021, 33 deaths were listed under “honour killings”, but 1,544 and 1,532 under “illicit relationship” and “love affairs”, respectively.

So far, only Delhi, Haryana and Punjab have safe houses for inter-faith and inter-religious couples. Kerala has only announced the setting up of a safe house.

In fact, only 21 States have said that they have complied with the Supreme Court directives, which means that they have asked the police officers concerned of a State for strict compliance, according to Dhanak for Humanity, a non-governmental organisation which works with such couples, helping them solemnise their marriages and providing legal support.

The Supreme Court had in 2018 directed that safe houses be set up in every district as well as a special cell in States for couples facing opposition from families and community.

Gaurav Yadav, an engineer from IIT Chennai, said he was working with survivors of “honour crimes” and couples who are in hiding to petition the government for more safe houses across the country.

“Soon we will form an official grouping and petition the government to follow the Supreme Court directives on safe houses and special cells,” Mr. Yadav said, adding that he had organised a convention regarding the same in Delhi recently.

He said though couples had been demanding that safe houses be set up, the State administrations had looked the other way.

An example is of Ravikant Chandrawanshi and Alisha, who had a harrowing time getting married under the Special Marriage Act in Chhattisgarh.

The inter-faith couple at first decided to elope and marry in Bilaspur. However, a lack of support system and security, including finances, saw them return home in Kawardha within four days.

“As my wife’s family were well to do and politically connected, they kept up the pressure on us. Finally, we had to take legal recourse and approached the High Court asking them to direct the State administration to provide the mandated safe house and police protection.

“However, we were informed that there was no safe house and Alisha had to go to a sakhi centre or a women’s safe house,” Mr. Chandravanshi said.

Though the couple approached the highest of authorities, they were not given any police protection either and had to go into hiding for around six months after their marriage.

According to Asif Iqbal of Dhanak for Humanity, most States send the girl to a Nari Niketan after couples approach them. “It is here that the girl is the most insecure as her family mostly approaches her and puts pressure to go back. Many a time, this also leads to what is known as honour killing of the girl”.

Sanjay Sachadev of Love Commandoes, an organisation which rescues and shelters such couples, said, “The need of the hour is safe houses across the country. In almost every case, the police try and send the girl to a women’s shelter and the boy is left to fend for himself.”

A couple who are staying in a Delhi safe house and did not wish to be identified said that they could not have thought of living together had it not been for the security of the safe house.

Mr. Iqbal, whose organisation has helped many couples seek legal recourse to stay together and get married, said that of the distress calls he receives, the most were from Uttar Pradesh, Maharashtra and Rajasthan.

[aliferous-ly]

A ghost haunted season 10. Certainly not a malicious one, if a bit mischievous - and one had to keep a careful eye out to catch him.

Jevin heard him first, deep underground. He was hunting iron, early in the season, and he was having the worst luck. He even looked up where iron should be, to make sure the updates hadn't changed anything! Alas, the iron evaded him. Jevin might have to resort to begging and then jump straight to a farm.

And he kept hearing these crackly, faint snickers. At first he thought he'd been on a voice channel accidentally, but, no, his comm wasn't connected. Then, just to make sure, he disconnected it entirely - but the laughter prevailed. Jevin chalked it up to too many sleepless nights, and went to find an overachieving hermit already building an iron farm.

Stress heard him next, but as someone who heard murmuring monsters on a good day, she didn't give it a second thought. Clear as day she heard an, "oh, bugger." She thought, you and me both, monster, before going along with her day.

Then it was Xisuma, though he didn't hear anyone, he saw. It was a mere glimmer out of the corner of his eye. White hair, stout, pickaxe slung lovingly over a shoulder. When he looked back there was nothing. He resolved to run diagnostics on his helmet, because something was clearly haywire.

And in Joel's defense, he was both exhausted and brand new to hermitcraft. It wasn't like people had nametags on, they were a group of friends! So when an old man grumbled by, lost as could be within the shopping district, Joel furrowed his brows but ultimately was too tired to ruminate. He overheard the man saying something about shroomlights and called out, "Tango has the permit, but he doesn't have a shop up yet!"

The man startled, muttered something about "permits?" before scuttling off like a spooked horse. Joel shrugged. It was called hermitcraft, after all. There had to be loads of people he hadn't met yet.

Small instances added up. Scar fell asleep making a tree, hidden amongst the branches, and was spooked awake by the sound of a player dying. But when he checked his comm, nothing showed up. A dream, he thought uneasily.

I just need sleep, Tango thought.

Wow, someone's wearing a sick costume, Skizz thought. Too bad I'm too busy to go chat right now!

Who's messing with my hourglass now? Doc thought. Only, there wasn't anyone else on the server at the time. Probably an armor stand prank.

It all came to head when Hypno stumbled across his fifth stripmine in one mining session. He rolled his eyes, because of course Wels had created tunnels beneath Hypno's place just to be a nuisance. Except when he pointed it out to Wels, who was on call with Hypno but was busy caving, Wels expressed confusion.

"I've only made one or two strip mines. And they're not near you," Wels said.

Hypno saw a wisp of white hair turning a corner. "Haha, very funny, Wels. Come on out."

"I'm not joking?" Wels said in confusion. In the same beat he got the achievement for sneaking successfully past a shrieker for the first time and Hypno was far too high up to be near an ancient city.

"Maybe it's someone else?" Hypno murmured, checking who was online. Grian and Joel, who were having their own shenanigans blowing up the comms (it involved TNT, so the blowing up was quite literal). Impulse had just left. Etho, who could be a contender if Hypno didn't know he'd fallen asleep at the post office three hours ago. Plus, what sort of prank would this be, from Etho?

He explored the endless strip mines and got so lost that he had to dig his way up. When he mentioned the strangeness to Keralis, the man lit up and exclaimed that he'd found the same thing, how weird was that, huh?

Hypno investigated. If there was a bug in the world he'd need to know.

"You know, it might not be a bug," Cleo said meaningfully. They fidgeted with a tear in their clothes.

"What else would it be?" Hypno asked, mystified.

"Maybe it's a player. You know. Someone we never removed from the whitelist."

Cleo raised an eyebrow. It wasn't in their nature to beat around the bush, but at the same time they didn't want to act crass. Not for this.

Tentative realization trickled through Hypno. He nodded and abruptly left, unsure how to feel.

The information spread slowly through the rest of the server. Joe took to leaving boxes of torches and iron pickaxes about, and every so often would have to refill them. He didn't ask, but everyone swore they hadn't been stealing. Who would need an iron pickaxe at this point, anyway?

One night, Cub let off a slew of fireworks that were spherical and solid green. He heard a faint chuckle on the breeze, and raised a drink in quiet salute.

So, yes. A ghost haunted season 10. But ghost haunting had such a negative connotation, didn't it? The hermits, if they spoke about him at all, much preferred to call him the True Hermit who never left.

[melodyanqel]

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐘 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐌𝐄 ── ★ h.jh. (003. the encounter)

love at first sight happens between the police officer and a bright, innocent woman. they shared a deep connection that meant they needed each other more than anything, even when they experienced the same nightmare.

⤷ pairing: hwang jun-ho x fem!oc

⤷ genre/tags: fluff, angst, thriller, psychological drama, established relationship, team bonding, financial issues, games, action, betrayal, foreigner!soft!oc, protective!junho

⤷ warnings: slapping

⤷ wc: 3.5k words

⤷ note: even tho i'm always having fun writing these chapters, this one was exciting and i'm glad that i finally reached the canon events. i hope you all enjoy!

⤷ melodyanqel taglist: @hwallazia @rubyredish @analysisiinternet @ilovebtsomgie @aylinbsx @jsprien213

It’s bittersweet to leave each other because Jun-ho has to deal with reckless drivers and motorcyclists but anything to put food in the fridge and have more time to do sailing. Thanks to Captain Park for rescuing and helping him, Jun-ho has someone to trust. 

Again, he not once told his mother and Lily about it. 

Jun-ho feels guilt has weighed more on his shoulders as he keeps lying. But he has no other choice because he wants to protect them. Preventing the secret from slipping out has been torturing Jun-ho for a long time. However, Captain Park is willing to look for the island and he can’t thank him enough. 

The first thing Jun-ho does when arriving at the station is politely greet his chief, and coworkers, and put on his vest and hat in the locker room—like a typical day at work. He is also training a new officer about road safety. They got along very well from the first day. Of course, the rookie, Min Han-gyul, was nervous because Jun-ho has so many years of experience as a cop. But Jun-ho is a considerate and patient man who will have Han-gyul upgrade his position as an officer. 

Soon enough, he shuts the locker and leaves the changing room. Jun-ho goes to the front desk to spot Han-gyul standing by the door and ready for business. The young man in his early twenties sees his superior and greets him. “Oh, hyung, good morning!” He gives a respectful bow. Jun-ho didn’t mind Han-gyul calling him hyung because he is younger than him and they’ve grown a friendship. It also feels nice not being the youngest for once. 

Jun-ho draws a small smile. “Good morning. Ready to go?” He asked the rookie. Like any optimistic youngster, Han-gyul responds pridefully, “Yes, I’ll be learning as you train.” 

He receives a chuckle from Jun-ho. The older one says, “Great because we don’t want the chief to yell at us.” As if he hadn’t before. The chief does want him in the Criminal Division again. However, he insisted being a traffic officer is flexible for his search and less trouble. Jun-ho has his ways and he hopes to succeed. 

Meanwhile, Lily arrives in the streets of Gangnam District. The area is known for the best shops, entertainment, and filming movies and dramas. Lily isn’t sure what So-eun is planning, but she is excited. She does love it whenever her friends show her new places because she is still new to South Korea. Lily has mainly spent more time in Seoul and hasn’t gone to other cities like Busan, Daegu, Incheon, and many more she wants to visit. Maybe when Jun-ho and her get married, they’ll travel together, which she hopes to do. 

In front of the Coex Mall, Lily looks for So-eun, but it’s a bit difficult because so many people are passing by. After trying to get through, she notices a tall, stunning Korean woman standing outside in an emerald green dress. Lily calls out So-eun. Surprisingly, her soft voice is loud enough for So-eun to hear. 

The woman beams when she sees Lily and starts dashing. “Wow! You look cute today! Well, you’re always cute.” So-eun compliments the latter’s appearance. Lily plays a merry smile, “You look great too!” She wraps her arms around So-eun’s waist. The taller woman hugs back, “Appreciated. Let’s go somewhere less busy because I can’t stand it.” She rolled her eyes and sighed. Lily giggles and looks up, “I agree.” She detached herself from her friend. 

Abruptly, So-eun’s eyes widened. “Oh! I bought your favorite.” She starts digging through her purse to take out two brown-colored candies with two different shapes—a star and a heart. Then a gasp escaped from Lily’s lips. “Dalgona! Thank you! I’ll take the heart one.” She happily grabs the candy. So-eun responds with a big smile. “You’re welcome. Now, let’s go before I lose my shit.” Her smile drops and she takes Lily’s free hand to drag her out of the crowded place. 

Once walking into a much quieter atmosphere, the two can talk freely while eating their Dalgona. They reached a park with a green landscape and fewer people around. So-eun tells Lily about a memory. “My appa once told me that he used to play a game with his friends where they tried taking the shapes out of the Dalgonas.” She gets a silent and baffled reaction from the American. 

So-eun chuckles because Lily’s facial expressions are enough to understand without words. “Is that even possible?” Lily is intrigued to know. So-eun shrugs, “I guess. Maybe by licking the candy.” She assumed. Dalgona is sugar and can break easily like glass. 

Lily hums, “I never knew it was a game. Speaking of it, Jun-ho and his omma showed me games they’d played during childhood. Do you know how to play Gonggi?” She asked So-eun a very popular Korean game. The other woman nodded. “Yes, I do. My omma taught me and I suck at it.” She lets out a hearty laugh. “It’s geared towards a female demographic and many girls and women would play it to win something. Have you played it?” She wonders. Lily is a foreigner who is still getting introduced to Korean activities. 

“One time and gave up because Jun-ho’s omma is a master at it,” Lily answered bluntly. So-eun giggles in delight because both elderly women are good at classic games and have an inner child. “Never underestimate the pros or your ass will lose.” So-eun gives a definite statement. Lily delivers a playful response, “I’m always going to be a loser.” She says it with humor and honesty. 

With a shake of the head, So-eun disagrees with her answer. “No, you’re not. I’m sure you’re good at some games. It’s just that Korean games make you think so damn hard that you’ll go insane. And I’m not kidding. My siblings are so competitive that it does get violent.” She expresses her opinions and Lily is enjoying it. The petite beauty knows what it’s like to lose and sometimes win against a family with ambition. But at the end of the day, it’s for fun and bonding with your loved ones. 

Lily says, “My little nephew is close to the age where he’ll get too greedy and think it’s alright.” Her sister sends messages about times when the little one wouldn’t want to share anything. 

So-eun’s heart melts. “Aw, how cute! He’ll learn because he has to go through all the stages.” She has been an elementary teacher for five years and can understand why selflessness must be taught to children. 

Promptly, Lily looks at her left hand and can’t believe So-eun hasn’t noticed it yet. She does something to get her to see the shiny item. She licks on her Dalgona. 

“Oh! It works!” Lily yells. So-eun turns her head to her friend and sees the sugar melting. “Huh. I guess that’s how my appa wins.” She stands corrected by her assumption. But she starts to notice something. So-eun thought her eyes were playing tricks when she spotted the ring. It took her a second to process in her brain.

So-eun screams so loud that even the dead can hear her. Lily stops licking the Dalgona and her left hands get snatched. So-eun eyes the ring. “When did this happen?!” She questions in total shock. It’s a good thing no one is around them, but So-eun wouldn’t care.

Lily simply says, “Last night during Jun-ho’s birthday.” As soon as she announced her engagement, So-eun burst into tears. “Oh my god! Congratulations!” Bringing Lily into a humongous hug without breaking the Dalgona in their hands. 

The smaller woman is smiling with so much joy and gives a promise to So-eun. “Thank you so much. I’ll let you know when the wedding will happen.” 

It becomes early afternoon and the shift has been laidback. Jun-ho and Han-gyul are driving on the highways of Seoul with the windows down, gravitating toward the fresh air. They’ve encountered people who do drive above the speed limit and motorcyclists who would not wear helmets. There was a time when he gave a man a ticket for not wearing a helmet. His supposed girlfriend tried to excuse them because she was wearing safety but it didn’t help when she wooed her way with Jun-ho. The man rode away and left her behind. The woman chased after him and threw the helmet. 

Honestly, it made Jun-ho laugh. There are bizarre people in the world. 

“Hyung. Is it alright with you if I ask about your life as a detective?” Han-gyul questions Jun-ho. The older cop is driving while the younger is watching the cars drive on the roads. He sometimes wonders if it’s too much of a sensitive topic for his trainer. But Jun-ho insisted on going along with his curiosity. “Sure. What do you want to know?” He lets Han-gyul expound his words. 

“Is it more dangerous and worth being one?” The rookie asked. 

Jun-ho sighs, trying to think of an answer. Well, Han-gyul is not prepared for the extreme work of a detective. He does have a lot to learn because it's a demanding job requiring strong analytical skills, keen observation, and the ability to navigate intricate details to solve mysteries. 

The eldest explains to his student. “I’m sure you’ve acknowledged in the police academy that investigative work is not for the faint of heart and you’ll be talking to immoral people. Is it more dangerous? Absolutely. When I first started my detective days, you would’ve expected me to be numb or used to meeting psychopaths and criminals. It was difficult. I had to get into their head so they could bring out answers. And sadly, cases can’t be solved sometimes. Is it worth being one? That depends on you. There are no right or wrong answers. But overall, the goal is to bring justice for the victims."

Jun-ho discloses his response and Han-gyul stares at him with fascination. “Wow, you’re so cool hyung.” He compliments his mentor who chuckles amusingly. Han-gyul turns his head to look at the road up ahead. He speaks sincerely, “I guess it’s all about you. I do believe we can obtain protection for humanity but it does suck when cruelty is part of life. However, I’ll continue to achieve my goal.” His pure and selfless mindset is something Jun-ho adores. 

“Never change yourself, Han-gyul.” The former detective affirmed. 

ִ ࣪𖤐.ᐟ

The two ladies have their arms linked and are having a lovely time in Gangnam District. 

As a kind friend, So-eun allowed Lily to take her wherever she wanted. Usually, she would plan their dates, but instead, So-eun let Lily find places that sparked her interests. There’s a cute stationery shop in a secluded area that has her excited. So-eun too because she loves stickers and journaling. 

“Oh, I forgot to mention. I had a strange encounter at the subway station.” Lily spoke while looking at the frames. The word “strange” made So-eun a bit concerned. “What happened at the subway station?” She asked if her friend was fine and safe. Lily responded, “I saw two guys asking people something and they had Ddakji tiles. I don’t know why but I tried ignoring them.” She has heard the subway station to be a bizarre place like being crowded and impatient people, but playing a game is beyond her expectations. 

So-eun says, “They’re probably high or scamming people and unfortunately it’s common in this country to lure them because we aren’t self-aware enough.” She had read the stories about people’s businesses going bankrupt because they trusted fraudulants. Whenever the topic of money gets brought up it becomes a sin. No one wants to look like they threw their life away, but sometimes it’s their doing. 

Lily lets out a breath. “It could be. Scams are common in America too but mostly are on high alert. Well, I’m glad my day didn’t get ruined.” She switches the tone of the conversation. So-eun stops looking at the items and turns to face Lily. “You know what I would do if they came to me.” She wouldn’t hesitate to beat down the low lives if they tried invading her bank account. 

Her statement has Lily laughing but it’s true. Never let anything bad happen with your money. It then leads to the topic of self-dense. So-eun tells Lily, “Jun-ho should teach me how to fight. I mean, I do know how to punch and kick but not like a badass.” Her cop of her friend can effortlessly fight and it’s insane. With one hit you’re done. 

“He can! He is still teaching me. But it’s unfair how he has more advantages because I am small.” Lily pouts because she’ll look like a rat to her fiance, friends, and sister. So-eun gives a back hug and coos. “Aw, that’s your charm though! Jun-ho told me it melts his heart whenever you try to reach his shoulders.” Indeed, he would admit some things to So-eun without Lily knowing. 

“Who knew he could be a soft teddy bear? My teddy bear.” The petite woman giggles joyously because she’ll now call Jun-ho that. So-eun adds, “You did claim him." She unintentionally has Lily going shy because she is correct in every way. It’s unusual but Lily likes the sound of it. 

She and So-eun then left the shop because it was getting late. Lily bought a small oval-shaped frame to put a picture of Jun-ho from his birthday. His gorgeous smile will add more beauty to her desk. 

At the police station, Jun-ho and Han-gyul are getting ready to clock out. Today was a success without any issues. Han-gyul was also informed about his trainer’s engagement. He congratulated Jun-ho and was super happy for him. 

The young one even got invited to the wedding without an invitation because they created a bond, and Jun-ho would love to see people he is close with celebrating his big day. He imagines himself in a refined suit, a bright, dreamy venue, and he watches the love of his life walk down the aisle in her pure white dress, resembling an angel sent from heaven. 

Jun-ho is looking forward to that day. 

Han-gyul is done packing up his belongings while his superior is still doing his. “Thank you for today, hyung. Can you send my best wishes to Lily noona?” He wants to give her luck, peace, love, and all the great things in the world. Jun-ho draws a grin, “Sure. I’ll let her know.” He’ll mentally remind himself. Han-gyul bids goodbye and exits the locker room. 

After he left, Jun-ho put the last things in his backpack and closed his locker. Then his phone rings. He checks it to see Lily’s message. She told him her girls’ day with So-eun was done and she’ll see him back at the apartment. Jun-ho texts her back that he is on his way. The feeling of returning home is a relief that can heal his corrupted heart. Whether it’s his mother or Lily, he is grateful they’re waiting for him. 

ִ ࣪𖤐.ᐟ

The subway station is quiet with fewer people. 

Lily sits on an empty bench and patiently waits for the next subway. During work days, her legs would be aching from standing and moving to places. Well, that is what hard work is like. Before her job as a teacher, she was a barista with minimum wage. Not to mention, Lily’s old routine was school first, then work, and getting home late. It even made her guilty about not spending time with Jun-ho. 

Despite that, he didn’t mind it at all. He continued to support his love because she was a hard worker. Lily sent Jun-ho a message about going home and put her phone back in her purse.

“Hey, miss. Can I ask you something?”

Suddenly, a male voice speaks to her. Lily looks to the right and notices a man, more like a very handsome man, in formal attire and a briefcase sitting on her right. She fixes her composure and speaks cordially. “Sure. What do you need help with?” Lily asked the man. A chuckle escapes from his lip. The man shakes his head. “No, I’m fine. I want to know if you need my help.” He switches the offer onto her. 

“What kind of help, mister?” She looks at him puzzled. The man reads Lily like an open book and it’s no surprise for him to get skeptical responses from people. 

“Would you like to play a game with me?” He takes out blue and red folded papers from his blazer. Ddakji. The man wants to play Ddakji with her. 

Lily hesitates for a second because that caught her off guard. She thought she wouldn’t be encountering more strangers with Ddakji, but it seems like it’ll be a new thing in subway stations. Her heart tells her not to do it for obvious reasons, and her head tells her yes so he can walk off and leave her alone. 

So, she went with, “Alright.” 

The salesman’s dark eyes spark with excitement. “Perfect! Then play three rounds with me,” he offered with a cheerful smile. “For every round you win, I’ll pay you 100,000 won.” He gives a straightforward instruction. “I’m sorry?” Lily wants to know if she is hearing it correctly. He lets out a small laugh at her shocked face. “You may think I'm scamming, but no. I’ll pay you real 100,000 won.” He clarified her bewilderment.

Lily inquires about the penalty. “What if I lose?” She knows she is entering a dangerous territory. 

The stranger adds, “You must pay back the same amount.” 

He sees her taking a deep breath. She could feel the pressure weighing on her shoulders. “Yes, or no?” The salesman pressed on, almost impatient. His happy smile also dropped. 

With a direct response, “Okay, I’ll play the game.” Lily knows this is foolish. The grown man’s smile returns to his face. “Excellent.” He, on the other hand, is super thrilled. “Which color do you want?” he asked, raising the two tiles. “Blue,” Lily answered.

The salesman handed her the blue tile before placing his red one on the ground. “Ladies first.” He takes a step back.

Lily knows playing Ddakji is difficult but will do her best to beat her opponent. She uses her entire strength and slams the tile as hard as possible onto the red paper. It flips over. As the game went on, Lily won the first two rounds in one go, which was astounding because she had never won in games. But her arm was starting to ache. The man detected her exhaustion and might have the advantage. In the third round, Lily throws down the paper, and it misses. 

Her opponent speaks, “My turn.” He then tossed his red tile with a strong hit and it flipped the blue one. “Looks like you owe me 100,000 won.” He stated nonchalantly. The young woman looks inside her wallet from her purse and realizes she is short on cash. “I don’t have a lot. I’m sorry.” Lily apologizes and hopes there is another way. 

“It’s all good,” The salesman said. However, it didn’t stop there. “You can just pay with your body.” Her opponent watches her pretty brown eyes widen owlishly. “Excuse me?” She questions in shock. What did he mean by that?

Smack!

Lily’s head whipped violently to the side. Her cheek is stinging as she turns her neck to face him. He is unfazed and that smile is still on his lips, as if he has no care or remorse. In other words, physical abuse and not paying with actual money. “Want to play again? If you’re willing to win this last round.” The guy taunts her a little. Lily is starting to feel aggravated by him. She knows his mockery will make her look weak. She musters the courage to say, “I’ll do it.”

Slap after slap after slap, Lily wasn’t giving up, but her face was beginning to swell. 

Then came the moment when she used her remaining energy for this hit. Lily witnesses her world slowing down when the red paper flips over. She hollers an ecstatic scream for her victory. She didn’t care about the people’s judging faces. 

The salesman slowly claps his hands with a calm smile on his handsome face. Lily stops cheering to relieve the tension in her chest. Unexpectedly, her opponent becomes gentle by taking her hand and gives the money.

“Congratulations, miss.” He spoke in a soft voice. He lets go of her hand and Lily sheepishly bows to him with a quiet appreciation.

The sound of a subway has arrived.

Before leaving, he responded, “If you’re interested, you can play games to win loads of money. You have until October 31st or Halloween to decide.” The man grabbed something from the inside of his blazer, a cardboard paper card with shapes on it; circle, square, and triangle. 

Lily kindly takes the card because she has had enough of this man. “I’ll see,” She said in short. The man gives her a pleasant grin and a nod. She scurries to her transportation and stands by the siding doors. Lily moves herself around to face the salesman one last time. “Give me a call,” He says, raising a fist for good luck. As the doors close, Lily watches him wave his hand goodbye. 

She will not tell Jun-ho about this incident. 

series masterlist | four

[porcelana-r0ta]

The Curse of Sight, Part 7

DCxDP

[Part 6] [Part 7] [Part 8]

[Ao3 Link] (Registered Ao3 users only)

Summary: When Wes Weston meets Tim Drake-Wayne, the dots start connecting. And those dots form a bat.

xxXxx

After a phone call with his mom to confirm that it’s alright for Wes to stay the night, Rebecca leaves with the AV equipment in a Wayne vehicle with a WE driver from HQ. (She also absconds off with a few extra Alfred Pennyworth cookies, but no one calls her out on it.) Wes is then left alone with Tim for a grand tour of Wayne Manor. 

The estate is large and sprawling, but Wes is nothing if not observant and adaptive, and he makes quick work of memorizing the layout. He’s careful to make mental notes of places that could potentially hold secret passages. 

Part of Batman’s whole thing was that he had a Batcave, right? Surely it’s connected to the Manor. The entrance is most likely on the first floor for easier access if the Cave is underground, which is the most logical conclusion given that the Batcave has to hold a computer with enough processing power to be the legendary Batcomputer, all the Bat-vehicles, plus any trophies Batman has collected in his lucrative career as a vigilante. Also, if it’s as much of a cave as the name implies, it’s got to be underground. 

Not that Wes wants to go exploring. This investigation is just so he can mentally note what areas to avoid and always have plausible deniability. 

“Oh, no, Mr. Bruce Wayne, sir, I didn’t see you come out of a bookcase secret passageway with bruises that strangely match up with Batman’s. You see, I was over on the bench in the Wayne Gardens, much too far away from the Wayne Library to see any secret nightlife activities. I’m just a simple teenage boy, haha, please don’t steal my kneecaps. Anyway, what did you think of My Immortal? ”

Yes. Foolproof and non-suspicious, two of Wes’s favorite things in Gotham. He even deflects into the Brucie Wayne persona in this imaginary scenario.

God. This is too stressful. Wes knows too many people with alter egos. He needs normal friends—he can’t keep being the normal friend for abnormal people. Maybe he should start going to the community center in his mom’s neighborhood and meet normal teens with normal Gotham interests. (Wes imagines the normal Gotham teen experience to be the universal vaping and smoking, plus minor vandalism and maybe even some pickpocketing in the Diamond District. He’d sidestep any vigilante-chasers or gangsters, naturally. He’s got to avoid the Bats!)

Of the first floor, there are the following rooms: the kitchen, the dining room, the living room, the parlor, the drawing room, Mr. Wayne’s office, the game room, the theater room, the servants’ quarters, the bathrooms, and the garage.

The kitchen likely has too much foot traffic to keep a secret entrance, plus Mr. Pennyworth seems too proper to let Bat-hijinks take place anywhere near his domain. The foot traffic would remain an issue for rooms like the living room, the drawing room, and the parlor. The theater and game rooms may be an option — both had bookshelves to hold board games, video games, DVDs, and VHS tapes, and bookshelves are classic rich people hiding places. The library is another potential place, even if it’s rather stereotypical. But maybe he should expect stereotypes from the same people with a cow named Bat-Cow? 

The servants’ quarters, only occupied by Mr. Pennyworth and not included in the tour, would be an unexpected place. It may be too far out of the way, though. The bathrooms could be an option: no one is going to interrogate someone for spending too long in a bathroom. But some people are nosy about what others keep in their bathrooms, and someone as paranoid as Batman would account for that. The garage is likely too much of a security liability given that it’s right there along the driveway for an easy getaway. 

That just leaves Bruce Wayne’s office, where it wouldn’t be weird for a CEO to disappear into for hours at a time, nor would it be weird for it to be off-limits for people to be in. Wes was only shown where the room was, not the inside. It’s totally normal to not be brought into your friend’s dad’s office. So normal, in fact, that Wes wouldn’t have even questioned it if he didn’t already know that the Waynes were the Bats. 

So, avoid Bruce Wayne’s study. Not a problem for Wes because he has zero reason to go in there in the first place. This sleepover thing will be a piece of cake. 

Right now they were in the game room, playing Mario Kart 8 on the Switch. The Waynes were wealthy enough that both Tim and Wes had a pro-controller. (Eat the rich!) Right now, Wes was beating Tim by a decent margin as Luigi, but he’s not sure how much of that is Tim letting him win. He’s only played Mario Kart a few times, and never on the Switch, so he’s not really world champ. It’s nice of Tim to fake being bad, though. 

“Damn, you win again,” Tim says, watching Luigi pass the finish line, followed by his avatar, Princess Peach, seconds after. 

“‘Cause you’re going easy on me.”

“What? No I’m not.” 

“You liar.” One of the best ways to lie is to pretend to be a bad liar. Make a few sacrifices with your integrity and no one will question you when you lie well about something that actually matters. His parents taught him that. “Play better this next round.”

“Are you trash talking me?” Tim is playfully offended. 

Wes scoffs, grabbing one of the sofa cushions and setting it against the armrest. He buries himself into it, swinging his legs onto the couch. He’s just barely tall enough to shove his socked feet into Tim’s ribs where he’s sitting. “Am not. I just know that you’re a little tech nerd, and that you can totally kick my ass. No way you haven’t obsessively played Mario Kart.” 

“First of all, I resent that.” He shoves Wes’s feet away. His ears are red. Still cooling down from outside? They weren’t so red a little bit ago. “Second of all, fine. Let’s do Rainbow Road.”

“Sweet, a challenge!” 

Tim selects the Special Cup, and Wes does semi-decently in the first three courses, though Tim only barely holds onto first. The last course is Rainbow Road, and Wes proceeds to fall off the track every thirty seconds. He crosses the finish line in a very humble tenth place. Tim, impossibly, does worse than he has in previous rounds, ending in fourth place rather than the calculated second to spare Wes’s pride of their previous Cups. 

“Hmm. That was humiliating.”

They both turn to look at the doorway, where Damian Wayne lurks, holding Alfred the Cat. 

“Don’t be rude, Demon Spawn.” Tim scowls. Wes stretches his feet out to nudge at Tim admonishingly. 

“Dude, c’mon. He’s right. That was bad.” 

“Weston is correct, Drake. And besides, I was talking about you.”

“Okay, that’s it—” Whatever Tim is about to say is cut off when Wes kicks him, harder than a nudge, but not enough to hurt for longer than a few seconds. “Wes! What the hell?”

He ignores Tim, “Did you want to play, Damian?” He gestures at the TV with his controller. 

The boy straightens up, and the movement makes Alfred the Cat wriggle free of his hold. She darts into the room, behind the sectional couch and out of sight. “Don’t be ridiculous. I am merely here to relay Pennyworth’s message that supper will be ready in thirty minutes.” 

“Oh, so you’re scared that you will do worse than me?” He raises a challenging eyebrow. 

“Tt. I could defeat you and Drake blindfolded.” 

“Prove it.”

Wordlessly, Damian marches into the room and swipes the controller from Wes. He laughs, kicking his feet off the couch and getting up to grab a third controller. When he turns back to the couch, Damian is already sitting beside his big brother, his back straight and his face neutral. He turns on the controller and joins them on the couch, leaving enough room for Damian to not feel crowded with a stranger. 

The kid reminds him of some of the more minor-league ghosts who like to annoy Danny for attention. Ghosts like fighting, they like arguing. Siblings shared in that trait, usually. 

Tim grumbles and switches to three person multiplayer, then asks, “What tracks do you want to play?”

“The same one you and Weston were on. I will defeat you both.” 

“Well, definitely me,” Wes says. Damian only sniffs in response. 

They speed through character selection, Wes keeping Luigi and Tim keeping Peach, and Damian chooses Shy Guy. After choosing their vehicles (Wes is the only one who chooses a cart instead of a motorcycle), they start the Special Cup. 

They quickly discover that Damian is a ruthless competitor. Wes lets out a frustrated groan at the third green shell that hits him, whereas Tim curses at his little brother. “How are you so fucking good? I thought video games were beneath you!”

“Jon has a Switch. He likes Mario Kart and Minecraft.”

“Of fucking course he does.”  

Wes wonders who this “Jon” person is. A civilian friend? A fellow superhero? He hates knowing superhero identities, but his mind runs theories anyway. 

Damian continues to win against them, and when that gets boring, he purposely keeps a middle-pace so he can collect shells. His aim is unfortunately impeccable. After twenty minutes of losing to his little brother, Tim calls it quits. “Okay, that’s it. We need to wash up for dinner before Alfred gets mad.” 

“Scared to continue losing, Drake?”

“Hardly. Go wash your hands, brat. You were holding the cat earlier.”

“She’s cleaner than you,” Damian insults. Then, before Tim can retort, he bounds out of the room. 

Tim turns to Wes, “Dude, seriously?”

“What? He obviously wanted to hang out with you.” 

“No he didn’t! He’s Damian. He wanted to spy on me and you so he can insult us better later when you aren’t around.” 

“Mh-hm.” Wes is doubtful. “I don’t know about that. He acts like how I did when I was in middle school and wanted to hang out with my older cousin.”

“It warms my heart that you’re capable of seeing the good in evil.”

“You don’t mean that, dude.”

Tim smiles, “I guess not.” 

After washing up themselves, they head downstairs for the dining room. They are greeted by the savory scent of steak. Wes’s mouth waters. Real rich people food. 

Bruce Wayne (Batman!) is already seated at the head of the table, Damian to his right. Tim grabs Wes’s hand and pulls him to sit on the other side, with Tim acting as a buffer between him and Bruce Wayne. 

“B, this is Wes Weston, my friend. He works in PR, specifically with our TikTok team.” There is no TikTok team, unless Wes and Rebecca count as a team. What is she supposed to do when he goes back to Amity with his dad at the end of the summer? “Wes, this is Bruce, my adoptive dad.” 

Well, only after the whole fake uncle thing, Wes thinks to himself. But he isn’t supposed to know about that. “It’s nice to meet you, sir.”

“Please, call me Bruce when we aren’t at work, Wes.” Bruce Wayne grins that Brucie grin, big and disarming. I’m onto you, Batman. You can’t fool me. “It’s great to see Tim with friends his age. I had a lot of concern after he dropped out of high school, you know, but—”

“Bruce, please. Stop embarrassing me!”

“I’m just expressing my love for my son, Tim.” He turns to Damian, “Don’t follow your other brothers’ examples. Stay in school.” 

“Of course, Father,” Damian says while Wes snorts. 

The Waynes are really zero to nil on children who have high school diplomas. Dick Grayson ran off (or was run off?) at age sixteen, Jason Todd was declared dead (though Wes suspects that maybe he really did die—is there a way to get Danny and Co. to look into that without spilling identities?), and Tim dropped out and created an uncle after his parents passed so he could become a full-time CEO and vigilante (Wes should sit down with Tim and talk about good coping mechanisms, and also never admit to knowing about the fake uncle or the vigilante activities). Hell, even Bruce Wayne is a medical school dropout!

They still at least had Damian Wayne and Duke Thomas, Wes supposes. Maybe they can be the Wayne kids who finally walk at graduation. 

As if on cue, Duke Thomas trudges into the room, clearly tired from daytime patrol as The Signal. Though, Wes is likely supposed to believe that Duke is out doing volunteer work or something of the like. 

“Hey, guys. New person.” Duke squints at Wes, then rubs his eyes. A pair of tinted glasses hang on the collar of his yellow shirt. He grabs them and puts them on.

“Hello, Thomas.”

“Hey, Duke.”

“Welcome back, Duke! Have you met Wes yet? Are your headaches acting up again?” 

“Nope,” says Duke, taking his seat next to Damian. “Nice to meet you. I’m Duke. And my head’s fine.”

“Nice to meet you, too.”

“Is Dick still here?” Duke asks. 

Bruce shakes his head, “He had to leave to make it back to Bludhaven so he’d be able to rest before his shift with the BPD tonight.” 

Wes translates that as He’s got Nightwing work tonight. But who knows? Maybe he really does have a night shift. 

“Ah, that sucks,” Duke says.

Alfred walks in pushing a cart of the mouth-watering steak, mashed potatoes, gravy, and roasted vegetables and starts to serve everyone.

Wes may have to sleep over more often. 

“Thanks, Alfred,” Wes says when his food is plated. 

“Of course, Master Wes.”

He wrinkles his nose at that, even though Alfred’s called him that a few times upon coming in for snacks after filming. Being called “master” makes him feel like some kind of egocentric wealthy elitist. 

“So, Wes,” Bruce Wayne, literally Batman, starts after everyone has been served. Wes straightens up tp better search for any signs of dinnertime kneecap removal. “You’re Penny’s son and that you intern at WE. How are you liking it so far?”

Normal dinnertime conversation. Excellent. Wes has been to dinners every evening of his life, so he should ace this. 

“It’s fun. I mean, I just did coffee runs and stuff at first, but it’s a lot more engaging now that Rebecca is running the TikTok and is using me as her Gen Z brain monkey.” 

“She’s not that much older than you.” Tim rolls his eyes. 

“The WE TikTok is doing very well,” Bruce compliments as if Tim hadn’t opened his mouth. “We should have started one much sooner.”

“I love the one you’re in. Wes, the one where you talk about the American public school experience,” Duke says, rubbing at his temple. Which is unhelpful because Wes directly made fun of Bruce Wayne in that one. “Sorry about the maybe trauma it inflicted.”

He winces, “I mean, it was fine. We were in a safe room the whole time. It genuinely was like the average American high school experience.” He cuts a concerned look at Bruce. The guy who literally can fire his mom and also rip out his kneecaps if he decides to take offense to something dumb Wes says. He just can’t help it—he’s an Amity Park teenager!

Bruce notices and laughs, “Now, now, none of that! I think it’s great that you raised awareness about school shootings. I’m very aware of my privilege, and I don’t have any hard feelings about it being called out.”

“That’s… good.” 

Tim nudges him from under the table with his foot. When Wes looks at him, he’s smiling. Wes’s stomach twists. It’s not an unpleasant feeling. 

Damian sniffs, “Well, nothing will compare to the appearances of Bat-Cow, Titus, Alfred the Cat, and Haley.”

“Everyone will love them,” Wes agrees. “People go crazy for animals.” 

“They would be wrong not to.”

“Wes, not to be rude, but are you from Gotham?” Duke asks. He squints from behind his tinted glasses. “You don’t have a Gothamite accent.”

“That’s not rude at all.” Wes racks his brain for reasons why the meta vigilante might look constipated whenever he looks at him. Is it an Amity Park thing? The Signal’s power set isn't 100% known—the only things confirmed by witness accounts are light and shadow manipulation. Is the electromagnetic radiation spectrum that Duke can see wider than a baseline human’s, thus allowing him to see more visible light? Can Duke see auras? Can he see ectoplasmic radiation? Can he see that radiation in Wes? 

He needs to be careful about what he says. “I’m from Amity Park, Illinois. So is my mom. But she and my dad divorced a few years ago and now I visit Gotham every other holiday and every summer.” 

“Oh damn, that sucks, dude.”

“Nah, it’s fine. They were super chill about it.” They had an amicable divorce. Wanted different things. His parents still text semi-regularly, and they will usually steal Wes’s phone for a few minutes when he’s talking to the other. They might still be together if his mom hadn’t wanted to move up in her career and his dad hadn’t been firm on staying in Amity, or if they’d both been okay with long distance. 

Still… it would be nice to be a complete family, again. Together and whole. Preferably in an Amity Park not infested with white suits or ectophobic ghost hunters. 

Ugh. He really needs to call his dad after work tomorrow. Maybe his cousin, too.

Dinner goes smoothly from there, and after, Tim drags Wes to the movie room to watch Lord of the Ring: Fellowship of the Ring before turning into bed. When the credits roll, he asks, “Are you cool with just staying in my room, or do you wanna stay in the guest room?”

Honestly, what kind of rich people shit is that question? (Ignoring that his mom owns a townhouse in Gotham City and is the director of Wayne Enterprises’s PR Department. He had humble beginnings!)

“Your room is fine,” Wes says. 

“You… just wanna share the bed?” 

Wes had seen Tim’s bedroom in the tour already. He had a California king sized bed. Sleeping in a bed that size would be just the same as sleeping in separate sleeping bags on the floor in terms of intimacy. 

“Yeah, that’s fine, dude.” 

Fast forward to them actually in pajamas and actually under blankets and actually turning off their phones for the night, and Wes is learning that it’s actually not fine. 

He’s hyper-aware of Tim’s form beneath the blankets, the same blankets Wes is under. And sure, they are on separate ends of the bed, nearly three feet between them, but still. 

He’s slept in the same bed as a few friends before, but that had stopped around middle school, when it was suddenly gay for guys to do that. Wes is secure in his sexuality, sure, but he was still in a small Midwestern town at the time, so he hadn’t exactly wanted to do anything to confirm any queerness about him. 

Tim, on the other hand, has been publicly bisexual for a while now. And he wasn’t in the room with Wes when he’d gotten his fitting and made his request that his suit reflect his sexuality, so he didn’t know that Wes was any flavor of MLM. (He’d been too insecure about his lanky basketball player frame to let a superhero overhear his measurements.) 

Is it weird that Wes knows Tim’s sexuality but Tim doesn’t know his while they share a bed? Is it creepy? Is it wrong? Should Wes say something? Or would it be even creepier to come out while in Tim’s bed? Fuck, is it hot in here?

He kicks a leg out from under the covers, allowing it to be exposed to cool air. It’s completely dark in the room, but he stares at where his foot should be. Should he have worn socks to make it not gay? Is it gay at all? What even is “it” at this point, anyway?

He forces a deep breath. This is probably not weird. It probably would be weird if he did decide to come out while sharing a bed with his friend, who is a queer vigilante and his boss and could have his adoptive father rip out Wes’s spine if he so wished. 

Right. So Wes needs to chill the fuck out and think of literally anything else. 

His first thought is unfortunately that time he fell off the monkey bars in the first grade and landed on top of Paulina Sanchez, who had cried and hated him until sixth grade for it. 

Even worse, his second thought is of his parents’ divorce, and he wants to slap himself. But he can’t do that when there’s a maybe-sleeping-maybe-not body next to him, so instead he takes another deep, quiet breath.

He thinks of Duke Thomas and the way he squinted at Wes. Right, light and shadow manipulation. But to what extent? The way he reacted to Wes might suggest he can see more than a regular human’s visible light spectrum. (More colors, like a shrimp?) If he can see ecto-radiation, then he can see that there’s something off about Wes, who has lived in Amity since the portal’s opening nearly a year ago. The average Amity Parker has a little ecto-contamination in them, but Wes’s may be higher thanks to his stalking of Team Phantom. 

So Duke might know that he’s a little irradiated. Not a big deal, Amity’s a small town. There’s no reason to assume that Duke will meet other Amity Parkers and start to ask questions. 

But what would happen if the Guys In White decide to outsource help and they decide that someone who can see more forms of light would be beneficial to the cause? 

….Fuck. He was supposed to calm himself down, not work himself up.

Wes settles in for a long night. 

xxXxx

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Ao3 is updated first BUT I upload onto Tumblr 10-30 minutes after uploading on Ao3, so don’t worry about missing out on early content or anything. Everything is updated within the hour :)

[my-my-my]

Headcanons about Aizen's backstory? What do you think he was like as a kid? (or pre-canon in general)

Love the content! Feeds my hungry soul! Thank you so much!

Thank you for your kind words!

I'm not sure I have anything interesting to add in this regard, nonetheless, here they are! It got quite long so it's behind the read more.

CW: none, just meta

I HC him to have grown up in a mercantile household - it would have given him firsthand experiences with the Nobles of Sereitei, (and possibly his disdain for them). It would also be why he was familiar with celebrating birthdays (unlike Toshiro and Momo who were raised in Rukongai District 1).

I think he came from a relatively warm/loving family (as warm and loving one can be in a society such as the Sereitei). Mainly because Aizen inherently knows what traits are considered good and what traits are needed to be perceived as kind and trusting. It may have been something he grew up knowing/experiencing for himself.

At the same time, I also think he was orphaned young. It may be why he knew of Urahara so early on. Maybe they both were (temporarily) raised under the same orphanage (if that part of Sereitei house orphans). The Shihouin clan "adopted" Urahara, and Aizen might have been left behind/adopted by an unassuming family.

I also can see Aizen realizing/learning early on to blend in with the crowd/not stick out. Similar to the quote "the nail that sticks out gets hammered."

If Urahara learned and tried replicating the Royal Guard's hot springs, who's to say Aizen didn't glean anything for himself as a youth? He may have learned about the Maggot's Nest and knew better to show his true power at such a young age.

During his time as a student in the Academy, I can see Aizen developing his unassuming persona. He might be deliberately holding himself back in classes, maybe getting above-average marks, while locking himself in the library. He doesn't want to stand out too much, but enough to be considered as a top choice for Squad assignments.

I read a post on Reddit where they point out how the children of the noble families don't go through the Academy, and I think this adds another point to Aizen's disdain to how Soul Society works. It's a preference-based system and not a merit-based system - those with connections will be placed in higher-seated positions (if they choose to pursue a career in the Gotei 13).

Once Aizen graduates from the Academy, I envision him being placed in Squad 13 as a seated member - it's where he really learns what a "good captain" is like thanks to Ukitake.

During this time is where he begins his hollow experimentation under the guise of patrolling and other duties a lower-seated officer may be asked to do.

I also headcanon that Shinji was a higher ranking seated member in Squad 13 (possible 3rd?). This may have been where Shinji met Aizen and became wary of him. When the 5th division opened up for captaincy and Shinji was promoted, this is when he offered the Lieutenant position to Aizen... and now we have TBTP.

And in the words of Maechen (if you've played FFX):

Thanks for your request and for reading!

[giuliettagaltieri]

Duel of Knowledge

Pairing: Uni Student!Coriolanus Snow x Uni Student!Reader

Chapter Synopsis: The Rival

Warning: academic rivalry, elitism, morally gray reader, greed, Dr. Gaul's laboratory, mentions of mutated animals, Capitol cruelty, nepotism, spoilers

Word Count: 2487

2 of 6

It was a fresh start for Coriolanus Snow.  A life in the university, studying under Dr. Volumnia Gaul. 

After District 12.  He was a different man.  His purpose now was clearer, his actions more calculated, more dangerous.

Society welcomed him with open arms.  The star mentor, the academy protégé, and Crassus Snow’s legacy.

Life was also serving him well.  He no longer had to wear buttons made from the bathroom tiles.  No poisoned rats to dispose of.

Sejanus Plinth’s parents invite him for a luncheon on weekends.  He also met the president a couple of times because of the said couple.  Dr. Gaul has also been most helpful.

Had it not been for her, Coriolanus would still be rotting away in District 12.

The university was almost similar to the academy, only better.

He was with the same set of people he studied with.  Although, Clemensia Dovecot steers away from him now.  Two small scars from sharp fangs reminded her what happens when she crosses Coriolanus Snow.

The lessons are much more difficult than what was taught in the Academy but it was nothing he cannot conquer.  He was blessed with the most brilliant minds.

Connections made in the University are better too.  The people he meets are the ones who are currently the ones ruling the world.

The secrets he learns about them, invaluable.

Coriolanus understands the power that a piece of information can hold.

Information saved his tribute in the games.

Information nearly got him hanged.

Information nearly drove him mad.

There were all sorts of it.  Right, wrong.  It was up to you how you use it.  And use it well, he did.

And then, there was you.

The daughter of Thanatos Swansworth, a former associate of his late father.

He had gotten to know you as the girl who craved his attention and thirsted for his validation.

The last time he saw you, he knew he might have broken your heart.  You were just good at covering it up with your smiles.

And until today, he is seeing that exact same smile from across the room.

The air around you is different.  You are more mature, more sure of yourself.  You carry yourself with confidence like how a real Capitol woman does.

“While ethical implication might raise some concerns about the modified epigenetics, the boldness of the concept and the possibility of pioneering a breakthrough is reason enough to continue this research.  My study can advance the frontiers of science in a way that benefits humanity on a broader scale.”  You spoke calmly to Dr. Volumnia Gaul as she cross examined you for your research.

Coriolanus sat with his back resting against the chair, his calculating eyes watching your firm yet inviting demeanor.

A few more questions from Dr. Gaul did not make you falter, you managed to make every query an opportunity to showcase your work.  It was something that he can commend.

“Miss Swansworth, I would like you to come to my office later on to further discuss these ideas of yours.”  Dr. Gaul grins at you.

A glint of pride is visible in your eyes, making Coriolanus narrow his.

“Of course, Dr. Gaul.”

It seems he has competition for Dr. Gaul’s odd fascinations.

Coriolanus watches you return to your seat, his finger tapping atop his desk.

A focused look was plastered on Coriolanus’ face the entire day, he almost cannot wait to meet you by Dr. Gaul’s lab later.

When classes are over, he makes his way to the secured lab of Dr. Gaul.  The strong smell of formaldehyde greets his nose, he has come to get used to it.

His steps are long and purposeful but he was careful enough to silence his glide.

And he was glad he did.

He finds you crouched in a corner, your skirt touching the floor, you are too engrossed with a mutated animal that was trapped behind the glass.

“You found Thumper.”

The startled squeak you made had a sadistic smile spreading on Coriolanus’ lips. 

You glare up at him before standing up.  “Do not sneak up on me.”  You say coldly.  “Especially here.”

The mutated rabbit in front of you gives a jolt with the sound of your voice, its eyes trained on you.

“What did she do to it?”  You ask silently, looking at the mutated animal with chin slightly tipped higher.

Coriolanus stands next to you to eye the poor rabbit. 

Its once soft fur was replaced with a coarse beard-like iridescent coat.  Its paws were bigger with ears larger than normal, and its eyes, ghostly pale.

“Nothing.  The rabbit was exposed to the toxic aftermath of an outdoor experiment.  We had it captured in case it proved dangerous.”

“Is it?”  You ask, trying to maintain your indifference.

“Do you pity that mutt, Miss Swansworth?”

Both you and Coriolanus straighten your posture as Dr. Gaul saunters inside her lab.

“It simply piqued my curiosity.”  You respond carefully.

Coriolanus leaves your side to sit himself in a desk set off for him and your eyes squint at how he acts so casually in the place.

“That was a good presentation you gave earlier.”  Dr. Gaul says as she cuts open what you think is-...was a salamander.

“Thank you, Dr. Gaul.”  You try to not to sound too giddy, you must have failed as you hear a snicker from Coriolanus.

Her hand stills and she looks at you with those dangerous eyes of hers making you hold your breath.

“You mentioned earlier that your study can advance the frontiers of science and that humanity can benefit on a broader scale.”  She looks at you fully now.  “To whom are you referring to, with this…‘humanity’?”  She waves her blood red glove in the air as she asks.

The scratching of pen stills from Coriolanus’ desk and you match Dr. Gaul’s intense stare with yours.

“Who else but us, Dr. Gaul.  The outcomes of my research will contribute to the collective well-being of the Capitol.  Subsequently, the Districts can derive…some advantages from the positive outcomes we achieve.  We cannot reap the same rewards.”  You tilt your head to the side, looking at her coyly from under your eyelashes.  “Afterall, anyone who is not us is an enemy.”

Coriolanus looks up from his desk to eye you.  Dr. Gaul recognizes the look.  It was the same one Crassus Snow had when he married his wife, and the exact same when he submitted the idea he had stolen from Casca Highbottom.  Dr. Gaul only laughs as she resumes her work.

“Would you be interested in studying under me?”  She asks after calming down from her crazed outburst.  “I see potential in you, just like Mr. Snow.  I would love to watch the two of you rise to power.”

You glance at him from your shoulder and find him already looking at you with so much intensity.  You had your eyes on him as you uttered your next words.  “I would love to, Dr. Gaul.”  With much satisfaction, you watched his jaw tighten, bringing a sly smile to your lips.

Having to work after classes in the laboratory gave Coriolanus a chance to observe you.

You were very much like the person you were before he left, but ironically, also really different.

He recognizes the way your eyes narrow and how your hand finds your chin when you encounter a setback.  You also became really proper.  The smiles you gladly throw at everyone back in the academy are gone.  You attended the social events alone too, no longer following Coriolanus around to get him to ask you to come as his date.

There was also the swarm of boys he loathed.

You did not entertain them of course, kindly declining their invites for coffees and luncheons.

“You seem awfully popular with the male population of the Capitol.”

The comment did not stop your movements, not even for a second.  The decadent caramel tart was far too good to waste a moment.

“Mmh, it appears so.”  You reply to Corioalanus who seated himself in front of you at your table.  You preferred having lunch alone, it gave you time to think.  But apparently, that was too much to ask.

You saw this a mile away.  He was coming to talk to you sooner than later, and here he is.  His caramel tart ignored as the polished man found you more interesting.

Wiping your mouth with a napkin, you reach for your coffee as you locked eyes with him.  Almost taunting him to say something about it.

Now, with his slicked back platinum hair, tight jaw, and eyes so cold and calculating.  He looks every bit like his father.

“Is that all you are here for? To talk about my suitors?”  You lean back in your chair, careful to keep your posture straight.

Certainly, that is not all he is here for.  You have witnessed this all around you, even back in the academy.  Protégés sizing up their enemies and rooting out possible competition.  It was not your fault Dr. Gaul was interested in how your mind works, although you have to be responsible for your mischievous glances after you win an argument against him.

Winning arguments, if only you knew how much he was holding back, to save you the embarrassment, to not scare you away with his twisted arguments.

He is letting you go as you please, letting you think you are winning, it would be far more rewarding when he steals the prize right before your eyes.

Coriolanus wonders if he can get you to cry.

“No.”  He grins charmingly, making your blood freeze.  “The Plinths invited me to golf this Sunday.  They asked me to bring a friend.”

Your eyes dart all around his face, trying to search for something that would give him away.

“What are you playing at?”  You spoke slowly.

Coriolanus only laughs heartily, a hand placed over his chest in feign hurt.  “You wound me.  I simply wanted to catch up.  Afterall…”  His eyes dart to the family crest pinned on your chest, his eyes suddenly darkening, smile sharpening dangerously as he looks up at you with hooded eyes.  “We’re childhood friends, aren’t we?”

He can be very persuasive. 

Especially those eyes of his.

You heave a sigh and gently bring your cup to your lips, taking your time to sip. 

“Alright.”

“Perfect.”  He beams brightly.  There is something awfully unsettling about it.

Coriolanus Snow finds your distrustful nature inviting.  You are right to be wary of him. 

Sunday comes faster than you would have appreciated. 

The Plinths were very kind people.  Partly because they oh so wanted to be accepted in the Capitol. 

You are leaning on the golf cart, arms folded as you watch Coriolanus laugh with Sejanus Plinth’s parents.

Your thinking posture returns as you observe them.  Back in the academy, you do not recall Coriolanus and Sejanus to be very close.  They were acquaintances, yes.  Nothing beyond that.  In retrospect, Sejanus was a really lonely kid.  Everybody loved his money but friendship with him was something the Capitol kids never crossed.  The kindness Coriolanus showed him, he must have mistaken it for bond.

Poor Sejanus.

“Y/N.”  Mrs. Plinth calls you over and you fix your sunglasses back on and you head their way.

“Sorry, needed to cool off a bit.”  You smile at them.

“Oh, of course.  Would you like some refreshments?”  She asked, worried.  You smile at her, watching closely if this is real or not.  It might be.

Coriolanus swings his club and sends the ball flying to the cup.

Mr. Plinth slaps his back showering the young boy with compliments.

You are unaware that it was you who is being watched now.

“It has been difficult for my husband and I.”  Mrs. Plinth says softly as she guides you under the shade and pours you a tall glass of lemonade.

You thank her but are not letting your guard down for whatever she may spring at you.

“Our son is gone but that boy.”  She smiles in the direction of Coriolanus.  “Our son loved him like a brother.  It may be selfish on my part but I see my boy in him.”

You drop your head, watching your reflection in the lemonade.

“And he has the Plinths’ full support for his endeavors.”

This catches your attention and the woman smiles at your expression.

“In every victory Panem has, there is always a Snow behind it.”  She raises her chin to gauge your reaction.  “And a Swansworth to help them see it through.”

You tip your own chin up and watch Coriolanus do a perfect swing.

“And so there is.”  You give her a sly smile and she returns it with her own.

You might have just met an ally.

The day ends and you cannot be upset with how it turned out.

“In a better mood, are we?”  Coriolanus says cooly, lips tugging up to one side.

You shrug as you both enter the building where you both live.  “Mrs. Plinth is not an awful company.”  A playful smile is also thrown his way.  “I also enjoyed the view.”

There it is.

“Oh, you did, didn’t you?”  He stops you dead on your tracks, preventing you from getting in the elevator.

You did not let his height be a great advantage as you met him with a proud smile.  “The golf course, I mean.”

“Indeed, the golf course.”  He nods as he looks down at you, a smirk tugging on his lips.  “The golf course with its blistering heat and dry wind, that golf course.”

“Exactly.”  You smile sardonically.  “Now, if you don’t mind, I must get to my apartment.”

He lets you inside the elevator and he follows closely.

You stand next to him in silence as the elevator ascends.

A couple of times, your gazes meet in your reflection.

“I’m running as president.”

You sigh as your back meets the cold elevator wall.

“I know.”

He looks at you now, arm leaning on the handrail.

“I want you with me.”

You roll your eyes, arms crossing.

“I was afraid you’d ask.”

He chuckles lowly.

For a moment, only the soft whirring of the elevator accompanied by the classical tune playing was the only noise filling the space.

“Forgive me.”  He finally says.

It is long overdue but you appreciate it still.

“There is nothing to forgive.”

The elevator dings and you get off.  He walks you to your apartment. 

“Good night, Y/N Swansworth.”

“Good night, Coriolanus Snow.”

And you gently close the door, your eye contact never breaking until all you see is the hardwood door.

You stand there for a long time, contemplating.  Your apartment is cold and empty but the lights from Capitol reflect inside your apartment, casting a soft glow in your family portrait and you look at your father in the eyes.

“Snow will land on top.”

Hunt for Glory

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Morgan Stephens at Daily Kos:

With a competitive House race in the balance, arsonists set democracy on fire.  Early Monday morning, ballot boxes at two locations in the Pacific Northwest were destroyed by fire—one in Vancouver, Washington, and another in Portland, Oregon—with election officials estimating that “hundreds of ballots” may have been burned. In Portland, Oregon, police found that an incendiary device had been placed inside a voting drop box. However, a fire suppressant inside the box protected all but three ballots, and the local elections office planned to reach out to the affected voters to help them obtain replacement ballots. Shortly thereafter, another fire was set at a ballot box in Vancouver, Washington, near a public transit center. Clark County Elections Auditor Greg Kimsey confirmed to Forbes that mail-in ballots dropped off in the receptacle over the weekend had not been picked up, and that “hundreds” have been destroyed. He urged voters who dropped their ballot in the box at Fisher's Landing Transit Center after 11 AM PT Saturday to contact Clark County Elections for a replacement. 

[...] At the presidential level, Washington and Oregon are historically solid Democratic states, with Joe Biden winning them in 2020 by over 19 percentage points and 16 points, respectively. However, there’s a crucial House race in Washington’s 3rd Congressional District between Democratic incumbent Marie Gluesenkamp Perez and Republican Joe Kent, whom Donald Trump endorsed. She narrowly won in 2022, with a margin of 2,633 votes over Kent, who also ran that year. Her victory was a shock in this red-tinted district, which 538 calculated as having a partisan lean of R+11.2.

MAGA voter intimidation games are going on, as hundreds of thousands of ballots got burned in key Democratic strongholds such as Portland, Oregon, Vancouver, Washington, and Phoenix, Arizona in recent days.

See Also:

Arizona Republic: Phoenix police ID suspect in connection with mailbox fire where ballots burned

[tom-holland-stuff]

Displeasing Encounters & Passionate Debates // Chapter 1

My Masterlist

Chapter 1 // Chapter 2 + mood-board // Chapter 3 //

Pairing: Coriolanus Snow x Fem!reader

Summery: After returning form district 12 Coriolanus snow has had everything handed to him on a silver platter. Wealth, status, power, he has got it all. What happens when he discovers that Dr Gaul, his mentor, has taken on a new assistant.

Warning: SFW - for now. (let me know if i forgot any)

A/N: Hey Hey, so this is my first time writing for Coryo. I Have heaps of ideas for where this could go and also ideas for other fics but i'm 1000% open to any suggestions, ideas or even just a chat. DM me or drop in my ask box. Chapter 2 is already in the works hehe

Word Count: 1.7K

The citadel is a cold place. Most may find it unwelcoming, but Coriolanus considers it the opposite; he feels as if he belongs there, like a snowflake in a snowstorm. The white walls seamlessly connect to the marble floor, creating a stark, pristine atmosphere.

Coryo's expensive boots click against the sleek marble floor as he walks through the empty halls. His posture exudes confidence, his chin held high, and his shoulders squared. To those below him, he appears to be looking down with disdain—a smirk playing at his lips.

He is here on business, he must maintain a professional appearance, though he always carries an air of superiority. Today, he's meeting with his mentor, Dr. Gaul. 

After returning to the capital from his stint as a peacekeeper in District Twelve, Coriolanus has thrown himself into university life. Under the tutelage of the Plinths, he's risen in the elitist circles of the capital, becoming somewhat of a hotshot. On a more sour note, along with his new found wealth and status has come the form of a rift between himself and his dear cousin Tigirs, which became very evident this morning in the nature of a disagreement regarding his ever growing likeness to his father. This argument really set a displeasing tone for Coriolanus's day to follow. However, he has far too much to deal with nowadays, and can’t afford to let these spats occupy his thoughts.

Moving on, in addition to his growing popularity, he has secured the likes of the infamous (and slightly psychotic) Dr Gaul. 

After Coryo’s return from 12 the unhinged professor took him under her wing as his mentor and has not only supplied him with an incredible internship to become an gamemaker, but also the promise of becoming one of the greatest minds Panem has seen 

(maybe even a potential political figure one day…)

Perks of having Gaul as a mentor allow Coriolanus to secure one on one meetings or ‘tutoring sessions’ as she likes to call them. Which is where he finds himself on his way to now. 

Navigating the halls with ease, he makes his way to the wing of the building housing Dr. Gaul's lab. Typically, their meetings occur in her office, either at the university or in the citadel. However, due to the last-minute nature of this meeting regarding an assignment, Coryo finds himself summoned to the citadel.

As Coriolanus approaches the door to the lab, he hears someone clear their throat. Turning to his right, a dark wooden table occupies that space, its glossy top covered in neatly stacked folders and paper. He notes to himself how odd it is that he has never noticed this ‘receptionist desks of sorts’ before. 

Coryo is a selfish person, he knows that. He never really worries about anyone other than himself, or more so tries not to, maybe that’s why he has never noticed this space before, or noticed her. 

Seated at the table is a girl who looks to be around his age. She's clad in a fitted gray suit vest with a white button up shirt underneath. A red tie fits loosely around her neck, the deep blood color stands out against the dull accents of her outfit. 

She sits elegantly in her chair, her shoulders straight and poised, her hands clasped softly in front of her. He would have maybe described her as attractive if it wasn’t for the clear expression of displeasure displayed across her face.

Observing her, Coryo determines her demeanor screams entitled and... well, he refrains from using other such derogatory terms, but the sentiment remains. 

His nose wrinkles in disgust at her apparent lack of recognition, but before he can bring himself to think of more unpleasant descriptions of the lady in front of him, she speaks. 

"Name?" she prompts plainly, sitting up a bit straighter (if that was even possible), locking eyes with him.

Her gaze is sharp, her eyes feline like, piercing into his crystal blue ones. 

"Pardon?" He responds incredulously, matching her rigidness.

He takes a step closer to the desk. His strong frame towers over her, casting a shadow on the desk. His being exudes authority and importance, but the girl does not falter. 

Her eyes never leaving his, she states again.

“Name” her tone is almost challenging but her expression remains firm.

Coryo folds his arms across his chest. His embryos scrunch together slightly in annoyance because, who doesn't know who Coriolanus Snow is!

His thoughts are once again interrupted by the girl at the desk.

“Do you have a name?” she states more so than asks. Tilting her head ever so slightly to the side, only then does her gaze leave his as she slowly looks him up and down, sizing him up

Before she has another opportunity to repeat herself, he gives her an answer.

 "Snow," he states curtly. His response prompting her to meet his gaze once more.

“Coriolanus Snow” He reaffirms in an attempt to prevent her from having to ask him anything further, but unfortunately his effort is ill as she presses further.

“Are you sure?” the corners of her mouth pull into a small smirk as she questions him or challenges him, he is unsure. However, he is certain about his displeasure with this conversation. 

He uncrosses his arms and places them on the edge of the table. His face morphing into a scowl. “I have a meeting with Dr Gaul…” he states bluntly.

 “...so if you don’t mind, I shall see to that now, and you can resume with what I'm sure is a very… important task that you do.” He states, sarcasm dripping from his words. 

Without waiting to see the offended expression that was no doubt about to take over the girl’s face, he turns back towards the entrance to the lab taking heavily determined steps towards his desired destination. His smirk wider to himself, triumphant as having now ended that distasteful interaction that has consequently wound him up.

“Interesting Dr. Gaul wishes to spend her time with someone so daft they can’t even remember their own name”.  

He whips around fast on his heel, his smirk immediately replaced by a furious scowl. Coryo's eyes narrow, his gaze burning in her direction. 

She is standing now, almost mimicking his previous position, arms placed strongly on either side of the desk and her face adorned with a smirk that slowly morphs into a wicked smile, obviously satisfied with his visible reaction.

His whole body is tense, his chest is heaving in anger… no, 

Rage.

Who does this bitch think she is? 

He is usually one to have a lot more control over himself and would never allow his emotions to cause him to react so out of pocket like this, well at least not in this environment. But after having to deal with one nuisance after the other, all restraint has gone out the window. 

As Coriolanus prepares to give the girl a piece of his mind and unleash his frustration, he is  interrupted… again.

This time by the creaking sound of two heavy doors behind him, followed by the distinct click of heeled shoes. He halts in his tracks, watching the girl at the desk almost instantly return her seat at the desk, with her hands placed neatly in her lap. Her once devilish expression now replaced by the sweetest of smiles accompanied innocent, doe-like eyes that stare in the direction behind him. 

He looks over his shoulder to find Dr. Gaul exiting the lab, catching them in this tense interaction. 

No. 

Catching HIM. 

His previous ‘opponent’ now looks as if she would never even hurt a fly let alone be involved in an uncivil argument of sorts, and well… let’s just say it's definitely not a good look for him.

He quickly straightens himself and turns to face his mentor, while silently acknowledging himself how the sudden change in the girl's demeanor was slightly impressive.

His posture exudes professionalism, contrasting the state he was just found in.

Dr. Gaul's voice fills the silence as she addresses Coriolanus.

“Ah Mr. Snow, it seems you have already had the pleasure of meeting y/n, my newest addition” she says teasingly. 

He puts on a slight smile as an acknowledgement to her words, but Coryo would have called it anything but a pleasure.

“Both young great minds.” she says outwardly, directed neither of them in particular. Almost as if she was simply verbalising a thought.

Dr Gaul then steps slightly to the side, signalling for Coriolanus to follow her into the lab. 

As he begins to walk, Dr. Gaul holds the door and continues to talk, this time addressing him but speaking loud enough for y/n to hear.  

“Don’t be giving our sweet y/n any grief, hmm?” She teases. 

Sweet? 

Coriolanus finds the use of the word odd, not only because he completely disagrees with it as an appropriate description for the girl… y/n, but also because it's not a word that seems natural being used by his unhinged professor.

Coriolanus looks over his shoulder catching a glimpse of y/n as Dr Gaul begins to close the doors behind them. Gaul takes his shift in attention as an opportunity to add to her previous statement.

“We Wouldn’t want her to get caught up in one of your… Passionate debates” she smirks knowingly.

Coriolanus feels his cheeks flush, caught off guard by such an insinuating statement. Disgusted and embarrassed by his own involuntary reaction, he turns his head back in the direction he is walking, but not before catching a glimpse of y/n. She was still seated at her desk, with poised and perfect posture, but her face held a new expression. An expression Coriolanus did not have the previous pleasure of witnessing. 

Her eyes had gone wide and her mouth was slightly held open in surprise. Her face had turned a soft shade of pink, the flush of her cheeks matching his own.

That's all he is able to note before Dr Gaul shuts the doors completely behind them. She walks swiftly in front of Coriolanus and he follows quickly in toe.

“Something tells me you two will get along quite well” She chuckles to herself but Coriolanus couldn’t have disagreed more.

A/N: Sooooooo what did we think?? i tried my best so if there were spelling or grammar mistakes i'm so sorry!! i checked it so much it pained me hahahah. Also i don't give permission for my work to be posted without credit or whatever.

[mrs-stans]

Sebastian Stan describes the 'big reactions' from New Yorkers over his A Different Man transformation: 'I was terrified'

The actor and makeup artist extraordinaire Mike Marino unpack Stan's dramatic prosthetics turn.

By Nick Romano

Sebastian Stan was so determined to work with Oscar-nominated makeup artist Mike Marino on his film A Different Man that the actor was willing to undergo a social and professional experiment.

As Edward, the 42-year-old Marvel star would play an aspiring actor with neurofibromatosis, or NF1 for short, who undergoes an experimental procedure that radically changes his face, only to then emotionally spiral out of control when he loses the part he was born to play to Oswald (Adam Pearson), someone with NF1 who lives a much fuller life than Edward ever led, pre- or post-procedure. Stan needed the man who made Colin Farrell unrecognizable as Oz Cobb for The Batman and HBO’s The Penguin to pull off such a feat.

Since Marino was already busy on Amazon’s The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel, Stan walked the few blocks from his apartment in New York City’s SoHo district to Marino’s home every morning around 4 or 5 a.m. “Then you just wait till they're ready for you on set,” Marino remembers saying to him. On some of those days, Stan would kill time by wandering Manhattan in full makeup until his call time. “I walked up and down Broadway, basically,” Stan, sitting in the New York offices of studio A24, tells Entertainment Weekly. “It was a busy street. I was terrified, but I would just go get a coffee or sit.”

Sebastian Stan is unrecognizable as an actor with facial deformity in trailer for A Different Man

Stan doesn’t consider himself to be a physical actor, and yet his body of work might suggest differently. Even when the costume shoulders the bulk of the transformation, such as playing Tommy Lee in Hulu’s Pam & Tommy, his body language molds to match the look. That skill is especially prominent in A Different Man (playing now in limited release). “Even alone, being able to only look out of one eye and then having one ear more covered immediately changes a lot,” he says of Marino's makeup effects. “It changes how you stand. It changes how far away you are from people, how you look at people. I felt oddly on my back foot more. It's a defensive reaction because you want to be prepared in case something's coming, that you have enough time to react.”

“What we get is such an incredibly passionate, skilled actor that can hide within a true character,” Marino tells EW in a separate conversation on Zoom from his SoHo apartment, part of which serves as the mini studio where Stan’s makeup application occurred. “He would actually now have a chance to live with people's reactions and how they were treating him.”

Want more movie news? Sign up for Entertainment Weekly's free newsletter to get the latest trailers, celebrity interviews, film reviews, and more.

That experience informed Stan’s entire performance, and it became important for him to do so, even outside of the mornings' wait time. He would often stroll away from set on the Upper West Side in between breaks or setups. “New York is pretty evolved in a lot of ways, but I still got some big reactions from people,” he recalls. “Like, ‘Oh s---!’ ‘Oh f---!’ ‘Look at that!’ It was scary to experience. It was hard to experience. I felt powerless in those situations in some way. And, I guess, a lot of that is how Edward feels in the film.”

Sebastian Stan transforms in the discomforting drama A Different Man

Other reactions were less intense, but equally informative. While standing at a stoplight, for instance, Stan noticed the difference between those pedestrians avoiding eye contact completely, compared to those trying to discreetly steal a look or offer him a forced smile — all bystander reactions that director Aaron Schimberg incorporates into the movie. "I don't think it always comes from a bad place," he says. "Sometimes people just want to connect or feel okay. It's actually about their own experience. It's not even about you. It's like they're in that moment feeling something that's funny to them and they're trying to deal with it. They don't know how."

Marino wanted to be involved with A Different Man thanks to his love of the 1980 film The Elephant Man, loosely based on the life of Joseph Merrick, who lived with a facial disfigurement. As a 5-year-old, the movie scared Marino. But as he fell in love with the art of makeup transformations on screen, he came to see it for what it was: "a beautiful" and "touching story," he describes. "That really made an indelible mark on my life."

He would need that motivation for the obstacles that Stan's look on A Different Man prompted. "There were many technical challenges," he recalls. "It is very difficult to do makeup that thick where they have very thick areas. So I had to really balance what was too big, what was too small. I still need the movement of Sebastian to come through. I still need his own face to drive the makeup and not have it look purely like a mask. I studied Adam's photos. I really analyzed him and tried to balance how I can make it work for Sebastian."

Sebastian Stan calls out journalist who refers to his new character with disfigurement as a 'beast'

Stan has another transformative part coming out soon, the buzzed-about and already-controversial performance of young Donald Trump in The Apprentice. Because he's now promoting both that film and A Different Man simultaneously, it's been interesting for him to think about the ways in which he approached both jobs.

"I've been finding strange parallels that I never really thought about," he remarks. "There's some similar themes being explored in terms of truth, self abandonment, denial of reality to some extent. I think these last couple of roles have required a different degree of physicality. One, obviously, is specific, a real person. But I think about that, of course. You have to, because everyone walks differently and everyone carries things in their body differently. Sometimes you gain access in a different way to things by simply changing a physical aspect of yourself."

The greatest compliment he received for that kind of work on A Different Man, even more than the glowing praise he's seen from the critics, came from Pearson's mother. "After she saw the film, she was like, 'All I ever wanted was for someone to walk in his shoes for one day, to know what it's like, and you were able to do that,'" Stan remembers of their exchange. "I came close to that, I guess, in a way, to feel that kind of invasiveness that he probably felt at some point in his life, walking around."

[bentosandbox]

quick TL for Swummer Module bc it was great (and a bit of Chummer's module)

Happy 5 year anniversary of the chenswire (chapter 5) banner

[Pinned] Regular Chat Group (4)

16:26 Guma: I'm hungry, what's for dinner? Swire: Let's have something nice. Grand Lungmen Resturant, 8PM! You need to try that new puhn choi on their menu. It's their usual recipe, but they use ingredients sourced from that new MCT trade route. They have stuff from Rim Billiton to Sargon. Super fresh. The set also comes with a bottle wine from Sami! Swire: Bison and I worked our asses off to establish this supply chain so you guys better try it! @ Rat Rat: You're counting me in?

17:09 Guma: So hungry. can we go now? Swire: There's no seats available rn, just snack on something first!

18:32 Guma: hungry...

19:20 Guma: so hungryyyyyyy...

19:58 Rat: Something urgent came up, you guys go on without me

20:08 Swire: Huh? Swire: Wb hoshiguma?

20:23 Swire: It's been so long since we had a meal together so we better get one today! Lmk what you want to eat asap after work!

20:41 Swire: so what are we having tonight?

21:19 Swire: what are we having tonightttt??????? Swire: LIN YUXIA I SAW YOUR READ NOTIF!! answer! Rat: I just finished work. Didn't you just release your Director Swire Lungmen Food Guide with the nonstop noisy af TV ads. why are you asking me to decide Guma: Done with my emergency mission. I'm fine w anything as long as there's meat. So hungry I could eat an entire burdenbeast head Rat: What about the snack street? 'the shopping district is right next door, a convergence of unique goods from all over Terra. Only in Lungmen can you shop the whole land!' Writing's not bad Swire: Duh its my work so ofc the copywriting has to be good too Guma: nah sounds like there won't be a lot of meat Swire: Remember the volcanic mud cleanser I got for you @ Rat and the surfboard @ Guma you can buy them there too Swire: Bison and i adjusted the prices until they're just slightly pricier than what you'd pay in siesta. Does that work? Guma: Don't feel like eating surfboard Rat: Then international trade park? The guide's no.2 Swire: Sure we're drawing some investors over there atm so there's plenty of foreign food there they're p good Guma: I want meat also ill take more than 30min to get there from here ill die from hunger Swire: Pity. It's pretty popular with the youths yk, recommended date spot Rat: Agh! Rat: Final option. The cai zhe min stall behind the LGD office. That or you guys can starve Guma: no objections Swire: no objections

21:30 Swire: wait LYX why do you have my guide i thought you didn't like that sort of noise Rat: Just happened to pick it up, problem?

21:33 Rat: Why is the czm stall not in your guide? Swire: I wanted to but the boss wouldn't let me sth about its too bougie for him hes just a regular noodle stall Swire: True tho. Certified Lungmen™️ moment

21:38 Guma: I already ordered come ASAP

23:35 Guma: Why hasn't chen read any of our messages? Swire: Bc she has to connect to an intercity net first. Who knows she might just be on the top of a haystack in some valley waving her terminal around for signal right now

--new messages-- PGL: ...... PGL: you mean a pile of rubble PGL: I'm back in lungmen, i want to eat czm too

thoughts/notes:

As I mentioned in the other ask Swire set nicknames for the other 3 Hoshi: 🐻🐻 Chen: Puk Gaai Lung Lin: Stinky Rat (wanted to use CLS (cau lau syu) but i kept misreading it as cho shan land so lmaoo

Hoshi 'i don't feel like having surfboard for dinner' guma

Lin really likes her cart noodles huh (nodding)

Hoshi and Lin both finished their urgent work at the same time 🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨🤨

this is so good for character study idk like the way lin is like indirectly 'me too?' and never commits but doesn't exactly ghost 24/7 either also her being like -_-💢this or you starve idc HOSHIGUMA.....hungryguma so cute she dgaf Swire. 'the youths love coming here for dates' spoken like a real 25+yo AND CHEN... when youre that one guy in the gc whos overseas or in a diff timezone .......i doubt the timeline doesn't add up so nicely but i had a funny mental image of the 3 eating their noodles and then suddenly chen in her victorian outfit shows up behind them all covered in blood and dust from ch14

Right uh Chummer module:

shes in dossoles, some boy is asking her for help because his dad pulled his mom into some smuggling trade (and he used to be part of it too) chen is like dw i'll punish him and his gang if they deserve it and the boy asked if prison will reform his dad (chen: ...why do you ask) saying his dad used to be Normal but then became money hungry after they came to dossoles and promised him he would take them on a cruise to spot rainbows or something?? chen is like theres water everywhere here shouldnt you have seen enough rainbows. hes like it doesnt count it has to be on a ship and all... she thinks its valid as she remembers how much she wanted wei's approval back then and asks if he still thinks the same and hes like yeah but i cant do it alone... chen is silent for a moment and then helps the boy out, leaving a note before they split ways 'then you'll have to figure out a way to make him hear you out, to tell him you want him to be a better person. at least, he needs to understand your point of view' then it switches to 3rd person narrative lol it rained that day, and chen(女侠 ..!!) subdues a criminal gang, rescuing a woman. the surprising part is that the leader wanted to fight to the end before a child suddenly appeared before him. at some point the rain stops and a rainbow appears, making the gangleader hesitant and eventually drops his weapon after (his son) says something to him. witnesses remark on how chen did not seem happy by this outcome, only pensively staring towards the east

honestly my first reaction was 'omg chen nuxia interrobang' and then 'wuh..??' bc it was so vague compared to what was essentially chatfic or w/e the term is lmao not much on the brain atm except:

hen module: looks toward lungmen swire module: im back

the kinoooooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[dominiquelucalover]

Protect Her | Dominique Luca x Single-Mom!Reader

Summary: headcanons of when 20 David is in pursuit of a dangerous suspect and they come across a key witness who is too scared to talk.

CW: descriptions of crime amd violence, murder, drug dealing, stalking, age gap, single-mom!reader, reader has a daughter named Daisy (that's just easier for me bit you can change it if you'd like ofc), the ex is a man, toxic relationship,

- when you got out of your piss-poor excuse of a relationship, you swore off dating for a while, at least until your daughter was a little older; you had to get on your feet with a eight month old and figure things out all over again.

- this was your fresh start; new apartment, new job, no one holding you back - at least that was how it's supposed to be.

- your ex wasn't the best person: manipulative and mean only scratched the surface of what he was. he was vile, cruel, and a crook - aka the wrong kind of guy.

- you'd felt trapped in that relationship because of how powerful he was, and when you got pregnant, that feeling was made worse. it wasn't until your daughter Daisy was born that you knew it was time to leave, which was exactly what you did.

- however, he was possessive and put his friends up to keep an eye on you; they sit outside your apartment building and follow you to work. you do your best to act like they aren't there but it's hard. you found yourself constantly asking why he cared so much when he wasn't even their for Daisy's birth, too busy running drugs.

- you wanted the stalking to end but didn't know how, as you could only imagine the kind of trouble he'd cause if you had his buddies arrested, so you put your head down and pretended they weren't there.

- that was until one day, when LAPD SWAT burst into your apartment, startling your darling from her nap. she began wailing and you wanted to go to her immediately, but a team dressed in all black were pointing their guns at you and breaking off to search your apartment.

- once the place was cleared, the leader, you presumed, walked up and asked where your ex was while another man went to your crying daughter.

- "wait, you thought he was here?" you asked, getting upset. "why would you think something like that?"

- "because this place is listed as his place of residence," the leader explains sternly. "now where is he?"

- "first of all, he has never lived her. that bastard must have put my place down for something like that, and I could just-" you cut yourself off, knowing threatening violence wasn't the best thing to do in front of the LAPD. you took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, but I don't know where he is."

- your daughter stopped crying and you turned to look at her room, seeing the man with the thick beard holding her to his chest; he was so gentle with her, you thought he must be a father himself.

- "c'mon, you gotta know more than nothing," the leader said, drawing your attention again.

- you pressed your lips together and nodded, "I can give you the address of his last place, but I don't know if he's still there. and I can tell you he'll know you're here if he doesn't already know."

- "why's that?" a younger man asked, looking confused.

- you pointed to the window that overlooked the street, "because he has his buddies detailing me even though I broke it off months ago."

- the swat teams presence wasn't making you feel any better about your current situation; if anything, you felt worse. the last thing you needed were cops on your door, let alone these officers.

- "wait a minute," you say softly, dread gripping your heart, "he must have done something really bad if you guys are here."

- the woman of the team coughed and you apologized softly.

- the leader nodded and you sat down before he could tell you what had happened. turns out, your ex added murderer to his long list of titles and he was wanted in connection to a killing of not one but two LA district attorneys. you felt sick to your stomach upon hearing that.

- "why on earth would he want them dead for?" you ask softly.

- a big man with kind eyes looked at you with regret, seemingly sorry for his team disrupting your afternoon. despite that look, he spoke sternly, yet softly, "that's what we'd like to know."

- I wish I could help you, but I cant," you said and suddenly stood up. you took your daughter from the must-be-father officer and held her close to your chest, "please leave."

- "with all do respect, miss, I don't think you're telling us everything," the leader said, then walked closer. "let's start over. I'm Sargent Harrelson and this is my team. whatever you know about your ex could help us in our investigation, so if you could-"

- "did you not hear the part where I told you he has his friends following my every move?" you snapped, "you've been here long enough, he's gonna think I told you something and them he'll-"

- "he'll what?" The kind man asked, beginning to look angry.

- you looked down and shrugged, "he murdered two people already... I'm scared to think about what he'd do to me. he doesn't actually care about me, I was just a prize on his arm and then he had some side chicks when I was pregnant, so, really, I don't want to imagine what he will do to me when he finds out I've talked to you all."

- Sargent Harrelson grabs the straps of his vest and sighs, taking a moment to think. then he turned to his team, "Street. Tan, go down to thay car and ask them why they're loitering. Deac, you and Chris check the perimeter."

- four of them leave and you're left with the Sargent and Kind Eyes. they didn't leave your side for a while, asking you questions and trying to get some answers, but for the time being, you only answered the questions about yourself, your daughter, and your job. you didn't want to risk anything else, but you did write down your old address for them like you said you would.

- it was nearly an our later when they got a message over the radio and before you knew it, they were telling you to grab a bag, the baby's things, and anything you needed for an overnight stay.

- "what's going on?" you asked, doing as they said with some help, your daughter fast asleep in your arms. "where are we going?"

- Sargent Harrelson, or Hondo as you'd heard him called, told you, "were putting you into short term protective custody until we can find your ex."

- you look between the two men, heart swelling, "really? you'd do thay for me?"

- he nods and assures you that you and your daughter will be safe and sound.

- when they brought you outside, your stalkers were nowhere in sight and their car was getting towed; you were confused but didn't ask too many questions, thinking that they wouldn't tell you anything - you understood that information came with a price.

- at swat hq, you were brought into a little kitchen area and Kind Eyes, or Luca as you'd come to know him, pulled out a packaged lunch from the fridge and heated it for you; you told him that he didn't have to do that but he didn't take that and offered to hold Daisy while you ate. you couldn't really argue.

- as you ate, Luca played with your daughter and made her laugh; she was wide awake and giggly, seemingly uncaring that she was in a strange new place.

- however, the niceness didn't last and she was sooner crying loudly; Luca looked worried and turned to you and you laughed.

- "you didn't do anything wrong, she's just hungry," you assured him and took her from him. you went to stand up, "excuse me."

- you were going to find somewhere a little more private to breastfeed your daughter and Luca understood, helping you to an empty office to sit comfortably; he also left you alone, which you appreciated.

- it was a little while later when he brought up the stuff you were hiding about your ex and you got quiet, holding your angel close protectively.

- "hey, it's okay," Luca said and sat beside you, putting a hand on your shoulder, causing you to look at him, "you're safe here and we're not going to let anything happen to you. I won't let anything happen to you two."

I'll make a part two because I didn't mean to post this, but it's pretty long already, so yeah. Hope you enjoyed it.

[beifong-brainrot]

Headcanons about Aiwei's relationship with the Beifong babies bcs I'm lowkey obsessed with that finely aged twink.

Aiwei is sort of an enigma, since all we know is that he was a member of the Red Lotus and he was infiltrating Zaofu. We are never really told how long he's been in Zaofu, but Suyin seems to consider him family, so probably a few years. I personally believe he became Suyin's right hand man around the time she was pregnant with the twins. I headcanon that that pregnancy was very hard on Suyin's body and that's also the reason the twins were her last biological kids.

And Aiwei, working under the Red Lotus' commands, took advantage of Suyin's fragile state and helped her a lot in managing the city while she was incapacitated and also offering her a lot of mental support, becoming her friend. I think Suyin, being the traumatised and affection starved person she is, would very quickly come to consider him family.

One of my sillier headcanons is that Wei was named after Aiwei, due to Suyin's gratitude for how much Aiwei helped her during her pregnancy. And since they already had a Juniour in the family, they just named Wei an abbreviation.

I can see Aiwei's first "oh shit I'm getting attached to this family" moment when he's holding baby Wei.

After Zaheer and co get arrested, Aiwei is a bit lost. He has nowhere to go, and his leaders cant really communicate with him much.

So he stays in Zaofu, where he has a good position and good connections. At first it's just a strategic choice at remaining in a position where he can still spread the teachings of the Red Lotus.

But he also spends a lot of time with Suyin and her family. I mean, he seems to be the only person (outside of staff and guests) living in the same district as the Beifong mansion is situated. And it almost looks like this house was built purely for him?

I think he becomes a sort of pseudo uncle to the Beifong babies, and probably was very important, since I headcanon that Suyin was very protective of them and perhaps even had them homeschooled.

I can actually even see Aiwei being one of the kids' educators in this homeschooling. He appears to be a learnt man and I could theorise that he has some knowledge of medicine. He was able to notice Lin's mental condition affecting her body. Also, he raised no suspicion to being able to diagnose that Korra was immobilised with shirshu venom and also no one was surprised that he just had the antidote on hand. Like yeah, he probably knew the Red Lotus would use the venom, but the fact that no one was surprised that he just seemed so prepared for diagnosing and curing the venom of this rare and dangerous animal leads me to believe that he may be some kind of medical practitioner, or at least well oriented in the field.

Due to this, I can also see him as the person who would tend to the baby Beifongs when they got injured or sick as children, leading for him to get even closer ingrained with the family. I think especially when Kuvira arrived and started getting in arguments and potential altercations with the baby Beifongs, they would often find solace with him

I think Aiwei might try to help Kuvira deal with her anger, but I don't believe she'd ever really trust him as much as the other kids did.

Particularly since Kuvira is such a controlling individual, even in her youth, while Aiwei is a big proponent of personal freedom.

Like she'd definetly hear him yapping about individuality and act like an angsty teen at the school mandated trip to the therapist's office.

But I always imagined that Aiwei and Huan were actually super close. Huan seems to echo a lot of Aiwei's individualism based ideals which could be due to him admiring Aiwei so much.

I also think Huan got his eyebrow piercing for his 17th birthday when Aiwei helped him get it without Su knowing. Su is still a little salty lol.

I like to imagine that Aiwei was the one to first take note of Huan's artistic talents and encourage them over Huan trying to continue Toph and Su's legacy of more combat based bending. I can also see him helping Suyin accept the fact that maybe Huan won't want to follow in her footsteps.

I headcanon that the different art and pottery pieces on the shelf in Aiwei's house are Huan's first works, before he developed his very characteristic style.

I headcanon that Huan always had an extremely sensitive seismic sense which developed when he was cery young and that it led him to get overstimulated easily. And Aiwei, who leans into his seismic sense, helped him manage and compartmentalise the overwhelming amount of sensations.

I think Huan was most hurt by Aiwei's betrayal, after Suyin. He looked up to Aiwei, and trusted him idolised him. And I think that Aiwei never being able to give them an answer due to his spirit being trapped just ate Huan up. I think it lead to Huan becoming much more distrustful and even more closed off than usual. This was extradited by what happened with Baatar and Kuvira, perhaps leaving Huan barely speaking to people who aren't Opal or the twins, unless strictly necessary, as we never hear him speak after the Beifong family gets captured by Kuvira.

Speaking of Aiwei's kinda death, I don't buy that the only reason Zaheer eliminated Aiwei is because he was a 'loose end'. Like my brother in Raava you and your polycule got imprisoned for like 14 years or smth that was the ultimate fumble.

I think it's because Zaheer sensed that Aiwei had gotten close to the Beifongs and his loyalty to the Red Lotus might be compromised. Especially that the Red Lotus are also planning to attack the Northern Air Temple, directly endangering Opal, whom Aiwei is basically an uncle to. I mean, he was at her goodbye dinner.

I also like to think Aiwei, being a spiritual person, helped Opal a lot in her first days of airbending and taught her to meditate to centre herself.

I also believe that in the Fog of Lost Souls, he is tormented by memories of his happy years with the Beifongs and by the fact that he betrayed them, endangered them, threw away his relationship with them for a borderline cult.

[zaebeecee]

To Sever a Loveless Bond

••RadioDust Soulmate AU••

Part 7/?

First chapter | Previous chapter | Next chapter

Read on AO3

Chapter 7 art by @fletchingbrilliant

•••

Something of an interlude chapter and a bit shorter, sorry about that. Doctor stuff slowed me down today.

•••

Guillermo’s was a small cafe on the fifteenth floor of an office building in the Greed District. It was ludicrously exclusive, the kind of place that you had to really know someone in order to get into, and it served as close to real Italian food as you could find in Hell. It was one of the few decent restaurants that wasn’t seen as part of Rosie’s overlord territory, and often saw business from overlords, various high-ranking Hellborn visiting the Pride ring, a few of the Goetian nobility, and even (on one occasion, judging by the framed and signed photo on the wall) the famous imp clown, Fizzarolli. You needed a reservation, and it could take weeks or even months to get in.

Angel Dust had never once had to wait to get into Guillermo’s. No matter when he showed up, there was a table for him, no questions asked. This was because Angel had done the place a favor by keeping the Vees from attempting to interfere with it, a thing that could easily ruin any business. And the reason Angel did them such a favor was because the place was funded—and unofficially managed by—his older brother, Arackniss.

Their entire living existence, Angel and Arackniss had a difficult relationship. Volatile, and often violent, they had at least been unified in their shared hatred of their parents and had managed to become amicable business partners after the death of their father and Arackniss’s subsequent management of the Family Business.

Arackniss had never said it, but Angel was pretty sure that Anthony’s overdose had been the final nail in the coffin of their animosity, and now, they got along well enough for two guys with nothing in common who didn’t see each other for years at a time. It had its perks, especially since Arackniss was still tangled up in Hell’s mafia and had more connections than Vox had ports.

Family is family, I guess. Even down here.

Angel was taken to a table near the window the moment he arrived, and he warned them that Cherri was coming, both so they would let her in and so they could… well, prepare for her presence. This was one of their regular spots, after all—just because Angel never saw Arackniss, and just because they no longer wanted to kill each other, didn’t mean Angel wanted to stop being an annoying little brother who took advantage of big bro’s position—and while Cherri had never caused any real property damage, she had destroyed a few tables, quite a few place settings, and at least one old bitch’s ugly hat. Because of that, the restaurant had started taking special precautions when they knew she was going to be there.

There had once been discussion among the staff about banning both of them. Within a week, half of them had been silently replaced, and nothing more was said about it.

Cherri arrived ten minutes later, looking the same sort of artistic hot mess she always did. It wasn’t unusual for her to be late, generally because she either picked a fight on her way anywhere or had one picked with her, and she could never leave that fight alone until she had finished it.

“Oh my god I hate sharks,” she muttered as she slid into the chair across from Angel. “Hey, baby, sorry about that.”

“Don’t be, I just got here,” Angel said, grinning at her irritated tone. “How’s tricks?”

“Tricky.”

When the waiter came by, Cherri ordered a Bloody Mary, but Angel just asked for water. As soon as the imp was gone, Angel noticed her staring at him with one large and squinting eye. “What?”

“I knew it.”

“Knew what?”

“Something is wrong,” she said. “You never pass up the chance to drink, and besides, you only wanna come here when something is bothering you.”

“I don’t always drink, and— wait, what?” Angel frowned. “The hell I do.”

“The hell you don’t,” Cherri said. “You always wanna come here when you’re upset about something because your brother owns this place and it’s like letting your big bro keep you safe.”

Angel barked out a laugh. “Oh, that is utter bullshit. Rack and I ain’t never been those kinda brothers.”

“Call it bullshit all you want, you still always have some kind of life-altering drama when you wanna meet here.” The imp came back, gave them their drinks, and then retreated; they always got the same food, so nobody bothered asking them anymore. “And you do, don’t you?” Cherri continued like she hadn’t been interrupted.

“…okay, first off, fuck you. Second, just because I got shit to tell you don’t mean you’re right.”

Cherri smirked, her cross-shaped pupil flickering a brighter pink in amusement. “Yeah, sure, whatever. Dish.”

Angel sighed, drumming one set of fingers on the table as he thought about how best to start. He could admit when there was a flaw in his own plan, and for all that he wanted Cherri to snap him back to reality, he hadn’t included the part where he had to actually tell her what the fuck was happening. “…it’s… I need you to give me your hundred percent honest opinion about someone. No holds barred.”

“Oh, honey, that’s not a problem. Who?”

Angel nodded. “…Alastor.”

Her eyebrow shot up. “Alastor? Like, Mister Radio Face? That guy?” Angel nodded. “The last time I gave you any kind of opinion on him, you told me I was too hard on him because I didn’t know him.”

“…I didn’t say that, did I?” Angel asked, deflating a little.

“Oh, bitch, you did,” Cherri said with a humorless laugh. “And you were really adamant, too.”

Angel sighed and put his head in two of his hands, his other two arms folded on the table. “Just humor me, Cherri.”

“Okay,” she said, drawing the word out, before she started speaking fairly quickly. “I think he’s a dangerous and unstable psychopath who’s probably never experienced a real emotion in his life and who gets his kicks manipulating everyone he meets for the hell of it. He’s mean, he’s violent, he’s untrustworthy, he’s completely unlikeable, and he smells terrible. The only two positives I have is that he’s as strong as he claims to be and he has a great radio voice, but otherwise, I wouldn’t consider him worth the powder it would take to blow him up.”

Angel sighed. “Yeah, that’s what I thought you would say.”

When he finally lowered his hands, he saw Cherri watching him expectantly. As soon as she realized Angel wasn’t going to say anything, she asked, “Why are you so interested in my opinion on the radio jackass, anyway? You already know I don’t like him.”

“I know, I know, nobody does,” Angel said, unable to keep a level of distress out of his voice. “It… I need somebody to knock some sense into me, that’s all. And if I tell you why, I really, really need you to stay calm.”

“I make no promises.”

“Then I ain’t tellin’ you.”

“Fuck…” Cherri sighed and rolled her eyes, then crossed her arms. “Okay. I will do my best. Spit it out.”

Angel drew a deep, steadying breath. “He’s my soulmate.”

There was a scream at the next table as someone’s plate of spaghetti exploded.

“Cherri!” Angel hissed.

“I’m sorry!” she said, matching his tone, looking a combination of furious and in absolute shock. “But you… you have got to be fucking kidding me! The Radio Demon?!”

“Shut up shut up shut up!” Angel waved his hands at her. “You told me you’d try to keep a lid on it!”

“The table’s still here, isn’t it?” Cherri placed her hands on the tabletop, like she was emphasizing her point, before she took a few slow breaths. “Okay. Alright. I’m fine, at least as fine as I’m gonna get. What happened?”

She did seem to calm down considerably as Angel told her about the night in the kitchen, going into more detail with her than he had with Husk. When he was finished, they sat in silence for a moment, Angel picking lightly at his food.

“And you’re sure he has one, too?” Cherri asked.

“Well, I saw it,” Angel said. “But… I mean, I got one and it activated when he touched me, don’t that mean he’s got one too?”

Cherri shrugged. “I’ve heard it’s not always… they don’t always come in pairs,” she said. “I mean, it’s Hell, right? Wouldn’t be Hell if everybody had a destined happy ending.”

“Ain’t it bad enough, bein’ tied to someone for all eternity?” Angel asked with a sigh.

“So what are you gonna do about it?”

“We’re figuring out how to break it,” Angel said. “Val found out it activated, so if I don’t do it, the Vees will. Alastor’s friend Rosie says she can find a… a ritual, or a spell, or some shit that can do it. But she says we have to finish our bond, so we’ve started… hanging out, I guess. He’s makin’ me dinner tonight.”

Cherri blinked slowly at him. “Wouldn’t trust a single thing he called food.” Angel couldn’t help a small laugh at that, but it died quickly. “So… how does he feel about it?” Cherri asked, with an edge of danger in her voice that he found perplexing.

“I… whaddya mean?”

“You said you’re breaking it because of the Vees. How does he feel about it?” Cherri clarified. “He isn’t exactly shy about his opinions, I know you know.”

“Oh, he’s fuckin’ thrilled about the idea of breakin’ it. Can’t wait to get rid of the burden, I guess,” Angel said with a roll of his eyes and a dismissive wave.

Strangely, Cherri said, “That asshole.”

Angel blinked at her. “Wait, what?”

She didn’t back down. “What kind of callous dick would be excited about breaking a soul bond with you??”

“I… thought you didn’t like him,” Angel said, one eyebrow arching.

“I don’t!” she declared in the same tone. “But that’s not the fucking point! How dare he consider a soul bond with you to be a burden on him! He’s the absolute worst creature that Hell had the audacity to spit out of whatever pit he came from, and you are perfect! He should be fucking honored that he got matched up with you!”

Angel couldn’t help it; he started giggling, his face heating up as tears welled in his eyes. He pressed one hand over his mouth. “Cherri…!”

“I’m serious,” she said, and she absolutely sounded it. “Ungrateful, disrespectful gripper. God, I should go blow him up for that!”

Angel’s giggles turned into laughter. “Stop stop stop don’t do that…!”

Cherri huffed in irritation and stabbed her pasta with her fork. “Well, I’m going to think about it really hard.” She hesitated, then looked up at him again. “You didn’t explain what you meant earlier.”

“About what?”

“You said you needed sense knocked into you. You didn’t say why.”

Angel looked down. “Right. I didn’t.” He sighed, folding his arms on the table again “I… I don’t know if it’s the mark, or… We went out last night. To a club. Rosie said it’d be a good idea for us to spend time together, and we both like jazz and dancing. So…” He shrugged a little. “And we had a real good time, y’know? Or, I mean, I did, anyway. I think he did. And I liked… I liked spending time with him. I like listening to him talk. He’s funny, and he’s charming, and he’s a kinda crass I ain’t really used to. He’s a good cook, he’s polite most of the time, he doesn’t… y’know.”

Cherri waited for him to continue. When he didn’t, she said, “He doesn’t treat you like a whore.”

“…yeah.”

“I guess he wouldn’t. He doesn’t seem to have interest in that.” Cherri tapped her fingers on the table. “…baby… I don’t have anything I can tell you that you don’t already know. You know who he is, you know what he’s like, and you know what will happen if you keep going this way.”

“I know,” Angel agreed softly. “But I… I can’t help it. I don’t know how to stop it. I don’t want to—…” He sighed. “I think about breakin’ the bond and losin’… whatever this is, and I feel kinda like freakin’ out.”

Cherri nodded. “I get it,” she said. “But hey. Angel. After it breaks, you two can still be friends, can’t you?”

Can we?

I don’t know.

“I hope so.”

•••

Alastor was, above all things, a creature that had been molded for a solitary lifestyle.

That had always suited Alastor just fine, if one asked him. His mother said he had been a strange, wrong child even as a baby—“My little curse,” she had called him, with more affection than a being like him had ever warranted—and he couldn’t remember a time in his living existence that he had ever had someone he could truthfully call a friend. Hell was no exception to this, and for nearly one hundred years, Alastor had cheerfully stalked the streets of Pentagram City, leaving nothing but fear in his wake.

Except Rosie, of course, but she hardly counted. She was the overlord of the cannibals, and if he couldn’t make friends with someone like that, he supposed he was as hopeless as most believed him to be.

The knowledge of soul marks had been, at first, a shock. It hadn’t been long for it to turn into an insult, however, as Alastor wondered who could possibly have the gall to presume to saddle him with some doe-eyed, simpering creature who would be nothing but an inconvenience.

He had once told Husker and Niffty that, should his soulmate ever be unfortunate enough to find him, he would make sure they received everything that a bond with the Radio Demon warranted. As he described the dishes he would make with their organs, the tools he would make with their bones, and the clothing he would make with their skin… Alastor still remembered with open fondness the look of terror on old Husker’s face as his ears flattened and his wings shivered. Maybe he was imagining it happening to him, or perhaps, to whoever his bond tied him to.

And that was good. He should have imagined that. Alastor would not be any gentler with the mates of his pets than he would be with his own.

Even Niffty had looked almost disturbed, by the end of his speech.

Of course, for all his talk, Alastor had never truly wished to find his soul mate. Fun as it would be to make new boots out of their belly skin, it would still come with the knowledge that he had been shackled to someone, even for such a short period of time. Alastor had never seen the point of romance, always viewing it as ridiculous at best and a complete waste of time at worst, and to think of it as even more compulsory than the society in which he was raised was downright offensive.

He had not planned on Angel Dust stirring that pain in his mark. Even with its shape… Alastor had never once contemplated that it might be him.

Of course, he was reasonable enough to think that it could have simply been because he didn’t want it to be Angel Dust. There had been no way to anticipate the creature he had first met upon setting foot into the hotel, a figure he knew well simply through social mitosis. A porn star, an employee of the Vees. Easy to write off. Easier to ignore.

But then Angel Dust had… hit on him, so flippantly and casually, almost like he was making a joke. And when Alastor had refused, Angel Dust never lost his smile, just shrugging and telling Alastor it was his loss. Alastor had anticipated that would be the end of it—he had made it quite clear he was not a potential john, and couldn’t fathom any other reason for Valentino’s prostitute to interact with him—but it wasn’t the end of it.

Alastor was the Radio Demon. He had toppled the empires of overlords who had controlled Hell for decades, centuries, before his death. He was a figure that even those who did not know him ran from. He inspired more than fear, he inspired terror.

And, within a week of knowing him, Angel Dust had given him four nicknames (each more ridiculous than the last), he had suggested they film a pornography together as a commercial to attract guests, and he had tried no less than seven times to see how strict his five foot rule was. And, through it all, he had remained so infuriatingly affable.

It hadn’t taken long for Alastor to contemplate the pros and cons of killing him. The pros were many—chief among them that he wouldn’t have to put up with Angel Dust anymore—but the two cons outweighed the rest. The first was that he was the hotel’s celebrity guest and it wouldn’t have been good for Charlie’s project to lose him.

The second was that Alastor simply didn’t want him gone.

He told himself many things. Maybe he just found the spider amusing. Maybe he wasn’t worth Alastor’s time and knife. Maybe Alastor simply thought that the years of drugs and sex and whatever Valentino had done would make Angel Dust’s meat unfit for consumption. And because Alastor so rarely reevaluated someone once passing judgment on them, the fact that he was constantly reevaluating the spider was infuriating.

But it was the mark. It had to be. And soon, that mark would be gone.

“Rosie, my dear!” Alastor called as he opened the door to her emporium and strode inside, twirling his microphone staff with a practiced ease. The shop was empty—not unusual for this time in the afternoon—and he didn’t immediately set eyes on her. “Are you here?”

“I’m in my work room, Alastor!” Rosie called. Alastor stepped around the counter and dutifully followed the sound of her voice, finding her sitting on a couch and hemming what appeared to be a deep green formal gown. “Hello, darling, so nice to see you so soon,” she said.

“Yes, well, I find myself in need of your services,” Alastor said, setting the end of his staff on the floor and placing one hand over the casing of the microphone. “I’m going to be making quite the dinner tonight and I require some rather specialized ingredients. Where better to come but to the mistress of the culinary arts herself?”

Rosie laughed. “Flatterer,” she said, with a smile that told him it worked. “Just let me finish this hem and I’ll get you all set up. What’s the occasion?”

“No real occasion,” Alastor said, settling on a plush ottoman near her to wait. “I’m simply certain that Angel Dust has not had anything resembling a proper meal in many years, excepting the jambalaya I made the other night. I plan to rectify that.”

“Oh, it’s for Angie, is it?” Rosie asked with a bright smile.

Alastor was fairly certain he didn’t care for her tone, but he couldn’t put his finger on why. “Yes,” he said simply.

Rosie nodded, her smile turning to something… untrustworthy, Alastor would call it. “I hear he helped you cook the other night.”

“Yes, he helped me with the jambalaya,” Alastor said. “He was so very insistent, and he has so many hands, I thought it would be a crime not to make use of them.” Rosie made a humming noise, and Alastor stared at her. “What.”

“Oh, nothing, sweetie, nothing. Glad to hear the two of you are getting along.”

“As well as two such vastly different people can, I suppose,” Alastor said lightly. “But I will admit that the outing he suggested yesterday was quite entertaining. I knew he did something that some people consider dancing, of a sort, but I had no idea that he truly knew how to dance.”

Rosie laughed. “He got you to go out dancing, hm? I didn’t think you went to clubs.”

“I don’t!” Alastor said brightly. “But they had serviceable rye and their house band’s ability to play jazz was wholly inoffensive. Quite the surprise, I assure you.”

“Glad to hear you’re making a friend.”

Alastor felt the record needle in his head—more a metaphorical description than anything actually tangible or physical—skip for a brief moment, and heard her giggle as she registered the audio stutter that went along with it. “Well, I wouldn’t go that far.”

“Of course you wouldn’t,” Rosie said, and despite the fact that her eyes were nothing but black voids, he knew she was rolling them. “But it took you three decades to admit that we were friends, and that was after you had been visiting me at least once every two weeks.”

“You are quite the conversationalist,” Alastor admitted. “Never thought I would find that in Hell, of all places.”

“It seems Angie is quite the conversationalist as well.”

Alastor squinted at her. “He hardly spoke when I brought him here. How do you come to that conclusion?”

“Because you had a good time going out and drinking with him,” Rosie said. “And you’re having dinner with him tonight. If you found him to be a bore, getting you to spend time together would be like pulling teeth, no matter how badly you want your bond broken.”

Alastor made a noise that was something like a growl low in his throat and looked away; he felt his ears flick backwards, and they ignored his mental urging to stand back up. “Yes. Well. …I suppose I appreciate his… candor, and he has quite the amusing sense of humor if you can get him away from more carnal topics. Fascinating perspective on life, as well; I’ll admit I never spent much time conversing with—” He cut himself off before he could say the first phrase that came to mind, both unbidden and unwanted.

With his kind.

No.

No, that was never something Alastor would use to describe another. Particularly not one that society viewed as lesser.

“With… what was the phrase he used… prostitution whoreses,” he said instead, doing his best approximation of Angel Dust’s Brooklyn accent and drawing a laugh from Rosie. “The kinds of people he has met, the sorts of jobs he has done… fascinating! He spared me the gory details, as it were, but the things people will pay actual money for seem to belong on quite the inexhaustible list.”

Rosie nodded, finishing off her seam. “Like I said. Friends.”

“You try my patience, my dear.”

“I know. Perhaps you should try it sometime.” He opened his mouth, but he couldn’t think of a response, and she got to her feet with a bright smile. “Come along, then. I’m sure you’ll need to get back and start cooking, won’t you?”

“Yes,” Alastor said, gathering himself again before he followed her from the room. He had the mind to ask her about her progress on discerning the ritual to break the bond.

He didn’t ask.

He didn’t know why he didn’t ask, but he didn’t.

It simply gave him an odd and unpleasant feeling. It was the bond talking, Alastor knew that, but knowing it didn’t make the sensation more tolerable. It was nothing like the feeling he’d had when asking Angel Dust if he would like to have dinner, a strange trepidation mixed with anticipation that made it difficult to even properly form the question. And the feeling when he had accepted…

Was it relief? Perhaps.

It wasn’t happiness. Alastor never felt happiness, not anymore.

But Alastor couldn’t imagine why Angel Dust saying yes would make him feel relieved. Of course Angel Dust would accept. He wanted this bond gone as much as Alastor did himself, of that he was certain. The thought was a different sort of unpleasant, one that he couldn’t put a name to. It felt like it would go very deep if he followed it, and where those depths would lead, he couldn’t begin to guess.

Of course, he didn’t blame Angel Dust for wanting to sever their bond.

He wouldn’t want himself as a soulmate, either.

•••